A. Jackson - When We Met

I motioned for the bar. “Want me to get you a soda or a water?”

She stared at me for another long moment before she said, “No, thanks.”

We listened to the next song quietly standing beside each other, lost in our own thoughts. Until she turned to me and said, “Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” I said, almost breathless. Given her mood, maybe she’d give me something good this time.

“Your turn,” she said. “Do something spontaneous.”

My fingers trembled from wanting to touch her so badly and all I could think about was doing just that.

“You sure that’s what you want?” I said, turning and backing her against the wall.

“Yes,” she breathed out.

“Something spontaneous or something I’ve been thinking about doing for days?” I said, my lips coming closer to hers. “Maybe weeks?”

Her breath caught. “It . . . it’s your call.”

My head swung forward, our foreheads practically touching.

Fluttery breaths were escaping her lips. I place my arms on either side of her head and she bit down on her lip. My heart thrashed in my chest and all I could think about was how desperate I was to kiss her, and how nervous I was to blow this opportunity.

So I attempted to read her signals and they were definitely mixed. Her eyes flitted between panic and lust.

When I pinned my hip against hers, I could’ve sworn I heard a low moan in the back of her throat.

“Please,” she rasped out. “Please . . . don’t . . . Blake.”

My stomach was in my throat. Fuck, either I’d scared her or I’d been reading her wrong. I leaned back to give her space, but her fingers suddenly skimmed across my waist, clenching my shirt and drawing me nearer.

“Don’t what?” I asked in confusion. She was so fucking messing with my head.

“Don’t . . .” She was panting now. “Don’t stop.”

The air rushed from my lungs and I flattened my body against hers.

Gathering her face in my fingers, I brushed my lips hesitantly across hers. “You sure?”

“Yes,” she said, shutting her eyes. “Please.”

Her voice was so sexy, so pleading, it was all I could do not to lift her in my arms and take her to some quiet back room. Or out to my truck. Somewhere I could have her all to myself.

I pressed my lips firmer against hers, more insistent.

When she opened her mouth and flicked the tip of her tongue out to meet mine, I couldn’t help groaning. Her lips were like velvet and I grasped her neck securely, my thumbs skimming across her throat as I dipped my tongue fully inside her mouth. Her fingers moved up and wound tightly in my hair as her tongue lapped insatiably against mine.

“Fuck, Chloe.” My hips ground against hers—once, twice. “See what you do to me?” I was certain she could feel my arousal now.

Our tongues were tangling in a frantic pace and she was moaning into my mouth.

“God, Blake.” She opened her eyes in a panic and a lust-induced haze. “What are we doing?”

She asked this as she continued kissing me, teasing my bottom lip with her tongue. She was so contradictory. Always thinking, even while in a state of passion. Probably making lists in her head. Maybe already trying to redefine the rules.

“Close your eyes and stop thinking, goddamn it,” I said in a gruff voice. “Just feel. Don’t worry about later or tomorrow. This is me and you. Just here and now.”

She responded by grinding into me. Holy hell.

My hand slid up to cup her breast, my thumb slipping across her nipple, while I nibbled on her lips—until I remembered where we were.

I drew away and looked around the bar. Though we were tucked away in a corner against the back wall, it wasn’t like we were invisible. And sooner or later, Chloe would realize that as well and more than likely feel mortified.

I leaned back in and kissed her lips tenderly, combing my fingers through her hair.

“That was some dare,” she mumbled.

I knew this was temporary. Only for this moment. Still I wanted to make sure she knew how amazing she was. “You are so fucking gorgeous. And sexy as hell. Don’t ever forget that.”

I kissed her deeply, one final time, wishing it could last all night.

Chloe

For the next two days I kept touching my lips repeatedly, remembering what it’d been like kissing Blake against that wall in the club. Hot damn. Had I ever been kissed that way before? Like he’d wanted to consume me? Classic movie kisses be damned!

“What’s the deal?” my roommate Courtney asked, pouring herself a big old glass of vino. Courtney loved her wine. She looked at the clock above my head, probably wondering why her boyfriend, Dalton, was running late.

My other two roommates, Misha and Indy, were getting ready to go out for the night—Misha to some new Italian restaurant with Darryn, and Indy next door to her boyfriend Kier’s place, where they cocooned themselves in a lot. Kier was quiet but perfect for Indy. So maybe opposites really do attract.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not meeting their eyes.

“You’re walking around all dreamy,” Indy said, laughing. “Must be a boy. At least I hope it’s finally a boy.”

I tried to deny it, but then I broke down and told them. About Blake and the kiss. “But it was just a dare. It’s not like we’d ever date for real or anything.”

Misha raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

“Because we have different . . . plans for our lives.” Plus he’d made it clear that his family was a huge responsibility and that he’d taken time off from classes to focus on them. Hadn’t he? My emotions and thoughts were so jumbled up at the moment.

“And he can’t figure into your plans?” Courtney said, just as there was a knock at the door. She moved toward the front entrance to let Dalton inside. “He won’t make it onto one of your sticky notes?”

I laughed because damn, Courtney was so right. I went upstairs to change into my jeans and a T-shirt. I was meeting Blake at the space tonight and I had a plan—one that was out of my comfort zone—and I never would have thought of it had it not been for Blake and his invitations to see live shows. I just hoped he’d agree with it and not see it as some last-ditch effort to keep him around an extra couple of days.

Even though it actually might’ve been.

After I arrived, I glanced around the space and was thrilled with how well it had all come together. It looked magical, really—with the Old Hollywood posters we’d hung, along with the film reels and fedora hats in different locations.

I pasted the note I’d scribbled for Blake near the doorknob before heading across the street to buy us our iced hazelnuts.

Be right back—getting our coffees. I have an idea! See you in a few minutes.

When I returned, he was standing against the far wall, one ankle crossed over the other, looking amused. And jeez, how much hotter could he get, wearing a tight pair of dark jeans with that fitted red T-shirt? He looked fresh out of the shower, which meant he’d have the clean soap scent that I couldn’t seem to get enough of.

Not only that, but I was having extreme difficulty tearing my eyes away from his lips. I needed to cut that crap out and act like the other night was just what it had been—something fun and daring.

“What’s so funny?” I asked, trying to rein in my smutty thoughts.

“The fact that I was finally subjected to one of your sticky notes.”

“You should feel special.” I winked.

I thought it was going to be more awkward between us after what had happened at the club. Instead it felt natural, outside of the electricity buzzing in the air between us. The same current that vaulted me toward him.

“So, what’s up?” he asked as I handed him his coffee.

“I had a last-minute idea,” I said, and then nibbled on the inside of my lip, already doubting myself.

“Do you need to consult your notes?” he asked with a glint in his eye.

“Ha, very funny.” I actually had considered grabbing for my notebook on the box across the room.

“What is it?” When he straightened to step closer to me, I held my breath.

Hands shoved in his pockets, he was close enough to kiss. I forced that thought from my mind. “What do you think of the idea of building a short runway?”

His forehead furrowed. “For real?”

“Let me show you my sketch,” I said, heading across the space. He followed on my heels.

I lifted the notebook and flipped to the right page. He was standing directly behind me and I could smell his fresh laundry scent. I tamped down the urge to turn and kiss him senseless. I wondered if he was having the same trouble, because he made some kind of noise in the back of his throat before covering it up with a cough.

“We can build it in the back and then move it outside during the sale,” I said, spinning to look at him.

“As long as you’re okay with a very basic design, shouldn’t take more than a couple of nights.”

His gaze darted between my lips and my eyes as a warming sensation slid from the center of my chest to the depths of my stomach.

“Yes,” I said, sounding too breathy. “That’ll work.”

He kept his eyes fixed on my face, his expression cloaked.

“I figured we could model the clothes,” I continued with some effort, trying to pull away from his heavy gaze. “Maybe it would lead to more sales.”

He straightened himself, rubbing his fingers along the stubble on his chin, as if thinking it through. “You have access to models?”

“Sure, from the design college. They use models all the time and most of them are students,” I said. “A few of them might jump at the chance for this opportunity.”

His eyes lit up in approval. “Good thinking.”

“I bet you’d do well on the runway, too.” From what I’d felt the other night, he was rock solid and smooth. I tried not to allow my eyes to rove too much over his body. “Your height, your stature.”

“Keep dreaming,” he said, shaking his head. “Though I have modeled before. It’s decent money.”

“No way,” I said, nudging his shoulder. “You are full of surprises.”

“See what happens when you take the time to get to know someone?” His gaze lingered on mine, amusement dancing in his eyes.

My cheeks burned at the allegation. “Touché.”

He grinned. “Your idea actually surprises the hell out of me.”

I took a quick sip of my coffee. “Why?”

“You’ve been part of runway shows before, right?” he asked. “The mad chaos that takes place behind the scenes, trying to get the models into the next set of clothes and back in front of the audience?”

My palms felt clammy as I remembered the two shows I’d been a part of in the School of Design. I was a dresser, which meant I stood by my model’s assigned rack and waited to help her between changes. I was extremely organized and had laid out my model’s next outfit at just the exact time so she could slip right in. But he was right—it was sheer pandemonium back there, people yelling out sizes and number order and rushing the models to get their butts back in line.

I didn’t know how my mother had done it on a regular basis. It was the one part of the business I was sure I’d absolutely avoid. While my mother had been extremely driven, I was extremely methodical.

I was cool with shopping and pulling clothes for regular shoots or shows, but throwing together this kind of production, where thinking on the fly and timing were everything, was something that made my heart jackhammer too wildly in my chest.

But if I quieted down and listened—and admitted some things to myself—I would find my own truth. That beneath all of that panicky anticipation, it absolutely did feel magical, to embrace the unexpected.

Just like Blake had described theater. Just like he’d shown me by taking me to a couple of performances. Sure, one was a rock-and-roll gig, but it was still live—and completely exhilarating.

And deep down, I wanted to experience that again—that unpredictable, unbridled sensation—all on my own.

“This show would definitely be run on a much smaller scale,” I said. “Only one outfit change.”

“Ah,” he said, looking at me appraisingly. “Still, I’m proud of you for even attempting to take it on.”

I could feel the color rising in my cheeks. “Thanks.”

He cleared his throat. “Let me see if I can round up some stray pieces of lumber.” He walked away, leaving me to catch my breath.