He chuckles, and there are those damn laugh lines again.
"I was just asking about your plans now thatThe Open Dooris officially off the ground, but it looks as though you might've been in another dimension for the last few minutes."
I huff out an embarrassed laugh.
He pauses before speaking, his tone warm. “No pressure at all, but if you need an ear, I’m a decent listener.”
I swirl the amber liquid in my glass. "I'll be okay."Will I? Yes. Probably. Maybe.
He doesn't respond, just looks at me over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. For some reason—it could be the company or maybe it's my slow progression into a stupor—I keep talking.
"I'm happy for Penn and Hunter. Honestly, I am. It's just that… Well, I guess today wasn't the best day for me to be a witness to a romantic, public proposal. Not after I just signed the death certificate on my own happily ever after." I toss back theremainder of my drink and catch the bartender's eye, signaling for another. One more won’t hurt.At least not until tomorrow.
Martin nods. "I understand. Of course you're happy for them. But that doesn't mean their lovey-doveyness doesn't sting like salt in your wounds. You're allowed to be angry."
He gets it. It's like he's just thrown me a life preserver. Like I've finally found someone who isn't uncomfortable with all the baggage I'm lugging around.
I don't know all the details of his past, but I know he's a widower who lost his partner to AIDS back in the nineties. So I guess he understands something about carting around buckets full of pain and rage.
He takes another sip of his drink and then darts his tongue out, licking off the last remnants of the whiskey.
I wonder what he tastes like.
Suddenly, my own drink isn’t nearly as interesting as it was a moment ago.
Out of nowhere, my pulse speeds up, a shock of heat running through my veins. It’s like someone flipped a switch inside me, and all I can think about is how much I want him. Want to taste those lips. That skin. Want my mouth on his neck, his jawline, that spot behind his ear. I want to suck marks onto his collarbone and trace the colorful tattoos on his forearm with my tongue.
Wantisn’t a strong enough word.
Needfits better.
I've always been the laid-back type, letting life lead the way and following along. It's easy and comfortable, but it's not always satisfying. I'm not usually the guy who takes charge— who takes something forhimself—but this moment is already ticking down, already turning into one more damn thing in my rearview mirror, and I can’t let that happen. Not while my heart is hammering in my ribcage, not while Martin is only an arm’slength away. Not while this one person who might make me feel better, or at least feelsomething, is finishing his second drink and looking like he's about to call it a night.
I shove my chair back, grab my wallet from my pocket, and toss a handful of bills onto the table. My cheeks are hot, and the fire in my belly is pushing me to just goddamn welltakewhat I want.What I need.Maybe for the first time in my life.
I run my hand nervously through my hair, ignoring the surprised look on Martin's face. Do I look a little crazy? Probably, but at this point I don't give a tiny rat's ass.
I take a deep breath. "Look, I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, but I'm going to say this anyway.” Say what, exactly, I don’t even really know until the words fall from my lips.
“I want you to come upstairs with me, Martin. I want you to come to my room and take me apart the way I've been dying for. I know you can do it. And before you protest that you're taking advantage of me, the fact is, yes, I'm a little drunk, but I’m nowhere near so drunk that I don’t know what I’m doing. I want this. I wantyou. I need to feel something other than rage and fucking bitterness. I just want to feel good. One night, no strings. That's it."
His mouth drops open in shock.
No turning back now.
Martin blinks once. And again.
Well, fuck. I guess it was worth a shot.I’m about to apologize and attempt to blame the alcohol, even though I’ve just assured him that I’m not too drunk, when Martin nods. He swallows the last of his drink and gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving mine. “After you, then.”
My heart races like aFormula Onecar as I lead Martin back to my room. I’m both terrified and thrilled after making such a bold move for the first time in my almost forty-five years. I’m shaking with adrenaline, but the rush ofwantingsomeone again is overwhelming. I finally feel alive instead of feeling hollow and empty inside.
My hand shakes as I use the key card to let us in. As the door swings open I catch a glimpse of the mirror and barely recognize myself—hair disheveled, cheeks flushed, eyes wild. My whole body is burning with lust.
Martin looks nearly as wrecked as I feel. His face is flushed, and his hair is mussed from running his hands through it. His hungry expression, his green eyes burning with his own lust just fuels my determination.
Ineedthis—I need him.
“Oh, god,” I mutter, grabbing a two handfuls of his shirt and crashing my mouth onto his. The sound of the door slamming shut behind us only adds to the intense heat consuming me from the inside out.
