A group of coeds crowd through the door, causing me to press against him. He’s solid as granite, holds the fragrance of a fresh cut forest mixed with that intoxicating man scent that again Will denied me because he simply wasn’t a man. But Wyatt, this very real man, smells and looks seductively expensive. I’m ready to latch on for the night to see if his bed sheets hold the promise of a very high thread count. Who am I kidding? I would let him take me in the back of his car on what I’m betting are buttery leather seats.
“It was nice meeting you.” He nods as he makes a move to leave, and I block him.
“Wait, I’m really sorry. I was totally thrown off by your—” my mind grapples for anything that might not make him sound like an authority figure bent on legal drama for the night—“I was totally thrown off by your gorgeous self.” I bury my face in my hands a moment. “And my tongue has been known to make just enough left turns to get me into trouble.”
“I’m sure you’re very nice, Marley.” He compresses a smile, shutting his eyes briefly. “You seem it. It’s just that I’ve moved past the sorority girl phase in my life. I was just here to support Blake tonight. I don’t usually pick up girls in bars. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression. It was wise of you to be cautious.” A genuine sadness blooms on his face. “It was nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.” He tips his head like a perfect gentleman. “Have a great rest of the night.”
I watch as he strides out of the bar, sucking all the promise of a great rest of the night right along with him.
And there it is, the big kiss off—and such a polite one to boot. Have a great rest of the night—read, have a great rest of your life.
“Wait!” I follow him out of the bar and into the snowy night, slipping in my heels on a patch of ice while freezing in my ridiculous convertible fit and flare dress more suitable for other climates, other planets, other girls.
Wyatt dissolves in the sugar storm dusting the vicinity as he makes his way into the parking lot.
“Marley?” A familiar voice calls from behind, and I spin on my peacock blue hooker heels.
It’s William.
Wyatt
A narc? I would have laughed if my ego didn’t take a bullet. I get it. I’m not the average frat boy who haunts this place on a Saturday night. I’m a working stiff who came off a twelve-hour day, still wearing my monkey suit with a briefcase tucked in the trunk.
I slip behind the driver’s seat, start the engine with the keyless remote and sit there like an idiot inhaling my own exhaust fumes.
She was pretty, I’ll give her that. Beautiful. And sweet in a quirky, slightly psychotic, way—which, unfortunately, I seem to have a weak spot for. The way she kept beckoning me over with the curl of her finger, I thought for sure we were on our way to a very good time. The way that dress wrapped itself around her body was downright vulgar—in a good way, that is. For twenty minutes straight I dreamed of taking a bite out of one of those creamy thighs she kept flashing at me. Her smile was bright. Even when she wasn’t speaking to someone, or further more when she was accusing me of running the Bay of Pigs, her lips curved up at the tips. You can tell she’s just one of those people who smile all the time. God knows I can use a little joy in this cheerless life of mine. I try to shake her out of my mind but that smile…
A light peppering of snow dusts the windshield. For a second I picture her walking the mean streets of Hollow Brook in those sky-high heels, bright as her eyes, that dress that needs to be packed and flown to the Caribbean—preferably with me carrying the suitcase for her. A dull laugh echoes through me. In my mind’s eye we’ve already landed and settled in our room—I’ve got Marley bent over the bed with my hands inching that silky, form-fitting dress right over her thighs.
“Screw it.” I jump out of the car and head toward the bar. At the least I could have offered her my jacket. She’ll end up with pneumonia if she tries to walk to campus from here, hell, if she tries to cross the street.
A choir of angry voices rises from just around the building and I pause. The sound of a girl’s shrill voice pierces the dank silence as the snow sets in heavier. A deep bellow follows with the words “fucking slut” rumbling out clear as day.
I peer over the cypress tree blocking my view. I’m pretty sure I don’t want any piece of this angry action. I can always drive down the street and try to catch up with her that way.
A girl throws her arms in the air and gives an exasperated sigh that vibrates through the night. It’s Marley. Some idiot stands before her in an ascot and hunting boots.