The Maybe Series Page 2

  “I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I say.

  He smiles and moves up to the bar to order whatever he’s going to order us. I anticipate not liking whatever it is he brings back, but when he moves back from the bar with two reddish drinks in martini glasses in his hands, I relax. He hands one to me, and I take a sip of the smooth, sweet fruity drink.

  Now, it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows as I watch him sip on his own drink. “This is what you were drinking?”

  “No, I just wanted to get something that you would like.”

  I smile, liking this man more. He’s at least considerate.

  “Thanks.” I sip on the drink again.

  “Adam, move over, man,” Brent says.

  I watch as Adam gets up and stands behind Scarlett.

  Brent takes my hand to help me maneuver onto the stool in my high heels. If he hasn’t yet figured out that I’m a model and I was practically born walking in high heels, I would be surprised. But I let him hold my hand anyway as I take a seat. His hand feels soft and a little too warm as I take a seat on the stool.

  “Thanks,” I mutter as I glance at Scarlett to my right.

  She winks at me as she mouths, Hottie.

  Both men are standing right behind us and can see what she mouthed. I blush a bright shade of pink. I twirl my hair around my face to try to hide my embarrassment.

  I take another sip of my drink and then another because the liquid tastes good and because I don’t know what else to say or do. Before I know it, I’ve finished my drink.

  “Another?” Brent asks, smiling.

  I nod, happy to have found one of the nicest men in the bar.

  Brent’s arm goes around my shoulders as he leans over me at the bar to order another drink. I shiver at his unexpected touch even though it shouldn’t have been unexpected. He’s into me, or he wouldn’t have offered to buy me a drink. I just don’t know how to do this flirting thing.

  He places another drink in front of me, and I immediately begin drinking it.

  “What modeling jobs have you done?”

  His eyebrows rise before his lips form into a grin. “How did you know I was a model?”

  “Just a guess. If not, you should be. You have the look.”

  His smile gets brighter. “I’ve done some work for Calvin Klein mostly.”

  I nod. I can see that. I’ll have to look up his ads later. It means I was right about the tight abs below his shirt. I glance down lower to see a bulge pressing against his jeans. I gulp. Yep, he probably makes an excellent Calvin Klein underwear model.

  I look back up to his eyes that are looking at my boobs with lust. I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear, bringing his eyes back up to my face.

  “What about you? You’re a model, too, right?”

  I smile politely and nod. “Mostly, I’ve done work for Seventeen magazine.”

  His eyes travel over my body, landing on my smooth stomach showing beneath my crop top. My stomach is smooth purely from good genetics. I don’t eat healthy enough or work out enough to get it any other way.

  “Come on, we’re dancing,” Scarlett says.

  She grabs my hand to pull me with her and Adam. I don’t ask Brent to follow, but he does, like it is a given that he’ll be the one dancing with me. I stumble once, but Scarlett’s hand keeps me on my feet.

  “You okay?” she asks with a knowing look.

  “Yes,” I say.

  The alcohol must be affecting me quicker than I thought it would. It’s not like me to trip.

  When we first get to the crowded dance floor, Scarlett dances with me for all of five seconds before pushing me into Brent as she turns to Adam.

  “Have fun!” she shouts.

  I turn to Brent and easily dance with him to the music, although our moves are tame compared with Scarlett and Adam next to us.

  The next song plays, and Brent moves closer to me. His hands find my hips and then quickly move to my ass. I awkwardly smile up at him. I’m not used to having a strange man’s hands all over me—not unless it’s for a modeling job, and even then, the shoots I have done with male models have been tame.

  “You’re a good dancer,” Brent whispers into my ear when the song stops.

  “Thanks,” I say. I cringe. I’m real original. Why can’t I come up with something to say to this man?

  “Shots?” a waitress says, bringing around a tray of test tubes filled with some sort of blue liquid.

  Brent hands her some money and pulls two off before handing one to me.

  “To tonight,” he says.

  He clinks his test tube with mine before downing it. I do the same, not wanting to be rude. The liquid burns as it slinks down my throat.

  What the hell was that?

  Brent takes my empty glass and hands it to the waitress. “Two more.”

  My eyes grow wide, and I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do another.”

  “Ah, come on, Kinsley. It’s fun.”

  I disagree, but I take the test tube in my hand. I clink it with his before downing it. It burns just as bad the second time as it did the first. My eyes close, and I shake my head at the sensation. I hand the test tube back to the waitress before I go back to dancing with Brent.

  This time, when we dance, his hands have no boundaries as they travel over my body. Our dancing gets sloppier as the alcohol spreads through our bodies.

  A slow song starts. I watch as others leave the dance floor to take seats at the few empty tables around the dance floor. I think it’s a good idea to take a break, too. I turn to move away from Brent, but he pulls me back.

  “I want to kiss you,” he says a second before he plants his lips on mine.

  His kiss isn’t soft or slow, like I would expect a first kiss to be. This kiss is urgent, warm, and wet. His tongue slips easily into my mouth as he tries to press me for more. I kiss him back, just with a little less passion than he is displaying.

  The kiss is nice, but I don’t even know this man. I’ve never kissed a man I didn’t know before. I’ve hardly even kissed men before. And the few kisses I have had were nothing like this.

  “Want to get out of here?” he asks when he releases my lips from his.

  “Yes,” I reply automatically. I want to get out of this disgusting, noisy place. I want to go home. I want—

  “Whoa,” Brent says as I take a step and trip over nothing. He catches me before I fall face-first onto the floor.

  I grab my head that’s pounding from the loud music.

  “I’ve got you,” he says, smiling. His blue eyes seem to twinkle at me as the disco lights bounce off them.

  I smile. He looks good. I glance down his body again. His shirt fits tightly, giving me a peek at the hard body that lies underneath.

  I want to see him naked, I think.

  “I want to see you naked, too,” he says, winking at me.

  Shit, did I just say that out loud? I have no idea, but I keep smiling brightly as Brent leads me out of the club and into the warm night air.

  I’m forgetting something. The thought keeps playing over and over in my head. But I shake it away. There is nothing I need to remember. Right now, all I care about is getting out of here.

  “My apartment is two blocks from here. Are you okay with walking?” he asks, staring down at my shoes.

  I smile. I’ve walked plenty of runways in shoes twice as high. I can handle two blocks.

  I wanted to go home though, not go to his place. I open my mouth to protest when his lips find mine again, silencing any thoughts of wanting to go home. His hungry mouth begs me to come home with him. His tongue teases my mouth with promises of pleasure that await the rest of my body once I get to his apartment.

  I haven’t been with a guy in years—three years, to be exact. I haven’t had the pleasure of a guy bringing me to come while thrusting inside me since my high school boyfriend dumped me during my freshman year of college. It’s not that I haven’t had opportunities, but they have been few and far
between. I’m not supposed to date. I’m not supposed to fall in love.

  But this isn’t a date. And it sure as hell isn’t love.

  It’s lust.

  His hand brushes my long hair back as his lips move from my lips to my neck. He skims warm kisses over my soft flesh, sending warm chills over my body. I feel my desire for him growing in my belly. I want him—now. Maybe going home with him isn’t such a bad idea after all.

  I reach for my phone in my purse, but I come up empty. It’s gone. I can’t ask what I should do. I’m on my own to decide.

  I moan against his lips.

  “Let’s go,” he says, making the decision for me.

  He grabs my hand, and we begin walking the two blocks that should take less than five minutes to walk.

  Between me stumbling in my heels and Brent stopping to kiss me against the wall of a building, it takes more like twenty minutes to reach his building. I stand, staring up at the ten-story building that seems to be swaying slightly even though a gentle breeze isn’t blowing. Not that wind would be able to move a building. Would it?

  I close my eyes hard before opening them again. The building seems to have stopped swaying in the few seconds my eyes were closed.

  I grin widely at Brent as he takes my hand back in his, and he guides me up the three stairs into his apartment building. The building is old, at least fifty years old.

  I glance up and see a sign for the elevator that reads, Out of Service. My mouth hangs open.

  Oh, please let him live on the first floor.

  “Just up one flight of stairs,” Brent says, grinning.

  I nod, and we slowly make our way up the stairs. Brent’s hand never leaves mine. It’s nice to have a man’s hand holding mine, keeping me safe.

  We barely make it into his apartment before his lips crush against mine again. His shirt along with his shoes are off in seconds. I try my best to keep up as I flick off my own shoes, but I can’t balance on one foot. I fall, but I am surprised when something soft breaks my fall—a couch. I’ve fallen over the side of the couch. I quickly remove my shoes before I feel Brent move on top of me, pressing me further into the couch.

  As he kisses me, I keep my eyes, trying to take in my surroundings, but it’s dark, too dark to see anything. When his lips find the spot sensitive spot on my neck, I let all thoughts go as I moan with pleasure.

  “You”—he kisses my chest—“are”—his kisses trail lower to my breasts—“the”—his mouth grabs at the fabric, pulling it down and exposing my bare breasts, and he sucks in a breath at the sight—“most beautiful woman.”

  I innocently bite my lip as I stare up at him, waiting to see what he will do. I don’t know how to respond to his nice words, so I don’t. I let my hard nipples do the talking for me. I want him.

  His eyes never leave mine as his mouth descends slowly until it is just an inch from my throbbing nipple. He’s asking permission, I finally realize, as he hovers over me but doesn’t touch. I arch my back just slightly, so my nipple presses against his lips. I close my eyes as his lips softly kiss my nipple before his tongue tastes and flicks over the hard peak.

  I moan softly. I feel the desire for more forming in my belly. Right now, I will let this man do anything to my body. I want more. I need more. I want to feel good and forget about everything else.

  His lips move to my other breast as his body shifts on top of me. His erection presses harder into my stomach. When I feel it, instead of the pleasure I expected, I feel pain. I feel liquid forming in my stomach, needing to come out. I feel it rising quickly in my chest.

  “Sick,” I say as I push at Brent’s chest to get him off of me.

  He quickly moves with a shocked expression on his face. I run from the room as the liquid threatens at my throat.

  I run down the dark hallway, but Brent hasn’t offered directions of where a bathroom might be. I open the first door. I fumble at the wall, trying to find a light switch. When I find it, lights brighten the room, but it’s not a bathroom. It’s a guy’s messy bedroom.

  God, please let Brent have a messy roommate. I’m not sure I could have sex with someone who lives so messily.

  I quickly close the door and try the next one. I hit the light switch on the first try this time and am pleased to see that it’s a bathroom—the most disgusting bathroom I think I’ve ever seen. Dirty towels and clothes line the floor. There is an array of toiletries covering the counter. The toilet seat is already up, exposing a pee-stained toilet, but I don’t have time to find a different bathroom. I run to the toilet just as the contents of my stomach make their way back up.

  I vomit again and again until I’m sure every drop of alcohol has come back up.

  “I’m never drinking again,” I mumble to myself as I collapse back against the wall while my stomach tries to settle itself.

  I sit on the floor for several seconds, unable to move. I hear a door creak, and I expect to see Brent running in to check on me, but he never comes. Throwing up in a guy’s apartment isn’t like the movies. No one held my hair back and cleaned me up when I was done. I’m on my own.

  I walk slowly back to the living room to see if Brent will call me a cab. When I walk in, I see him passed out on the couch. I look back down the hallway, hoping to see his roommate who caused the door to creak. But I don’t see anyone, and I’m not going to go searching for him. I find my clutch lying on the floor, next to the couch. I open it, but my phone isn’t in there. Scarlett kept it.

  I could wake up Brent, but I choose not to. Instead, I curl up on the love seat and go to sleep. It’s the only thing my body can manage after a night like this. I don’t think about Brent. I don’t think about how Scarlett got me into this mess. I don’t think about how I’m supposed to call my father. I just sleep.

  “Hey, you need to wake up,” a man says as he tries to shake me awake.

  I stir slowly, sure that it is a dream since I don’t recognize the voice.

  “Wake up,” the same voice says again.

  I open my eyes and find the prettiest shade of blue twinkling back at me. I smile. I can’t help it. Whoever this person is can’t be bad. I try to sit up, but I am immediately attacked with symptoms—headache, nausea, and dizziness. I close my eyes and lie back down. I try to remember what happened.

  Alcohol, lots of alcohol—that’s what happened.

  I open my eyes and sit up more slowly this time. Brent is no longer standing over me. He has moved to the kitchen and is pouring a glass of water. My mouth begins watering at the sight. I watch as he drinks down the glass instead of offering me a drink.

  I sigh. What did I expect from a man who passed out rather than making sure I was still alive and breathing after I’d run to his bathroom?

  “I figured you would be gone by now,” he says.

  I smile weakly. I know that’s just talk for, Please leave now.

  “I need to borrow your phone to call a cab. I…” I don’t want to explain that Scarlett took my phone. “I lost mine,” I say instead.

  He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and tosses me his phone. I call for a cab, and it will be here in five minutes. I stand from the couch and feel the cricks in my neck and back from sleeping on the small love seat. I should book a massage for later. I grab my shoes, not bothering to put them on, and hand Brent his phone before walking myself to the door. I pause at the door, waiting for him to open it for me, to ask for my number…anything.

  He doesn’t. Instead, his focus is now on his phone.

  I open his door and pause again, waiting for him to say anything.

  Nothing.

  “I guess I’ll see you around sometime.”

  “Yeah, see you around,” he says without glancing up from his phone.

  I sigh as I walk out of his apartment. I thought the guy had potential. I thought he was a nice guy who could at least give me one good night of passion. I wasn’t expecting love. I wasn’t expecting even much more than one night, but I thought we could at least have o
ne enjoyable night together. I was wrong.

  I tried Scarlett’s little experiment. I did what normal college kids did. I got drunk and attempted to have a one-night stand. It sucked. I’d liked my life before—when I did whatever my family had asked of me. That was more enjoyable than this.

  “Where the hell have you been?” I hear as soon as I walk into my apartment.

  I smile. “Good morning.”

  “Don’t good morning me. I have been worried sick and trying to fend off your family all fucking night. Where the hell where you?” Scarlett says.

  I ignore her and walk to my closet to put my shoes back in their correct place. I slip off the crop top and pull on a comfy T-shirt instead. Scarlett storms in before I’ve even finished changing.

  “Well?” she asks again. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and her foot is tapping slowly on the hard floor as she waits for my answer.

  “I was with Brent.”

  “You were with, who?”

  “Brent.”

  “I heard you the first time. You couldn’t have been with a guy!”

  I laugh. “Too late.” Although I think you have to get further than second base to actually say I was with a guy.

  “Kinsley Elizabeth Felton! You were supposed to get drunk, flirt with some guys, and then come back here with me to sleep it off—not go home with a complete stranger without telling me.”

  “Calm down, Scar,” I say, brushing past her and heading to my kitchen to get a glass of water.

  “Don’t Scar me. You…you can’t just…”

  I laugh, seeing Scarlett so flabbergasted. She didn’t think little ole me had it in me to have a one-night stand. Well, I did—sort of.

  I sigh. “Calm down, Scar. Nothing happened.”

  “What do you mean, nothing happened? You went home with him!”

  “Yeah, well…something almost happened, but then I threw up, and he passed out on the couch while I was in the bathroom.”

  Scarlett’s body visibly relaxes at my words, but it doesn’t stop her questions. “Why did you go home with him though?”

  “I don’t know.” I fill my glass with filtered water. “I was drunk.”