Lauren Blakely - Night After Night

“Always for you,” Julia said and leaned across the bar to give her big sister a hug. “And hello handsome,” she said to Chris, giving him a peck on the cheek.

“Hey, Julia. How’s business tonight?”

“Always good at Cubic Z,” she said, beaming and glad for the chance to talk about the bar business. She was proud of her tiny little patch of land in SoMa; yet another reason why she desperately wanted to get out from under Charlie’s thumb. She didn’t want him to take over this place. The thought of him running his illegal operations from her bar, threatening other patsies with his knife that wasn’t dangerous in and of itself, but symbolized all he could do, made her stomach restless. He could turn it to rubble too, leaving her, Kim and Kim’s family high and dry. The thought curled her stomach. She poured McKenna a Diet Coke, then asked Chris for his poison.

“Whatever’s on tap,” he said, and she winced inside at the words. Granted, she heard that phrase a few times a night, but it reminded her of Clay, of what he’d said the first night they met here. After she handed Chris his glass, she looked from McKenna to her man and back. “What’s up with the fancy attire? You going to a ball or something?”

Chris smiled and shook his head. “Nope, but my network is having some shindig to celebrate our record-high ratings, so this is me dressing up,” he said, fingering the collar of his shirt.

“You clean up mighty fine,” she said, and once again her mind wandered back to Clay, to how delicious he looked in everything and nothing. She loved his sharp style, his power ties and crisp shirts, the cuffs and how he rolled them up revealing those forearms, so thick and strong.

A sharp pang of longing lodged in her chest. She wasn’t only yearning for his arms; she was longing for the whole man, inside and out, from the way he held her to how he talked to her. He always wanted to know more about her, and she felt one hundred percent the same about him. He fascinated her, with his mix of down and dirty, loving and tender. Though it seemed insane to miss someone she’d only spent a few nights with, she’d never met anyone like him who captivated her mind and her body.

She shook her head, as if she could shake off thoughts of him. She reached for the tap to pour a beer for another customer.

“Speaking of record ratings,” McKenna began in that voice that hinted at something up her sleeve, “Chris is about to renegotiate his contract, and is looking for a new lawyer, so I was thinking about your guy…”

Julia’s hand froze on the tap and the beer started to overflow the glass.

Your guy. Oh, how she wanted him to be her guy, and all that title allowed – the nights, the days, the moments, the tangling up in each other’s arms.

“Oh crap,” she said when she realized the liquid had frothed over. Grabbing a towel, she wiped down the side of the glass, cleaned it up and handed it to a customer.

“What do you think about that?” McKenna asked when she returned.

“He’s pretty kickass at his job, right?” Chris said, chiming in. “I was talking to my sister the other day and she said he’s worked out all kinds of perks for Davis.”

Julia straightened her spine. “I don’t have any business dealings with him, but from what I’ve heard his clients rave about him.”

“Can you do an intro or something? Or do you want us to ask Jill to ask Davis?” McKenna asked, then something flashed in her eyes. Realization, maybe. Julia had been home from her trip for more than ten days and hadn’t said much about it to McKenna, other than a few texts that it went well, and she was home and busy, busy, busy. She hadn’t told her sister that she’d bolted. Her sister leaned across the bar and narrowed her eyes. “Are you still into him?”

She was about to fashion an answer when she heard a customer call out. “Oh excuse me!” The woman in the suit waggled her fingers.

Julia walked over to her. “How was it?”

The woman tapped the glass. “Never had anything like it. It’s amazing.”

“I’m so glad you liked it.”

“Listen. I have a friend – his name is Glen Mills – whose magazine is running a search for the best cocktail ever,” the woman continued. “I’m going to tell him about this.”

“That’d be nice of you,” she said, though she knew patrons said stuff like this all the time, so she didn’t put any stock in it. No more, at least, than simple pride in a job well done.

“What’s your name?”

“Julia,” she told her, as the woman handed her a twenty.

“Keep the change, Julia.”

Then she left, rolling her bag on the way out, only this time her pace was upbeat and energetic. Julia returned to her sister, eager to avoid any more talk of Clay. She didn’t need to feel that empty ache for him all evening, especially since she was sure to feel it all night long alone in her bed. “Hey, it’s about to get crowded here.”

“So can you do an intro to Clay?” McKenna asked again, and clearly Julia wasn’t going to be able to ignore this request.

She mulled over the question. She’d been trying to steer clear of temptation, locking her phone in a kitchen drawer in the evenings when she felt the desire to text him or call, going for a run in the mornings to try to clear her mind. But neither tactic kept him from occupying the prime corner lot in her brain. She’d been dreaming of him every night. The very mention of his name brought a flush to her skin, and heat between her legs. It had been a while; she hadn’t even touched herself since she’d left. If she did, she’d only picture him and that wouldn’t help put him out of her mind.

Maybe, just maybe, a brief email for her sister would satiate this longing inside her, and quench her thirst for him. Sort of like a phased withdrawal. One tiny taste and then she’d be done.

“I’ll take care of it for you,” she said, and something inside of her dared to spark. At least she had a reason to reach out to him, and she tried not to get too excited about the prospect of sending him a note, but she couldn’t help it – she was excited. “Now, can we talk about something besides business please? Like your wedding. That’s what I most want to talk about. I can barely wait another month to see my big sister walking down the aisle.”

The two of them beamed, Chris and McKenna matching each other in sheer wattage of their smiles. He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, and she threw her arms around his neck, and Julia was happy for the way her sister could be free with the man she cared for.

“So we’re going to have karaoke as you know,” McKenna said and began rattling off all the details, and though Julia knew most of them already since she was maid of honor, she didn’t mind hearing them again. Her sister’s happiness brought a smile to her face, so she listened as McKenna updated her on all their wedding plans, and she too was counting down the days til the two of them got hitched.

* * *

Later that night, as the crowds wound down she reached for her phone to call him when she saw Clay had texted her. Her eyes widened, lighting up with anticipation. With hopeful fingers, she slid open the message.

I can’t stop thinking about you.

Her heart thrummed hard against her chest as she savored the words, each one like decadent chocolate. She clutched the phone to her chest, as if that simple act would bring him closer. She walked into the back room, needing a moment alone with his text. She closed the door behind her, leaned against it and stared like a lovestruck idiot at the screen again, running her fingertip across his message.

She cycled through her options. She could pretend she never saw it. She could delete it. She could keep on ignoring him. But the very thought of that felt like thorns twisting in her gut. She’d been in a funk since she’d left New York. A real ball of piss. She’d slept badly, she’d been sullen when she went for her morning run, and she could barely focus on the book she’d been reading at bedtime. Her thoughts careened back to him. A reply might unwind some of the tension knitting its way through her body.

Though she knew the risks, she became convinced with each passing second that answering his message wasn’t dangerous. It was simply answering a message. Sometimes a cigar was just a cigar.

The very least she could do was write back.

Would love to know what you’re thinking about…

Only later did she remember she’d forgotten all about McKenna’s request for an introduction. So much the better. Another reason to be back in touch.

By the way, my sister’s fiancé wants to talk to you about working together. I’ll send you his info. Though I still want to know what you’re thinking about.

She paused, her thumbs hovering over her smartphone. Then, she added, just so there’d be no misunderstanding, about her intent – xoxo.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 16, 10:48 AM

subject: What I’m thinking about…

Everything. Your hair. Your ass. Your beautiful breasts. Your lips. You curled up in my bed. Your attitude. Most of all, why the fuck you left like that.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 16, 11:08 AM

subject: The other thoughts please

Something came up. Can we go back to those other items instead?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to:purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 16, 5:48 PM

subject: Not sure…

I don’t know. Can we?

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 16, 11:48 PM

subject: Be sure…

You tell me.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 17, 6:48 AM

subject: Ball. In. Your. Court.

You tell me what you’re wearing. You tell me if you can’t stop thinking about me. You tell me why you’re not here spread across my lap, that beautiful ass calling out for my palm.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 17, 9:48 AM

subject: Served

So you’re saying you want to spank me?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 17, 3:48 PM

subject: Hand is ready

You have no idea.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 17, 3:49 PM

subject:Ass is too

Oh, I have an idea. I definitely have an idea. And I would like that very much. I also think you have a thing for my ass.

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 17, 11:48 PM

subject: More on that

It’s perfection. I want to bite it. Lick it. Smack it. Grip it hard while I fuck you.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 18, 1:01 AM

subject: Which means….

So you still want me, I take it?

from: cnichols@gmail.com

to: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

date: April 18, 7:01 AM

subject: Yes

You know I do. That didn’t change.

from: purplesnowglobe@gmail.com

to: cnichols@gmail.com

date: April 18, 11:34 AM

subject: Ditto…

I still want you…

Clay stared at the computer screen, his fingers hovering over the keys, considering a reply. But damn, those words were mocking him. I still want you. How could she say that with the way she’d left? It made no sense, and Michele had spelled it out for him in no uncertain terms that if Julia wanted to play ball, she’d be at the plate, not skipping and frolicking along the foul lines, darting in and out of sight. He pushed away from his keyboard, like an alcoholic trying to step away from the bar. Grabbing a pen and a contract from the pile of papers on his desk, he tossed his phone onto his desk, left his office and locked the door.

If he stayed within typing distance of either device, he’d surely keep up this volley with her. Because she was as irresistible to him as she’d been that very first night. With his head down the whole way, he headed to a bench outside Central Park and settled onto it, trying his best to dive into the fine print on a licensing deal that the actor Liam Connor needed wrapped up before he opened a new restaurant in New York in a few weeks. Clay didn’t usually do restaurant deals, but Liam was a long-time client and had asked him to look over the terms with the other co-owner. Clay shoved his hand through his hair as he studied the fine print, but soon the words were levitating on the page, terms like indemnify that he knew backwards and forwards, but now it was a slow, cruel tease because he couldn’t focus on a damn thing.