Until You (Until #1)

by Briar Prescott

Low standards are my jam. My own are so close to the floor limbo dancers could use them for practice.

“You’ve got a nice ass. I’d like to get in there.” Ah, romance. You’re not dead after all.

There are three possible right answers to that question: yes, sure, or let’s go. Any one of them would’ve done the job. I dragged my nice ass out tonight to get laid, and by God, laid I am gonna get.

It’s not the first time I’ve settled, and it won’t be the last.

Even Moses with all his sea-parting abilities would’ve taken one look at this mass of humanity and gone, “Fuck it. Back to Egypt we go. I’ll take my chances with the pharaoh.”

“Seriously, what kind of stupid fucking asshole⁠—” That’s how far he gets before he looks up, stops short, and clamps his mouth shut.

It’s dumb, but it almost feels like he didn’t expect to find me here. Me, specifically. Not some random asshole. Me.

Uh oh

“I’m the stupid fucking asshole,” I say, in case he hasn’t put two and two together yet.

“Well, shit,” he eventually says. “Guess I’m the stupid fucking asshole.” “Welcome to the club. First time?”

I don’t suppose you have a crowbar on you for times like these?” I pat myself down before I shake my head. “Sorry.”

I have sleeping around down to a science. I have a type—easy—and I know how to pick him out from a crowd.

I’m a simple guy with simple tastes: I want to be fucked and leave after.

I’m a textbook example of that dating profile you read and think to yourself ‘this one sounds almost promising,’ so in the end, you swipe right because hope springs eternal, and you’re desperate to strike gold.

I’m not exactly the reincarnation of the hunchback of Notre Dame, but I’m not so incredibly hot that you’d dropkick an octogenarian out of the way to get to me either.

I’m your run-of-the-mill average guy. Average brown hair. Average blue eyes. Average features. Average build. Basically, I’m the kind of person who’d be a bitch to identify in a police lineup. Not that I’m planning to rob anybody. But if I...

“Blake,” he adds, putting a name to the face. I might be pushing my luck, but I take it as my cue to let my gaze wander over him once more. A small smile tilts his lips. Honestly, this all bodes well for me. “What’s the verdict?” he asks once I’m done. “It suits you perfectly.”

“What brings you up here tonight?” “Taking a breather.” I glance toward the now-locked door. “An extended one.”

I didn’t mean to call you a stupid fucking idiot either,” he says. “Asshole.” He blinks. “Anybody ever tell you you’re terrible at accepting apologies? You should be more like, ‘water under the bridge, super cool stranger.’” “I meant you called me an asshole earlier, not an idiot… super cool stranger.”

This banter is going to be the death of me

I didn’t want to be down there anyway, so you did me a favor.” “In that case, you’re welcome.” He tilts his head to the side. “Guess you owe me one, then.” I laugh out loud. “That spiraled quickly. Anybody ever tell you you’re greedy?”

he’s the embodiment of everything I like in a man: easygoing, uncomplicated, and interested.

Temptation seduces, and I’m easy.

“What do you do for a living?” I ask. His lips twitch, and he shakes his head. “And the fireworks go out with a barely audible hiss. Hard-hitting journalism right off the bat. Really digging deep for that dirt, are you?”

I lost the bike midair and landed on my right foot. The bone snapped like a twig, and then it came right through the skin. I impressed everyone who managed not to puke. Or cry. Or faint. For the record, I did none of those. I’m hardcore like that. And I was in shock.

“That’s your best memory?” I ask. “A gory injury?” “A gory injury that made me infamous in Spokane Valley. You can’t put a price on the kind of street cred it got me.”

“Do you have any hidden talents?” “Yes.” “Which are?” “That’s another question.” “It’s an extension of the previous question. It doesn’t count as a new one. Nice try, though.”

“What’s your best quality?” A frown of concentration appears between his eyebrows as he mulls it over like it’s the most important question ever asked. Like his answer really matters. He hesitates for another second before he says, “I’m loyal.

“What’s your worst quality?” Can’t say I have to think about it for too long. “I’m extremely cynical. You?” It takes a long time for him to answer that one. His eyes stay locked somewhere on the skyline when he eventually says. “I’m loyal.”

“A meteor hits the Earth. I’m a heavy sleeper, so it’s entirely possible I wouldn’t hear a thing. Then I step outside for my morning jog and find the world burning to the ground. Or aliens come and kidnap everybody, but they deem me too much of a loser to take with them.”

“I’ll think of you when I’m being whisked away from Earth on that alien spaceship for cool people.” “Will you also send thoughts and prayers while you’re busy being useless?” he asks. “Or, here’s an idea, you could stop the ship and tell them they left somebody behind.” I scrunch up my nose and nod slowly. “Yeah, about that… No offense, but I don’t want to be known as the guy who brought the loser with him to an interstellar trip.”

Come on then, what’re you afraid of?” “Moths. Creepy little fuckers.” “They’re actually very important as links in the food chain and as pollinators. Not to mention, they’re beautiful, and completely harmless,” Blake says like some kind of moth-loving freak. I send him a dirty look. “What’s with the moth propaganda?

“Ah. You’re one of those people.” “Those people?” I ask. “You know, the ones who care about looks. I bet you have nothing against butterflies, do you?”

“If you look in the rearview mirror, I think you can still see exhibit A waving at you.”

“This isn’t a competition.” “Spoken like a true loser, but okay,” he says, lips twitching.

“It’s a pretty straightforward story. I had sex in a locker room.” “So hot. With all those raunchy details, it’s like listening to porn,” I say.

“Stormy nights on rooftops give me mystique. Trust me, in daylight, I’m as average as they come.”

Blake walks into me from behind. I lurch forward, but instead of faceplanting on the ground, fingers wrap around my wrist and Blake pulls me backward. We stumble a bit, but eventually regain our balance, so we’re standing toe to toe, chest to chest, face to face.

Sus?

“Wasn’t watching where I was going.” The guy looks really flustered. He even pats me down to see if I have any injuries, even though I didn’t come close to falling.

SUSSS

My stomach lurches uncomfortably, then hollows as I stare at my wrist. My very naked wrist.

BLAKE STOLE HIS WATCH

“Pass,” I say. “You don’t get a pass. I’m pregnant.” “That’s not my fault. Pass.”

Be like a normal newlywed and forget you have friends. Grow apart from me, woman!”

“Sorry. I was trying to find an excuse not to come here, and—”

Me

“Right there,” I say. “Just behind the shoulder. A little bit more.” I wonder if I can make her rotate her head 360 degrees?

“It’s a completely acceptable reaction. Blood is supposed to remain inside the body, not outside of it. We’re not meant to see it.”

Nora looks at the ceiling and mutters something. Based on the direction she aims the words, I’m thinking it’s prayers and not curses, so that’s good news. She clearly seems to think there’s still hope for me, which is nice.

“Just to clarify, when you say take her out, you mean…” I pull my forefinger over my throat and raise my brows at her. “I’m not saying no, but you’re going to have to back me up when they ask for my alibi.”

She says ‘my wife’ the same way one would say ‘Satan.’

“You poor thing. Having somebody who cares about your life is the worst.” “Die,” Blair says shortly.

“Thank you. I love you. And, hey, you really are pretty, so I didn’t even have to lie about that one.” I snort. “Only about the kind, smart, selfless part?”

It’s nice to know I’m consistent in my idiocy.

“Hi.” He laughs, and it sounds just as good as it did when we met. “Hi,” he says back. “Hi,” I repeat because it seems like I should say something and nothing else comes to mind.