Page 14 of Second Swing
It could have been a friend. A stunning friend. I shake my head, clearing my thoughts, allowing my hands to work on autopilot as I blend another Do Me Daddy Daiquiri—it's been a hot commodity tonight and is easily one of my favorites.
As I hand a customer their drink, a soft current prickles at the back of my neck, and a knowing feeling takes over. I snap my gaze up to the customer in front of me, and I’m met with steamy Clinton Morrison in the flesh; and fuck me sideways, why does he still looksogood. I know I saw him recently at Sweet Bean, but now I have his full attention and somehow it makes him feeleven larger.
Almond-shaped eyes are drinking me in, and though I’m scared out of my fucking mind, I can’t pull my eyes away from him. His gaze is sharp with a hint of something I can’t quite put my finger on. My body is rooted to the very spot I wish I could run from. Not because I don’t want him, but because I do. Then I recall what I did. How I hurt him and the heartbreak that followed me afterwards. His fingers twitch on the countertop as if he wants to reach out and touch me, and for just a moment I consider what it would be like to have his hands on me again.
His chiseled jawline exudes warmth, and rather than the dimpled wide grin he often wore, shock is plastered all over his face. But damn, does he look good. I press my thighs together, taking in how well the white shirt amplifies his deep golden skin and graying hair. What my wet dreams—and apparently nightmares—are made of. In my dreams I could easily be his, but that’s not a reality I’ll allow myself to live in.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
My heartbeat echoes between my ears.
This is my chance to make it right, apologize for leaving him at the airport all those years ago. I try to think of something to say, anything to excuse myself, to make this awkward encounter better, but I come up short.Carajo.Damn.
Unable to hold his gaze like the coward I am, I grab a glass and begin drying it with the bar towel I keep tucked in my back pocket.
“Paloma.” His voice is rich and low. It urges me to remember how he used to make me laugh. How I longed for his flirty jokes while he taught me how to play golf. How he used to rub small circles just above my thumb as he held my hand. His voice has just enough gravel to raise goose bumps on my skin, and my name on his tongue still sends a shiver down my spine. Just my name causes a flush to creep up my neck, and I feel the years of distance between us crumble. He hasn’t changed one bit and neither has his effect on me.
“Clint.” My voice is tight and barely above a whisper. Shame wells beneath my chest, and I choose to put the glass down before I break it. His muscled arms lean against the counter, and no matter how relaxed he may seem, there’s tension in his shoulders. It’s as though he’s holding something back, or maybesomeone,considering the beautiful woman I saw him with before.
I nibble on my bottom lip, thinking maybe I can tough this out, give him the answers he deserves, but then his lips quirk up into a ghost of a smirk. The same one he used to convince me to go on our first date, though neither one of us called it that. A smirk which promises my unlovable heart trouble. The bar may be large but suddenly the room feels too small and the air far too thick. “I...uh. I’ve got to grab something from the back,” I all but blurt out, dashing from behind the bar top and toward the kitchen. Away fromhim.
I can hear him chuckle, a deep rumbling sound. “Still running, Heartbreaker?”Yes.I answer in my mind, because running will always shield my heart from the possibility of being broken. His voice is teasing and far too familiar, given it’s been nearly a decade since our last momenttogether. I try to gather myself at the mention of such a nickname paired with his playful tone.
The moment I’m behind the kitchen door, I lean on the wall and blink away tears.Heartbreaker?That’s new and I’m not sure how it makes me feel. My stomach twists at the thought of hurting him more than I ever thought I could.
Once I can take a deep breath, I turn to peek out of the small door window. He takes a long moment, sitting at the counter, almost as if he is testing the waters, waiting for me to come back out. A silent request. One I deny as I take him in. He quickly turns his head, his eyes meeting mine, and I duck down, press myself to the wall, and shimmy to the side where I know he won’t be able to see me. My steps falter a bit as I push myself through the kitchen, into the hallway, and toward the office.
The very moment I open the door to the office, I slide inside. As soon as I hear the click of the door behind me I mumble, “Hijueputa.”Son of a bitch.When I realize Brianna is sitting behind the computer, I take a ragged breath, exhausted by the chance encounter I just experienced.
B’s long blonde hair is curly and pulled back into a smooth ponytail. Knowing her, she’s probably entering in some new inventory instead of taking a much-deserved break. The moment her fingers stop moving over the keys she grins, but then her brow furrows as she takes in my demeanor.
She squints her eyes at me. “What’s going on?” Brianna’s question may be simple but it packs a whomping gut punch.
“Just…” My voice is a croak again so I cough to get rid of it. “Can you check to make sure the guy at the counter is gone?”
Her eyes drop to the computer screen before she answers, “You mean the panty-melter making smoldering eyes at the spot you left vacant?Yeah, he’s gone.” She sits back in the chair as if she didn't just say what she did.
“What? How did you—”
“The computer has the security camera feed at the top corner. I basically watched you run away. You wanna tell me why you became a track star all of a sudden?”
“He’s an ex, kind of. One Ineedto stay that way.”
8
Chuck:Oh, buddy. That was not the move.
Lou:Did she just—
Chuck:Yup. Run away like she saw the ghost of Christmas past.
Lou:Should we start planning another trip abroad? I’ve already got my trunks packed.
Chuck:I say we wait. Could be entertaining.
