Take Your Time (Fate and Circumstance #2) Page 2

  Normally, I hated guys who thought so highly of themselves, the ones that felt entitled to interrupt a conversation to hit on me. I could handle a cocky asshole if I’m the one pursuing them, because then, the ball was in my court. But to come up to me while I’m clearly in the middle of a conversation with someone else, and feel worthy enough to take my attention…that downright pissed me off. But this man seemed different—not arrogant or egotistical like some I’d encountered before. The way he spoke came off as nice, sweet, almost attentive. And the distance he kept between our bodies didn’t come across as the behavior of a person who possessed some misguided sense of self-worth.

  “Excuse me?” Uncertainty filled my whispered words as I shook my head, attempting to clear the weighted fog from my mind.

  “Um…what are you drinking?” His gaze darted around, avoiding mine. But that was the only hint of nervousness that came from him while he sat there with his palm flat on the bar top, nothing moving except his eyes.

  For a split second, I allowed my imagination to carry me away, picturing the two of us years down the road with a family and a house adorned with a white-picket fence. He didn’t seem like the men I’d surrounded myself with since the beginning of the year, but more like the ones I would’ve been interested in dating before, the ones that left a woman dreaming of her perfect future after just one kiss. I knew I had to put a stop to it. I knew I couldn’t let whatever this was continue, because the man next to me was, no doubt, the forever type—and I no longer believed in forever. I no longer wanted it or the white-picket fence. One night was all I sought, but one night would never be enough for a guy like him.

  “Why? You wanna buy me a drink?” I tilted my head, wanting him to believe the image I portrayed. I wanted him to trust the flirtatious tone in my voice and assume the same things about me that every other guy did. I moved my elbow to the top of the bar, pressing the sensitive bone into the unforgiving wood, and rested my chin in my hand as I leaned closer to him. Pushing down the desire to touch him, and lowering my voice to a sultry level, I said, “You tryin’ to get me drunk?”

  His dark eyes widened as he angled away, and it made my pulse speed up to dangerous levels. He shook his head, slow at first, and then faster, adamantly. Yet his gaze never left mine. It held me captive, hypnotizing me, making me believe that if I just threw caution to the wind and gave into him, my life would somehow be better. But I knew that could never happen—my life would never get better. His Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat before bobbing back up, like a ball in water, indicative of his harsh swallow and giving away his nervousness.

  I rapidly blinked several times, hoping to clear my mind of the impossible thoughts he seemed to induce. When I focused on him again, I made sure not to initiate eye contact, keeping my gaze set on his ear instead. I needed him to know that I may have looked like the sweet, country bumpkin from next door, but I’d never be one—not anymore. So I moved as close to him as I could get without allowing his comforting aura to wrap me up like a soft blanket on a rainy day, and seductively said, “Don’t waste your time, pretty boy. I can get my own drinks.”

  Before I could turn my attention back to Justin on the other side of me, the stranger reached out and grabbed ahold of my forearm. The heat of his palm singed my skin and filled me with the warmth of a thousand blazing fires. I stilled at his brazen act, staring at his large, strong hand with long, manly fingers. I had to pull away from him, unable to withstand the intense emotions his touch ignited within me. It went beyond sexual. The unexplained draw I felt toward him burrowed deeper than any physical connection I’d ever had before. It was mental, personal…instinctual. And it left behind a quavering sensation in my stomach and a tightness in my chest.

  “That’s not—”

  His words came to an abrupt halt when my gaze snapped to his, a fire building in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t distinguish if it’d been lit by fear or his closeness, but either way, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want him to touch me, to talk to me, and I certainly didn’t want to hear his excuses, knowing it might cause me to cave.

  It may seem odd that I’d go out every Saturday night, on the prowl for a hook up, yet here I am, turning one away. But that’s not how I played the game—how I kept my sanity throughout the chaos. I always picked the guy, not the other way around. I knew what I looked like, what men saw when they noticed me. I had long blond hair, typically worn in beach waves on the weekend, and always paired it with smoky eyes. My bar attire was always cut-off denim shorts, a tank top, and matching boots. I never had to worry about getting turned down, which meant I didn’t need to be picked up by men—I did the picking up. Even if I didn’t have my hips, a flat stomach, and muscular thighs, or a face constantly compared to Carrie Underwood, I still wouldn’t have a problem getting any guy I wanted. Because I knew how to become a predator, seeking out my prey and then discarding them when I was done. I knew which ones were looking to get lucky, and no man going into a bar searching for that would turn their nose up at a “get laid free” card. But this man was nothing like the ones I normally sought out. I could tell by the heavy emotion in his dark eyes, his stunned, nervous behavior, that he wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of guy, which is why I had to turn him down.

  “I was only asking what you were drinking.” His gravelly voice held no attitude, only confusion and concern like maybe he thought he had offended me.

  But I forged ahead in my plight to push him away. I didn’t want to see the concern in his eyes or hear the regret in his soft-spoken words. I needed him to walk away, to free me from the chains his presence had on me. “Oh, I know what you were doing. Offering to buy me drinks, keep feeding them to me like water, hoping to get me drunk enough so I’d follow you to the back and suck you off as payment. Well, I’m not that kinda girl.”

  “Oh, I know what kind of girl you are.” And there was the attitude I sought. His top lip curled up in disgust, his eyes squinted as they narrowed on me, and he pulled back, squaring his shoulders as he did so.

  My heart raced as I glared at him. I’d wanted that kind of reaction, the one that let me know he got the hint and would leave me alone, but it didn’t take away the bruising sucker-punch his words inflicted to my chest. Defense stirred in me, and I was unable to let it go. Unable to let him get to me and have the last word. “You know nothing about me, you smug son of a bitch.” No matter how hard I tried to reign in my emotions, I couldn’t. My face flamed and my eyes burned, on the verge of angry tears. It’s one thing to want him to think less of me, but another to actually see it on his face and hear it in his voice. “I don’t want your drinks. I don’t want your attention. And I don’t want you.”

  “And you clearly know nothing about me.” His tone deepened to a growl as he drew his face close to mine, his words rumbling through his chest and vibrating in the air between us. “The bartender had asked you if you wanted another drink. You didn’t hear him, so I was simply trying to get your attention for him.” He didn’t give me a chance to respond, or even bother catching the stunned look on my face before he stood from his seat and stormed off, leaving behind a heady cloud of his sweet-smelling cologne that rendered me blind, deaf, and dumb.

  I chanced a glance at Woody, the man behind the bar, who validated the stranger’s claim. He had, in fact, been waiting to see if I needed another drink. I dropped my gaze to my clammy hands, no longer in the mood to even be here, and played with the ice in my glass. I turned once and stared at the empty wooden stool to my left, berating myself for how I’d treated him. I couldn’t stand arrogant men who thought every woman wanted them, but I was no different. I had assumed he wanted me, when all he’d tried to do was be nice.

  Annoying laughter drifted over my shoulder, catching my attention and pulling me out of my deep thoughts. What I found left me angered, numb, lost, and above all, alone. Justin had his back to me, now flirting heavily with some blonde who practically stood between his legs, leaning back against the bar so far her b
reasts threatened to pop out of her top.

  My fingers twitched around the empty glass in front of me and the muscles in my face tightened as I bit down heavily on my molars. I exhaled harshly through my nose and rolled my eyes before tilting my head toward Woody, hoping he’d get the drift that I needed a refill. A quick, short nod informed me that he’d picked up on my silent plea.

  I should’ve just gotten up and left. I was no longer in the mood to deal with people, but I couldn’t move. The vast emptiness inside me rooted me to my hard, uncomfortable barstool, attached me to the large, heavy piece of wood in front of me, and desensitized me to the man on my right—who seemed to have forgotten all about my existence now that he had an easier target in his lap. I can’t say it made me feel rejected, because let’s face it, all I wanted out of him was a few orgasms. But that didn’t mean it hadn’t affected me in some way. Every woman, no matter how strong or weak, how self-assured or insecure they were, experiences some level of self-doubt when faced with rejection. And with as late as it had gotten, I had no desire to find someone new for the night, especially not after the way the stranger with dark eyes and pouty lips left my insides all twisted and misplaced.

  Woody came back with my drink, and I practically chugged it. The carbonation burned all the way down, making my eyes sting with tears and my stomach tighten around the tiny bubbles. But at least I felt something. I’d become too numb, too dead inside ever since my mom passed away. I knew I needed to get ahold of myself, do something to change my course, but I didn’t possess the strength to care. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. The black hole had sucked me in months ago, and I’d done nothing but spin around in the empty abyss of my own personal hell since, never making it out on the other side.

  Once I finished my drink, I slid off my stool, the wood gently scraping against the floor, and threw a few bills on the top of the bar next to my empty glass. Woody never charged me when I came in, but that didn’t stop me from putting a few bucks in his pocket. The man was smart enough to assume why I found myself perched at his bar most every Saturday night, and he always seemed to keep an eye out for me. I appreciated that about him.

  Once I stepped out into the muggy summer air, I pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and bent over to light one. I’d taken my first drag, feeling the harsh smoke burn my lungs as they constricted in my chest. A deep, disgusted groan broke through the quiet night air behind me, and I spun around, ready to stare daggers into whoever felt the need to unnecessarily voice their distaste. I’m a big girl; the effects of smoking were not lost on me. And I didn’t need others to criticize or judge me for my choices or actions. But once I locked eyes with the judgmental intruder, much like the last time this happened, I couldn’t speak. I’m sure the heated glare I’d intended to use fell flat, and instead of the emptiness I usually experienced, my body lit up with fiery tingles.

  “Stalking me now?” I asked with as much attitude as I could fake, hoping it would mask the prickles and uneasiness crawling up my insides. I figured the more defiant I pretended to be around him, the more I’d believe it. He muddled my mind and sparked excitement in my chest, and I didn’t like it one bit.

  “Not exactly.” He paused, fidgeting with the black baseball cap on his head that hadn’t been there when I saw him inside the bar. He jerked his chin toward my hand and said, “I’m sure you know that’s bad for you.”

  I held the cigarette up, glancing at it before meeting his watchful gaze with a shrug. “I only smoke like two a week.” I never bothered to explain my actions to others, which made me question why I suddenly felt the need to with him. Usually, my reflex was to protect my personal information, not let my guard down.

  “Oh, so that must make it all better.” His sarcastic remark left me as cold as his words, bitterness coating me in the form of gooseflesh. “It doesn’t negate the fact that it’s bad for you no matter how often you do it. It kills your lungs whether it’s once a day, once a week, or even once a year. But again…I’m sure you already know that.”

  Frustration ran through me in a harsh, heavy rush of air as I released it through my tight, pursed lips. I hated the condescending tone he used. “Why do you care?” I stood maybe fifteen feet away from him, shoulders squared, spine straight, and my free hand balled into a painful fist, daring him to answer.

  The bill of his hat cast a shadow across the top of his face, hiding his eyes from me, but the way his hypnotizing lips turned down led me to believe he didn’t enjoy this argument. “Don’t you ever want kids? A family?”

  His words were a sucker punch to my gut, forcing my body to release the tension and slightly sag in defeat. My plans for life were none of his concern, but the way he asked it, the way he somewhat leaned forward and dipped his chin closer to his broad chest, made it seem so personal. It sounded as if this stranger had an intimate interest in my future, and that did nothing but cause my head to spin in confusion and add fuel to my burning irritation toward him.

  The heat emanating from my cigarette warmed my hand from where I held it loosely between my fingers. Normally, when someone challenged my choice to smoke, I’d lock eyes with them, take a drag, and slowly let the smoke billow out past my lips. But for some reason, I couldn’t do that with this man. My arm became as heavy as lead weights, growing too weak to pull the burning stick to my lips, and I didn’t have the typical defiant desire to do so, either.

  “I don’t know.” My blurry gaze fell to the dirt between our boots as my answer tumbled from my lips in a hushed whisper. I needed something to focus on, something to keep me from analyzing his question, so I fixated on how sexy he was, how well he was able to pull off the city look. I studied his steel-toed work boots, comparing them to the typical brown cowboy boots worn by the men that frequented this bar. And then I let my gaze travel up his legs, taking in how loose his jeans were, looser than I was used to seeing. They were light denim with strategic rips along the knees and thighs. So damn sexy.

  “You don’t know what? If you want to have a family?”

  I didn’t want him to keep asking me questions I had no desire to answer. I only wanted him to leave me alone. “It’s none of your business.” I snapped my attention back to his face, still unable to see his eyes clearly. I hoped he couldn’t see past the wall of defiance I had in place around me. If he did, he’d know just how much he’d gotten to me. He’d see through me to the emptiness that permanently resided inside my eyes, hear the silence in my chest where there should be a heartbeat. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing just how lost I’d been over the last five months. Or how desperate I’d become over the last three and a half.

  “You’re right, it isn’t my business. However, it’s the business of your future husband, your future children. Don’t they have a say in it? Don’t their opinions matter?”

  Was he seriously pleading for my non-existent, future family? That went beyond personal.

  “And they can have their say—when their time comes.” Which will never happen.

  His shoulders dropped and a slow sigh slipped past his lips, showing his defeat. What the hell he felt defeated in, I didn’t know. He acted as if he knew me, as if he had some connection to my life, but I didn’t know him. I’d never seen the man before, and I’d certainly remember if I had. What or who had deemed him my personal savior?

  “But by then, you would’ve already caused the damage. My God, don’t you see? There are enough diseases and circumstances to end your life early, why help rush it? Cancer riddles the world. Careless idiots with phones are on the road, texting while driving alongside you every day. Natural disasters. Desperate criminals. Why make your odds worse than they already are?” Apparently, I had succeeded in turning him off, because the rumbling, gurgling sound of his voice, paired with his curled lip, made me believe I disgusted him.

  The pieces of shell in the dirt crunched beneath my boots as I stepped forward, closing in half the space that separated us. “You think I don’t know that?” My voice rose, fi
lled with the anger and resentment I felt toward the unfairness of life. “Maybe I don’t care. Have you thought of that? Maybe I don’t want to live until I’m a hundred. Maybe I don’t want to have a family, knowing what they’ll feel like when I leave them. Death sucks. But there’s no avoiding it. If you can’t beat ‘em…join ‘em. Right?” My arms shook at my sides, revealing the emotions that I tried so hard to keep hidden from the world, but they’d snuck up to the surface despite my attempts to keep them concealed.

  He took a few hesitant steps toward me, his heavy boots stopping about five feet away. “And then what will happen when your lungs start to fail and your heart becomes weak? When it becomes impossible to even bathe yourself because you’re out of breath before you even get to the shower? When you have to wear an oxygen mask just to breathe? And when you look around, you realize you have no one. You’re all alone because you didn’t want anyone to be sad when you passed away. Is that how you want it to go? Is that how you want to live your life? Hiding from it? Not allowing anyone to get close?”

  Without much thought, I dropped the cigarette to the ground and stepped on it with the toe of my blue boot, digging it into the packed dirt while I recalled the thought-provoking questions he’d asked. They were laced with meaning. Questions you’d ask a loved one, someone you held dear or who you thought was worth fighting for. So I didn’t know why he said these things to me. “I don’t know you, or why you feel the need to lecture me, but I’m done. I’m going home.”

  I pulled my keys out of my pocket and moved to the side, desperately holding on to the last piece of my sanity, which at this point was nothing more than a worn piece of thread that threatened to give way at any moment. I didn’t want this stranger to see me break, and I knew I was close to doing just that. My nose prickled with the promise of tears, and I didn’t care for him to witness my pain. For some reason, this guy wanted to get to me, wanted to crack my hard shell. Breaking down in front of him would only offer him a sense of accomplishment, lead him to believe that he’d gotten to me, which wasn’t the case at all. Life had gotten to me long before he had. It got to me, beat me up, tore me down, and then left me broken and alone in the dark trenches to die. That’s where I was—dying alone. Hurting from more pain than I’d thought humanly possible.