Page 4 of Bartender Daddy's Girl
Among a mix of tattoos from space ships to skulls and crossbones, my eyes are drawn to his hands. On one, a snake’s mouth, wide-open with fangs poised to attack, the other, the snake’s tail. I try to make sense of it, but can’t. Left intrigued, only to find his smile has grown when our eyes meet again.
“Sorry, I . . .” I trail off. Not sure what I’m apologizing for. Staring in general, I suppose. Don’t want to give him the wrong impression. Somehow make him think that I’m put off by the tattoos, when in reality, I want to reach out and touch them. Feel the ink staining his arms. Listen to the stories each of them holds.
Getting lost in his world would be a great distraction from my own.
“Don’t be. I’ve gotten used to it,” he says. “Not many folks around here look like me. Hell, not many folks in the world do.”
“Doesn’t it scare you to stand out?” I ask for purely personal reasons. I’ve spent the last twelve hours trying to make Carrie Goode disappear, yet this man has himself on full display. No fear or care in the world for who might see or recognize him.
Must be nice.
“Have you seen the size of me?” He chuckles, gesturing down his six-foot-six body clad in a black tank top that barely covers any skin and jeans that suffocate his enormous calves. “There isn’t a whole lot that can scare me.” He pauses, eyes narrowing in thought. “Except for bulls, maybe. Wouldn’t want to be on the business end of those horns.”
He laughs. I fake one because he’s doing everything he can to make me feel comfortable.
“You don’t have to put up those walls on my account. It was a bad joke.” He extends an arm out, but it doesn’t reach me. Not yet. He doesn’t want to overstep a boundary I haven’t set.
“I liked it,” I say, doing my best to force a genuine smile onto my face. He returns it, holding eye contact, and then nods.
“Let me leave you to it,” he says, no doubt from me drifting through thoughts instead of trying to speak. He takes a single step forward, and that simple motion is all it takes for my heart to slam against my ribcage. “You could probably do with some rest.”
I’m not ready to be alone, and if he keeps making me feel this special, I might never be again.
“Wait.” It’s not panicked, but it’s not comfortable, either. His brow dances at my sudden shift. “Can I ask you something before you go?”
“Anything. I’ll stay as long as you need me.” Unlike before, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out this time. His firm, calloused hand brushes my shoulder, and warmth radiates from the place he touches, coursing through my body until it settles somewhere in the deepest parts of my tummy. Tickling that naughty place and nearly making me gasp.
I fight the urge. Hold my breath to stop any sound from escaping. This shouldn’t be my first reaction to his touch. It’s meant to be comforting, yet I find myself wanting it to trickle further. His hand sliding down my body, touching places that have never felt a man’s embrace before. Our bodies pressed together. Mouths hovering closer, dangerously, nearing that point of no return.
Holy shit, calm down, Carrie . . .
I try to bring myself back down to earth. Stop the ludicrous thoughts. I barely know the man. Hell, we haven’t even exchanged names. How can I be so infatuated with someone who’s no different than a stranger?
But the answer is right in front of me. His restraint is a blessing in disguise. Unlike so many others, he’s not flinging himself at me and trying to take advantage of this innocent girl. Truth be known, this virgin girl. He’s calm, courteous, and kind. Giving me everything I need, and not wanting a damn thing in return.
The only person I’ve met who’s been a gentleman with warm hazel eyes and a sharp smile. But the black ink decorating his skin like a service medal tells me that this is the side not many get to see. And maybe, just maybe, that’s one of the reasons I’m drawn to him. Seeing his kindness, but understanding that there’s a darker part inside him.
“Why did you help me?” I ask after a short deliberation on whether I even want to know the answer.
His eyes start moving before his mouth. Softening, hardening, erratically moving from thought. There’s a chance he has a reason but doesn’t want to tell me. There’s an equal chance he doesn’t, and my question catches him off guard.
We stand like this for a long moment. Deafening silence, deep contemplation.
“Because from the second I saw you, I could tell you were something special.” And with that, he takes another step toward the door. “Get some rest. We can talk more once you’re up.”
I nod. A knee-jerk reaction to what he’d said when I’m screaming internally. No one has ever offered helpjust because. Not to me, anyway. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve got, has come from bad choices and hard work.
Something special. It rings out in my mind and fills my tummy with butterflies. I stare at the back of his head while he walks. Mouth agape, chest fluttering, desperate for what exactly his statement meant, but too nervous to question it.
And when he stops in the doorway and turns around, those burning eyes falling on my goofy-looking face, I could just fall over and cry from embarrassment. He makes a soundsomewhere between a scoff and a chuckle, pleased with what he’s seeing, but doesn’t shine a light on it.
“Name’s Judge, by the way. Clear forgot about the introduction part,” he steps backward through the door.
“Carrie,” I say breathlessly, unable to hold eye contact with him.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Carrie.” With that, he leaves.
And I collapse onto the bed, feeling relief for the first time since I started my journey.
