Long Ball(44)

And, if he were the one bossing me around, I bet I wouldn’t be so opposed. What it would be like to be a woman who could let him do that.

I prop my head on my fist and sigh, imagining it.

“You okay?”

My cheeks heat as though she could read my mind. I attempt to cover. “Yeah. Just, you know. All of this. It’s a big change. But at least I’ll be playing.”

Alex squeezes more lime into her beer.

“Yeah, but at what price?” The directness of her stare unnerves me.

“I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. It’s a smarter course of action than, say, hooking up with a stranger in a bar. Especially a strong, inked, in-control-of-his-own-life hottie like the one at the back of the bar.

I cast my gaze again toward him and bingo! I finally see his face.

God, his face...

Now that I see it, I’m not sure I can ever look away. It’s striking. Stunning. Strangely beautiful.

His eyes are inset, his jaw and nose strong. And his mouth…it’s perfect, his lips full but not girly. The set of them always with just a bit of a curve, never straight. They’re sin and sex, yet, as he smirks at something on his phone, also quite boyish. It’s the kind of mouth I could stare at for hours, watching the way it shapes words and slides into smiles. The kind of mouth that feels good to kiss and better to suck and my, oh, my, I bet he sucks down there so right that I wouldn’t need to grab a vibrator after.

Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a prude, but having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style.

It’s a sign of stress, that’s all. In my mind, Beautiful Tattooed Boy is the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan. It’s the other road—the road I didn’t take. Correction—wouldn’t take. He’s nice to look at, but other than that we’d probably clash. Big time. I’m only attracted to him because, although I’m happy with my choices and my plans, I can’t help being curious about what else might have been.

Yeah. That’s totally it.

But what if I’m more than curious?

I take another large sip of wine and ask the question that no one can answer. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”

Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”

“But…?”

She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “But it feels so final. I just hope it really is what you want and not what your father really wants.”

It has to be. “It is.” And if it isn’t, I’m not sure what is.

“Then you’re definitely not making a mistake.” It’s impossible for her to know that as confidently as she’s said it, but I cling to her reassurance. “But you need to at least have a good f*ck before you leave.”

I’m glad I wasn’t drinking at that moment or I’d have spit my wine. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”

“Hey, you’re the one who practices fingering. For hours at a time, I might add.”

“For music.” I laugh, now warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, there’s no one I’m attracted to.”

Except for him.

My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be strong, his wrist firm as he ran his touch over my—

“Why don’t you go talk to him?”

“To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.

“Tall, dark, and delicious over there. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You’ve been checking him out since we got here. And I approve! He’s alone, you’re alone—”

The thought of talking to him causes a strange flutter low in my belly that I don’t like. Or I do like. I’m not quite sure yet. “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting some quality girl time in before I move.” I uncross and re-cross my legs, feeling restless and needy.

“You need to get it in before you move. One last hurrah before being a real, responsible adult for the rest of your days.”

I couldn’t.

Could I?

I scan my eyes over the topic of our discussion and notice a leather jacket slung over the booth beside him and the tight cling of his jeans to the leg viewable under the table. He’s so at odds with my conservative style. How could we ever fit together?

Though, something tells me he knows exactly how to make things fit. And style isn’t really an issue when no one’s wearing clothes.

I’m instantly shocked at my thoughts. I shake my head, hoping to clear away the unwanted dirty idea. “No hurrahs. Anyway, he’s not my type.”

“What’s that? Uptight?”

“Studious.”

She rolls her eyes. “Passionless.”

“He is not a nice guy. And I like nice guys.” Guys my father would approve of.

“Are you trying to convince me or you?”

“I’m not trying to convince anyone. I’m stating a fact. I need a man who appreciates that I practice music for hours a day and don’t have the time to fawn all over them. My career comes first and any man I hook up with has to understand that. He also has to be respectable and responsible.”