That One Night (Jacksonville Rays, #0.5)

by Emily Rath

For all the thirsty bitches who love a dirty-talking golden retriever boy. Eat your hearts out.

How can one man fail to read every single sign a woman is giving him? I’m falling off my stool as he leans in even closer, giving my hair an exaggerated sniff. I freeze. “Mmm, you smell good,” he murmurs. “Is that Chanel No. 9?” Yeah, this is my absolute limit. It’s time to yeet Chad back to his table. I take a deep breath, shoving Dragon Rachel back inside her cage. There’s no reason to make a scene. I’ll just turn him down with my big girl words. But then the fucker dares to reach out and brush his fingers down my spine. This jumpsuit is backless, so he’s grazing my bare skin. I smack my drink onto the bar, and swivel on my stool, breaking our contact. “Get your hands off me,” I hiss. “It’s time to go.”

“Amy!” a deep voice calls. “Amy, what the hell?” Chad glances over my shoulder, eyes narrowed towards the voice. “I’ve been waiting for you for like twenty minutes. I thought we were meeting downstairs.” I spin on my stool to see a man striding towards the bar. Holy shit, do they put something in the water here? This guy is gorgeous too. His chocolate brown hair sweeps down over his brow as he hooks me with those hazel eyes. He’s got the perfect amount of stubble covering that chiseled jaw. Not to mention the way his chest and arms fill out his too-tight t-shirt. He’s a pro athlete, I’d bet money on it. I’ve spent too long in the industry not to know a player when I see one. I’m guessing football. Defense. It’s not just the body, it’s the confidence, the look of luxury, the sucks-all-the-air-out-of-the-room effortless swagger. Oh, and he’s swaggering now, right up to Chad.

“Is this guy bothering you, Amy? Are you bothering my sister, asshole?” I suck in a breath. Sister? Am I that drunk? This isn’t Harrison, I—ohhh, we’re acting. He’s offering me an out. I slip into character. “It’s fine. He was just—” “I wasn’t doing anything.” Chad confidently squares off against his new competition. New guy folds his arms across his broad chest. “Well, from over there it looked like you were touching my sister, and she didn’t seem to like it. You want a broken hand?” “No—” “Cause no one touches my sister unless she asks for it first,” he growls.

“I can take care of myself,” I warn. “And he was just leaving.” I stare daggers at Chad. “Weren’t you?” Chad flashes me another smile. “Yeah…yeah, I gotta get going. But hey, let me give you my number—” “Nah, she’s good.” My new friend glances at me. It’s quick, but the look is there, the...

“Look, I don’t mean to be a major cock block, but I didn’t fly across the country to watch my sister flirt with some Cabela’s model.” He drops his gaze to me, his entire mood shifting from surly to puppy dog. “Come on, Amy,” he whines, his voice softer now. “Please don’t do this. Not again. No more random bar hookups while we’re on vacation. You promised we’d go see the Space Needle. And I want to watch them throw fish at the wharf.”

“Well, I’ll just…go,” Chad mutters. But my new seat mate is totally ignoring him. He’s scanning the menu QR code with his phone. “Hey, did you see they have mozzarella sticks?” he says, his tone falsely bright and cheery. “I’m ordering some. You wanna share? Oh, shit—you’re allergic to dairy. Well, I’m still ordering them.” I’m smiling now. I can’t help it. This guy has effectively neutralized my Chad problem without me having to be a bitch and make a scene.

I settle back on my stool, unable to deny the sudden shift in energy. Why do I feel nervous? This guy’s presence is undeniable. It’s like he’s a magnet, and I’m being pulled closer against my will. Great, now I’m the creep. I sigh, draining the last of my Old Fashioned, and flag the bartender down. I order a hot tea instead. No more booze for Rachel. “I’m sorry if I overstepped,” he says. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be a dick, you just looked like you needed the save.” “It’s fine,” I reply, accepting my hot tea. I squeeze a wedge of lemon into the cup adding, “It was entertaining.”

“And don’t worry,” he adds, glancing over his shoulder towards the rowdy brunch table. “I’ll sit here just to keep up appearances, but I promise I won’t bug you. I know you wanna be left alone.” I pause, the cup of tea raised halfway to my lips. “What makes you think I want to be left alone?”

“You mean aside from the big ‘FUCK YOU’ you’ve got tattooed on your forehead?” He gestures at my face with his hand. I purse my lips. “Oh, so you can see it. Good. For a minute there, I thought it must have washed off in the shower.” “Nope. You were giving that guy all the signs to fuck right off. Not to mention you were practically falling off your stool to get away. Then I saw him touch you,” he mutters, his mood shifting from sad to mad. “I saw you flinch.” I stiffen, feeling the ghost of that unwanted touch between my shoulders. “I hate guys like that,” he says, taking another sip of his beer. “Like what?” “Guys that think they can take whatever they want from a woman. I was serious,”

“My sister, Amy…she hasn’t always had the best luck with guys,” he explains. “I see a woman who is clearly uncomfortable, and I sorta see red. She’d call me a protective alpha hole. Maybe you will too. But you know, whatever. Chicks always say nothing will get better until the good guys stand up and set the bad ones straight. If it keeps my Amy safe, I’ll be ...

“Want some of this?” he asks, sliding me a sharing plate. I smile, reaching for a mozzarella stick. “Sure, thanks.” He picks at the food, checking his phone. As soon as a commercial starts on both the TV screens, I clear my throat. “So…what brings you to Seattle?”

It’s all I can do to act natural, eating my fries and pretending to watch baseball, like I’m not sitting next to the world’s most beautiful woman. I had no idea what she looked like when I walked in. She had her back turned the whole time. I saw a woman clearly desperate to be left alone, and I didn’t think, I just acted, calling out my sister’s name. When she spun around on that barstool, I swear to god, she stole all the air from my lungs like some slow-mo scene in a chick flick.

And—fuck—she has tattoos. They’re all small, nothing larger than a playing card, but they dot up both arms, on her shoulder, a few on her fingers. I can see the hint of one on her ribs disappearing under her outfit. Cute, girlie stuff, like hearts and arrows and music notes. And fuck me if she doesn’t have a sexy little geometric pattern low on her sternum, disappearing between her breasts. Now I’m the pig wanting to see how far down it goes. I want to lick it. And she smells so good. It’s floral and smooth, but with a hint of spice. Shit. Fuck. Lock it down, Compton.

Oh, and did I mention the nose ring? Yeah, she’s got a fuckhot septum piercing marked by a little ring of twisted gold. Between that and her dark eyes painted black and her red lips, I think I’m in love.

I’ll be damned if I’m gonna be that guy who saves her from one douche only to become one myself. Nope, I’m keeping my eyes on my basket of fries, my dick in my pants, and my questions to myself. But then I feel her shift next to me, clearing her throat. “So…what brings you to Seattle?” she says in that soft voice. “Umm, my sister,” I reply. “Amy?” I nod. She smiles. “She’s not about to waltz in here and blow our story, is she?” I sigh, letting myself give in to the pity party I’ve been desperate to throw since I got off the phone with her thirty minutes ago. I couldn’t just sit alone in my room, so I wandered up here to the bar. Jake Compton, loser table for one. “She’s not coming,” I reply. “We were supposed to meet here as a sort of halfway point. We were gonna spend the week hanging out and doing touristy shit. But her flight got cancelled.”

“Umm…shit, I’m terrible with the details,” I say with a laugh. “Amy is the smart twin. Like, super smart. Two master’s degrees in engineering, and an awesome job doing something with a robotics company.” She gasps, those pouty lips parting as her eyes flash with interest. “I’m a twin too.” I grin. “No way. Fraternal?” “Yeah, my brother Harrison. He’s eight minutes older,” she adds, taking a sip of her lemony tea. “Hey, I knew there was something about you.” I grin back at her, raising my hand. “High five for fraternal twins!”

With Amy MIA, and my new flight home not scheduled until Tuesday morning, I’m all alone here in Seattle for the next two days. Maybe things are looking up…maybe this is fate. So what if I have to put off seeing Amy until Thanksgiving? I’ve got a beautiful girl keeping me company, and she doesn’t seem to totally hate talking to me. “So…what are you doing in Seattle?” I ask. “I’m also here on twin business,” she replies. “My brother’s wedding was this weekend.” “Is that why you’re all dressed up?” She nods, her smile falling. “Yeah, I had a post-wedding brunch today, but I wasn’t feeling very festive. I may have slipped out. I’ll text Harrison later and apologize,” she murmurs, checking her phone.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She shakes her head. “Just some bad news. I’ll be fine. I’m making a plan.” I nod. “Plans are good. Plans are…well, I’m terrible at making plans,” I admit. “But I’m really good at understanding the merits of a plan. And when plans are made for me, I stick to them like glue. You name it—travel plans, diet plans, workout plans. My whole life is basically one big book full of plans.”

She’s dying to ask. She’s got that look. The I-know-you’re-a-professional-athlete-but-tell-me-which-sport look. I’ve seen it a thousand times before. Most women don’t even care. It’s like they’ve got a radar for the pros. They sniff us out and track us like we’ve got big glowing red beacons flashing on top of our heads. Mystery Girl is not that kind of girl. After almost ten years of this shit, I have a pretty good radar for sniffing out the puck bunnies. “So…are you gonna ask me?” I say, flashing her a smile as I finish off my beer. “Nope,” she replies, hiding her own smile by eating some of my fries. I lean in, giving her a nudge with my elbow. “Come on…you know you want to.” “I really don’t.” “Why?”

“Because I don’t want this to end yet.”

This isn’t puck bunny energy. In all those exchanges, I’m the one taking the lead. I pick the bunny; the bunny never picks me. This is totally different. This girl is different. It feels crazy to say it when I don’t even know her, but she’s way out of my league. “And…what is this?” I say, stifling my goofy ass grin. She holds my gaze. Her beauty is shredding me. “Okay, I’m just going to say something, and I need you to not freak out or bolt.” I stiffen, smile falling, totally ready to do both. “Oookay…” “I’m a zodiac girl.” I groan. “Oh, fuck. Okay, umm…I’m a Taurus,” I say. “All I know is that apparently that’s ironic.”

“Of course you are.” “So, that means I lose, right? This is over before it begins? I should just pay my bill and leave, right?” She holds my gaze again, her dark eyes rooting me to my barstool. My dick can’t help it, he doesn’t know we’re not taking this any further. I’m aching in my pants. Fuck, why did I have to wear my tight jeans? Too much spring training has all my jeans feeling tight these days. I need to go up a size. Focus, asshole. Right, focus.

Maybe I read this wrong. I’m lonely, and I’m sad about Amy, and this girl is really fucking gorgeous. I’m totally reading too much into this. She doesn’t want me. I sigh. “Let me get the check. I’ll see you to the elevator at least, make sure Chad McYachtclub doesn’t follow.” As I reach for my wallet, she puts her hand on my arm. I go still. Like, I’m frozen solid. Just build me a marble plinth and ship me to a museum. “I believe in signs,” she murmurs, her gaze lowering to focus on our shared point of connection.

“You believe in signs,” I repeat. She nods. “Yeah, I do. And right now, all signs point to me taking you down to my room and fucking your brains out.” Dead. RIP Jake Compton, the best grinder the NHL ever had. He died doing what he loved most. “I have a flight out first thing in the morning,” she goes on. “And I don’t want to be alone tonight.” She looks up at me through those dark lashes. “I think…maybe you don’t want to be alone either.” “I don’t,” I choke out. She smiles at me again. “Good. So maybe we should…” “I’ll get the check,” I say, already pulling my wallet from my pocket.

Well, fuck me sideways. Now that she’s standing, I want to drop to my knees. Her body is a fucking ten. No, she’s an eleven. A thirteen. She’s got curves in allll the right places, plus a little extra. She’s curvy in the hips, and I can tell she’s not wearing a bra in that outfit. Her perfect tits have some weight to them. They hang just a bit, heavy inside her strappy top. Her nipples are peaked with arousal. My dick is twitching at the thought of flicking those straps loose and seeing her on full display. She’s got so much more than a mouthful to play with. I want to see her riding my dick. I want her straddling me, and I want those perfect tits bouncing as she cries out, her wet pussy strangling me. I want to fuck them. I want to slide my dick between them, and I want to blow on that little micro tattoo down her sternum. Take a chill pill, you sex-crazed psychopath.

“Wait—” She glances over her shoulder, the excitement dying in her eyes. Oh shit, she thinks I’m pulling out! I step forward, brushing my fingers down her arm. “I don’t even know your name.”

“No names. No jobs. No real life. Tonight, we’re just two people lost in a city not our own.” She glances over her shoulder, those brown eyes molten with need. “Come find me.” I smile wide. Mystery Girl, I intend to find you again…and again…and again.

Of all the ways to deal with my broken heart over the failed fellowship, falling in bed with this guy is definitely the least mature. But I’m lonely, and now I’m horny, and he’s saying yes. Besides, I was raised in a very sex positive environment. Rachel likes sex. A lot. I feel absolutely no shame in having a one-night stand. As long as he knows what this is, I’m saying yes too.

He’s tall, maybe 6’3”. I’m like 5’5” in heels, so I barely come up to his shoulder. His muscles are tight under his grey t-shirt, and his jeans are doing the lord’s work. You could chip a tooth on that ass. I want to trail my nails over his skin, I want to see him shiver. I want—

“Wait—” he calls behind me. My excitement sinks like a rock in my chest. Oh god, he’s changed his mind. I came on too strong. I glance over my shoulder, and I see his face flicker with five emotions at once—anticipation, confusion, need. Then he’s pressing in behind me. “I don’t even know your name,” he murmurs, that voice low and sweet as honey. My breath catches. Right, names would be good. Or maybe not… Signs, remember? I have a feeling we’re meant to be two souls who find each other, but only for this moment. Then he’ll go his way, and I’ll go mine. I smile and shake my head, reaching for his hand. It’s so large in mine, but I like the fit.

“No names,” I say. “No jobs. No real life. Tonight, we’re just two people lost in a city not our own.” I glance over my shoulder, heart in my throat, as he hits me with that eager smile. He’s in. He wants to get lost as much as I do. I give his hand a little squeeze. “Come find me.” He steps in closer, fully committed to whatever comes next. I feel the warmth of his smile down to my toes. “Lead the way, Mystery Girl.”

As soon as they pass through the doors, he’s turning, one hand on my hip and the other under my chin, tipping it up. He’s grinning like an idiot. We both are. “His name is Brad.” I snort again. God, I have tears in my eyes. “I swear I didn’t know,” I say, sucking in a breath. He’s standing so close, it’s practically an embrace. His gaze heats as he traces the features of my face. He reaches out a hand to stroke my jaw, and I feel that touch everywhere.

“Were you afraid you’d lose me to a real man?” I murmur. “Not a chance, gorgeous,” he replies. “You’ve got all the man you need right here.” I smile. Fuck, that’s a good line. My pussy must agree because our girl is feeling ravenous. I’m ready to climb this man like a tree.

He steps in close behind me. “Can I touch you?” he murmurs, his warm breath fanning against my ear. I fight a shiver of want as I nod. His hands go to my shoulders, flicking gently under my hair, until we’re skin against skin.

I spin around, gripping the cold metal handrail. He presses in, cupping my face. We both take a deep breath, our souls clicking into place like the gears of a machine. We exhale and I feel him everywhere. I want him everywhere. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, already all but brushing his lips against mine. I let out a needy sigh, letting go of the handrail to grip his soft t-shirt with both hands. “God yes—” And then he’s kissing me. His body covers mine as he claims all my air. I open to him, my hands letting go of his shirt to snake around his neck. I weave my fingers into his hair, arching up on my toes. There’s just enough to grab and I rake his nape with my nails, earning a groan that has him pressing against me with his hips.

His hand drops down from my face, tracing the column of my neck. I fight a whimper of need. I love a man’s hands around my neck. I arch into him, daring him to squeeze, but he quickly moves lower and I lose that tantalizing pressure. Slow down, girl. It’s been two seconds. Not getting choked in an elevator is probably a good thing.

His fingers trace my bare skin from my throat down between my breasts. This jumpsuit is skating that fine line between high fashion and Vegas bachelorette. The “V” is cut practically to my navel. It takes nothing for him to slip a hand inside the scrap of stretchy fabric. I shiver, arching into his touch as he cups my bare breast. “I want you so much,” he groans into my mouth, weighing my breast before he playfully pinches my nipple. “Ahh—yes,” I hiss in reply. My pussy is screaming for some attention, and I press into him with my hips, feeling his hardness.

He stays on the other side of the car, his eyes wide as he takes me in. His shoulders are heaving, and his lips are parted. The pro athlete is breathless. It’s doing amazing things for my confidence to know how I’m affecting him. I step forward and he flings up a hand. “No—wait.”

“You need to stay over there because, if you don’t, I’ll fuck you right here in this elevator and there’s no way in hell that’s happening. I’m taking my time with you.”

I stop us outside the door, digging in my clutch for the keycard. He leans down, pressing hot kisses to my neck. His hand on my hip slinks higher until he’s brushing his thumb against my exposed side-boob— Yeah…maybe this jumpsuit should be retired from public use. He lets out a soft chuckle. “Room 1742?” “Yep.” I tap the keycard against the reader and the door beeps as the light flashes green. I give the handle a tug, pushing it open. “Something funny about that room number?” “Not funny,” he replies following me inside. “I think your thing about signs is rubbing off on me, that’s all.”

This is a corner room, with two walls of floor-to-ceiling windows showing off an amazing view of the downtown skyline and the Elliott Bay. It’s still daylight, but it’s Seattle. The sunshine barely lasted thirty minutes. The sky is overcast now, grey clouds sitting low. It’ll probably storm later tonight. “Wow…this room is amazing,” he mutters. “I’m glad my sister isn’t seeing this. She’ll think I’m a cheapskate, and I’d never hear the end of it.”

He crosses the room towards me, reaching in his pocket. He pulls out his phone too, setting it down on the other charging circle. The screen glows as the battery connects and I spy a picture of him on the lock screen with his arm wrapped around a beautiful girl. She’s got the same dark brown hair and his piercing hazel eyes. Their grins are magnetic. “That’s Amy?” “Yeah.” He picks the phone up, showing me the lock screen. “This was us in Japan about a year and a half ago.” I smile. “She’s gorgeous. It’s weird, right?” “What?” “People always like to play that game where you wonder what you’d look like as a boy or a girl. We don’t have to wonder. Harrison is proof I’d make a very handsome man.”

“What is it?” His hand brushes my cheek. “I know your brother’s name but not yours.” “And I know your sister’s name,” I reply. “You gotta tell me something.” I fight the urge to go stiff. “Like what?” “Anything,” he replies, both his hands now in my hair. For such a big guy, he’s so gentle. “I know what this is.” He kisses my brow. “I know you want us both to walk away clean. I get it, and I’ll play along. But I can’t just…” He sighs, his fingers brushing featherlight at my collarbone. “I need you tell me something.”

We need to honor this connection. I’ll tell him something that matters. I lift a hand to stroke his cheek. Then I trail my fingernail over the pulse point in his neck. I pause, flashing him a sultry smile. “Fine, here’s your something: I could kill you and make it look like an accident.” He stiffens. “Fuck, is that—are you an assassin? Is this like a Black Widow situation and someone’s about to bust through the window?”

When I get to his waist, I tug on the bottom of his shirt, slipping my hand inside. His skin is so warm, and the muscles of his stomach are tight. I let my other hand wrap around his waist, slipping into the back pocket of his jeans. “Fuck—” he hisses, his fingers digging into my hair, tugging my head back. “I’m trying to be a gentleman here, and you’re being really distracting.” “You’re not guessing,” I tease. “Do you need a demonstration of my skills?” He groans again. “You…uhh. Oh, shit—” I slip my hand inside the top of his jeans, my fingers brushing over the marbled skin of his sculpted ass. I need to see this man naked. Need to worship him. Need him worshipping me.

I need physical foreplay. And then I need to get fucked. Hard. “Are you a nurse?” he groans out, his hand slipping back inside my top to knead my aching breast. I sigh, arching into his touch. “Not quite. But you’re getting warmer.”

“Will you take it off?” The fact that he’s asking instead of telling—or just straight up ripping it off me—has my heart melting like a popsicle.

But I was right about this guy. That’s not his style. He’s sweet as sugar. I’m sure this lethal muscle machine has the capability for violence in the game, but out of uniform he’s a big softie. I stifle a groan, my mission for tonight clear. I want to unravel him. I want to make him beg, make him crawl. And please, goddess, let him take off these kid gloves at some point and make me crawl too. “Last guess,” I reply. “Get this right, and you can strip me naked and fuck my pussy with that talented tongue.”