Promise Me This

Chapter One


Nate



I backed the brunette against the wall, my lips at her neck. Her perfume was sweet, almost too sugary—a stark contrast to the one fragrance I’d grown accustomed to, sought out even.

Jessie always smelled exotic, like wildflowers. But I quickly forced that thought from my brain. Not that her scent wasn’t permanently etched there anyway.

I nudged the girl into the empty restroom and flicked on the dim light, which might’ve been a terrible idea given our surroundings. This same chick had been eyeing me the last couple of nights in Zach’s Bar and she wanted to hook up. Bad.

But her version of bad was different than mine.

Since I wouldn’t be skydiving or logging time around my uncle’s racetrack anytime soon, this was the rush I wanted—needed—tonight. Soft skin, a warm body, a nameless girl I’d never see again.

My fingers curved around her shoulder and then traced the low slit of her fancy blouse. When she whimpered in response, I had the urge to rip the buttons down the front. But I was pretty sure she wouldn’t appreciate me ruining her expensive shirt. I’d venture to guess that most girls wouldn’t.

“I’ve seen you at a couple frat parties,” she mumbled.

I shrugged, because I’d definitely been to my share of them. Sure wish I had access to one of their spare rooms right about now. Because being with this girl might help dull the noise in my head. Soothe the urge to lose control, to get blissfully lost in someone, to reveal the overwhelming hailstorm brewing inside me.

But I couldn’t let it happen. I could never become my dad.

Not when all he had to do was raise his hand to make my mother cower in the corner. I’d made myself a promise that the moment a woman looked at me with similar panic in her eyes, I’d be done for. As a man. As a decent human being, for fuck’s sake.

Instead, I chose not to know any girls, not to see them, really—unless they were the blurred body lying beneath me for a couple of hours. That way, I couldn’t give myself to them, not all of me. Not the terrible, disgusting, callous parts.

There wasn’t a woman alive who would understand the delicate line I towed during sex. I had constructed a whole regimen of rules and logic inside my own head. No tongue and no rough hands. And certainly never any spanking or hair pulling.

My fingers slid to the brunette’s waist as my eyes met my own reflection in the mirror, temporarily thwarting me. They were red-rimmed and tired-looking. Empty, even.

Except for what was hidden beneath.

Hunger. Longing. Fear.

A sharp knock startled me. The girl’s eyes narrowed in frustration.

“Wait your damn turn,” I growled into her shoulder, hoping whoever was outside the door would get the hint that it was occupied.

Another insistent rap of knuckles. “I’ve gotta pee and this is the only bathroom in this joint.”

The voice on the other side of the wall was heated, throaty, and a little too familiar. “Is there even anyone in here?”

The door burst open and Jessie stood blinking at us. I let go of the girl as if she were on fire—though I wasn’t sure why I’d done that.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her pouty red lips or her sleeve of colorful tattoos. What was she doing here? Jessie was never at the bar with the Raw Ink crew on Thursdays—she had her night class at the university.

Jessie’s eyes widened as her heel caught on the doorjamb, and she stumbled forward, almost toppling to the filthy floor. I lunged forward, grasped at her arms, and pulled her toward me, cushioning her fall.

Her head landed on my shoulder and my lips were practically nuzzled against the nape of her neck. It was the closest I’d ever gotten so I inhaled her intoxicating fragrance.

She pulled back and our eyes met—her sultry mix of browns and greens seemed perplexed. Her hair was a shiny mocha color with blue streaks and her inked skin was smooth and warm beneath my fingers.

As she straightened, her eyes darted between me and the girl and her mouth curved downward.

“Really, Nate, in a bathroom?” she said, jutting her hands to her petite hips. “Way to keep it classy.”

A line of heat climbed up my neck. She rarely called me Nate. Her nickname for me had always been Square, so hearing my name fall from her lips throttled me. I liked the sound of it—if it hadn’t been cloaked in disdain.

The brunette had already stormed into the hallway, irritation transforming her features. She tried to signal for me to follow, but my interest had already waned.

For some reason Jessie’s words rooted me in place, while my brain searched for a decent explanation.

“It’s not . . . I wasn’t going to . . .” The syllables rushed from my mouth, as if spoken by another person. A real lame-ass person.