CHAPTER 1
November 2016
BOLT
The bead of moisture trickles down the side of the glass of ale I’ve been staring at for hours, my head full of memories and thoughts of what could have been.
I’m not sure that anybody but me remembered what today’s date is, and that is fine. They didn’t have to. One of my brothers, or even one of my parents, would have been here with me if I’d mentioned it. Life moved on, but the date will always be tattooed in my memories, much like the tattoo I have of today’s date on my chest just under my heart. November 2nd, 2010. The duedate we’d been given. If my baby had lived, he or she would have been six today. To this day, I’m still not sure if Leila, my high school girlfriend, had genuinely miscarried or if she’d gotten rid of our baby without telling me.
There had been rumours, but I’d chosen not to believe any of them. Not wanting to believe she’d have done something like that without letting me know. She’d sworn to me she hadn’t, but I wasn’t sure if she’d been telling the truth, not with the way her parents had reacted to our situation.
Whereas mine had been a little disappointed in me, they’d been supportive and would have been around to help. Leila’s parents had been horrified, going on and on about how she’d ruined her life. Not a month after she’d told me she’d lost the baby, her entire family packed up and moved out of state on the premise that her father had got a better job. It was not knowing that bothered me the most. Lifting my glass, I’m just about to take a sip when someone jostles into me, making me spill most of it on the bar top.
A huskily muttered, “Stupid motherfucker,” has me swinging my head around to get a glimpse of the person who owns the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard.
My first thought is, ‘Fuck me, that was a lot of hair,’ followed by‘Holy fuck, nice ass.’Whoever she is she has an abundance of long, dark curly hair that touches the top of the nicest ass I’ve seen since I’ve been in the UK. Wide hips with firm round globes encased in snugly fitting jeans that disappear into knee-high brown boots with a small heel.
Biting my lip, my gaze traces up her legs to her luscious ass as she bends over. She continues to mutter and curse out the person under her breath as she picks up her bag that must have been knocked out of her hand when she was shoved into me.
There is no stopping the grin that crosses my lips at the tirade of swear words coming from her. It’s enough to make a sailor blush, and her curse words are more than inventive. And then she whirls around, and I nearly swallow my tongue as eyes so blue they appear violet meet mine, corners crinkling slightly as she smiles at me, holding out her hand in greeting.
“Hi. I’m sorry about barging into you like that. Some gobshite obviously needs glasses because how he missed a nearly six-foot woman I have no idea,” she rambles on. It’s only when her eyes dip to her hand that she still holds out for me to take that I realise I’ve been staring at her like a total moron. I clasp her hand in mine.
“Hi.” I grin at her. “Impressive use of swear words; I feel like I should applaud you.”
“Eh,” she shrugs a shoulder. “My Irish grandad comes out when I’m angry. Can I get you another seeing as I spilled yours?”
“Technically it wasn’t you, and this one was getting warm anyway. I was thinking of switching to whisky. Would you like to join me?”
“I may as well seeing as my sister and her man have stood me up,” she replies, settling on the stool next to me and waving thebartender over. There is nothing quite as sexy as a confident and sure of herself woman, and this one has confidence in spades. We order our drinks and take our first sips. Her slight moan has my cock twitching in my jeans as she closes her eyes and savours the flavour of the malty goodness.
Only after she’s swallowed does she open her eyes and turn them towards me, asking, “So, do you come here often?”
I burst into laughter, and her eyes widen as she realises she’s used an age-old pickup line. Her cheeks flush a light pink, then she laughs right along with me. She rests her forehead against my shoulder and grinds it into me as she shakes her head.
Her actions endear her to me. I don’t think I’ve ever come across someone who is not only self-assured but isn’t scared to laugh at herself.
Once she has control of her mirth, she straightens. “I’m so sorry. That wasn’t meant as a pickup line. What I should have done was introduce myself. My name’s Jeanie.”
“Cobalt, but most call me Bolt,” I reply and find myself smiling without meaning to. She radiates so much happiness that it’s contagious, lifting me from the dumps to smiling in less than ten minutes.
“Cool name.” Her smile echoes mine. “American, huh? So what brings you to not so sunny Southampton?”
Another burst of laughter escapes me at her forthright questioning. I really like this girl. This isn’t how I expected my evening to go at all, which is why I booked a room at the nearby motel, knowing that I wouldn't be able to ride home after having a few drinks.
I never intended to pick someone up or spend the night with anyone, but there is something about Jeanie that calls to me. We spend the entire evening chatting with each other about everything under the sun except anything too personal. Although, I do tell her what brought me here tonight. Other than that, we are just two strangers enjoying a night out.
It feels natural for us to end the night in my room, and even more natural to spend it together, having some of the most memorable sex I’ve ever experienced—several times. And it wasn’t always me reaching for Jeanie. She does her fair share in starting another round. We finally collapse into bed, exhausted, in the early hours. When I wake, I almost think I dreamed her, and if not for the faint trace of her perfume and the note she left, I might have kept wondering.
Sorry, I had to leave.
I didn’t want to wake you up.
Thank you for a memorable night.
Maybe we’ll meet again someday.
Love, Jeanie
