Page 14 of Handcuffed Hussy
But I hoped she'd take it to Jack and rub his gorgeous face in it. I'd found his criminal before he did. If only I could take credit for my hacking skills, just to see his face when I bested him.
So back to being pissed. I'd called Esa to meet me at this new bar at Pacific City that she said was the place to be seen. I needed to come clean and share all my flirting, fighting and fucking (I wish on the fucking part, but the alliteration sounded good) with my bestie. I wanted her to agree with me on what a dick Jack was being. Esa and I had a history of finding alternative names for asshole men and I'd decided Jack's was Dick, to which he'd be referred to from here on out. Unless he came crawling back with apologies and then he'd revert to just Jack, none the wiser.
But as luck would have it, she was meeting with her wedding planner that night to go over wedding details. I didn't feel right guilting her into cancelling something important just so I could bitch about men. So I did the next best thing and put on a tight, short, red dress paired with black stilettos, the ones with the red soles to match my dress. I took extra time with my hair and make-up and then off I went to the bar.
By myself. A single woman. On the prowl. Eat your fucking heart out, Dick.
I made my way through the packed crowd at the front of the bar, finding a spot to wedge myself in and get the bartender's attention. The men on either side of me gave me the once-over and struck up a conversation.
"Whatcha drinkin' tonight, beautiful?" This from the man to my right, who was a little on the older side, yet quite attractive with his greying hair and stylish suit. I didn't have a problem with dating older men, but only if I was truly attracted to them. I wouldn't date a guy for his bank account or his paid off house. That just felt like one step away from a paid whore. No thanks.
"White wine, please. Pinot grigio if you have it," I spoke loudly to the bartender, then swiveled to the older man to acknowledge his attempt at starting a conversation with me, while also demonstrating that I didn't want him ordering for me or buying me a drink.
"You here with anyone else or can I try to convince you to stay here and chat with me?" He smiled, giving off a genuine air of friendliness, not creepiness.
I shook my head, matching his grin. I was ready to get my flirt on. "Let's hear your pitch."
He set down his glass on the bar and leaned in, giving me a subtle whiff of cologne, spicy and woodsy. I shifted closer, enjoying the attention from a good-looking male.
"You look like the type who can hold her own. So I won't try to entice you with paid-for drinks or sleazy one-liners. I can tell by the way you present yourself that you have an eye for details, so I'll give that in return. I'll pay attention, hear you when you speak, let you take the lead. Up to a point." He stopped there, giving me a chance to truly decide whether I cared to stay and get to know him better. The choice was nice.
I tilted my head, intrigued by a man that could read me so well, or at least make a damn good guess. Plus, having a man not order me around, but instead, listen to me? Like really listen? That sounded heavenly.
I was in.
With hand outstretched, I said, "I'm Bailey."
His hand grabbed hold of mine, soft, warm skin that seemed strong yet delicate at the same time. He opened his mouth to give me his name in return when he was rudely interrupted by the guy behind him.
"Smith. Like Smith and Wesson." The voice came out a little garbled and overly loud, like the owner was already well into his night of drinking.
Unfortunately, it wasn't garbled enough to confuse me as to who the owner was.
"Dick!" I shouted the name, startled that he was even here, of all places, of all nights.
My handsome, older suitor stepped back to see who'd spoken, giving me direct line of sight to Jack, sitting at the bar, swirling his drink, ever-present smirk firmly in place.
"No, it's Jack, sweetheart. You should know...you said it enough last weekend at your place." He laughed at his own joke while I gasped.
I stared at him in disbelief and horror. What the hell?
The man stepped back, hands held out in peace. "Hey, I'll let you two figure this out. I'm not looking for drama." He nodded his head to me. "Lovely to meet you, Bailey."
Then he spun around and left the bar, taking with him any last bits of sanity I possessed where Jack was concerned.
"What the hell, Jack!" I took the spot my mystery man just vacated, the warmth of his seat the only thing I had to remember him by. I was not happy.
Jack guffawed and toasted the air with his drink. He looked totally shit-faced, drinking all by himself in a crowded bar. "That guy was a total douche. 'I'll let you take the lead.'" He mimicked a high pitched voice, which for the record, the guy did not sound like at all. "You don't want a guy like that, Bae. You need a guy who'll be just as strong as you. Otherwise, you'll run right over him. Am I right?"
I got right in his drunk little face, words flying from my mouth. "How the fuck would you know what I need, Dick? You haven't bothered to spend any time with me, other than to interrogate me about things that are none of your goddamn business, or you're kissing the hell out of me against the wall. You. Don't. Know. Me."
His eyes finally focused on mine, letting me know he wasn't completely drunk off his ass. There was a small part of him still in control. He leaned in close, his mouth just a few inches from my lips.
"I want to know you. I want to kiss you up against a wall again. I want to ask you all the questions just so I can hear your voice. I interrogate you, because I want to get to know you, Bae."
Then he turned back to the bar and sipped his alcohol, like he hadn't just dropped a bomb on me.
I blinked repeatedly, taking the time to take apart that confession, each thought like a soothing balm to my bruised heart. He was calling me by some pet name now like it was a natural thing. He wanted to know me. He wanted to kiss me. He liked my voice.
I blurted out, "Then why the silent treatment?" I didn't understand the disconnect. If he really felt all those things then why did he distance himself from me?
He set his glass back down, forehead creased like he was deep in thought about something dark and unhappy. The lines on his face were always there, deeply etched into his skin, making me think he made that expression often.
Talking straight ahead to the wall behind the bar, he laid it out for me in a way that finally made sense. "I keep backing off, because I know what kind of woman I need in my life. I have a stressful job, working long hours. I see horrific things. I want a woman that I can come home to and lose myself in her softness. A woman that can bring joy back into my day. Be the one easy thing in my crazy life."
Then he turned to me, pinning me with his gaze. "You're not easy. You're not soft. You're bright and happy, yes, but you're also fire and sass. You wouldn't let me run right over you. You'd put up a fight and I would engage, like you were my own personal catnip I couldn't walk away from." He stroked his hand down my arm, his expression turning to one of regret as much as desire.
"And as much as I can imagine the sex would be explosive, I know I need more. Getting involved with you would sidetrack me from finding the one I need to settle down with. It might sidetrack me for life."
His hand fell from my arm the same time my heart fell out of my chest, hitting a rock bottom I didn't know existed. He stood from his barstool, turned his back on me, and walked away into the crowd, his gait uncoordinated, the alcohol finally taking full control.
