mirror, I feel like I’m beginning to recognize the woman looking back at me for the first time in forever.
A knock on the door beckons me a second later, and I make my way to my next-door suitor who presents himself in jeans, a gray Ramones t-shirt, messy hair, and no glasses. He was dressed like this last night, only it was dark then, and I never really got to fully appreciate how amazing he looks like this.
He’s all boy next door—literally—and one look at him sends a rush of blood to my head.
I’m dizzy with lust.
With his hands in his pockets, his eyes light when he sees me, and he bites his lip for a fraction of a second.
“Ready?” he asks, slipping his hand into mine with effortless ease, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him, and then he pulls me against him.
“Ready.” I nod, and his lips graze mine before stealing a lingering kiss that leaves me weightless.
Breathing him in, I’m relieved when his earthy, mossy cologne is unfamiliar.
He doesn’t smell like Hunter this time.
The place is called Sound Underground and Jude says it’s secret, a word of mouth kind of place hidden behind a secret door in some restaurant in Chelsea. He knocks five times on a jade green-painted door that says “private” before a woman whose gray eyes match her hair greets us.
“Karma,” he says, and she ushers us through.
Jude takes me by the hand, leading me through crowded tables before we get to one in the front row with a “reserved” marker on it.
“This is us,” he says, grabbing my chair for me. I take a seat and he glances toward the busy bar. “What are you drinking tonight?”
“Um, surprise me?” I’m too distracted to concentrate on what I want to drink. The posters on the wall, the patrons shoulder to shoulder coming from every walk of life. Some with tattoos and piercings, some in business suits, some with rainbow-colored hair and wrestling singlets.
“I thought you hated surprises.” His memory is impressive.
“Fine. Moscow Mule.” I smile. “Thanks.”
Jude returns a few minutes later, our drinks in his hands, and takes the seat beside me, scooting closer. By the time the opening act takes the stage, all the seats and reserved tables around us are filled with patrons, mostly the suit-dressed variety. I bet they’re recruiters looking for fresh talent. I can’t help but wonder if Hunter ever knew about this place. I can only hope he didn’t. And if he did, I can only hope he’s not here tonight.
The first song starts and Jude is laser-focused on the music, his fingers drumming on the table and his head bobbing ever so slightly. He’s completely in his element, drawn in and intoxicated by this entire experience.
This is passion coming to life and it’s sexy as hell.
I’m so having my way with him again tonight because as it turns out, Tierney was right. Sex doesn’t equal dating.
And besides, a little fun never hurt anyone.
Twenty-Two
Jude
* * *
I had to purchase a new suitcase, one with those fancy compartments where you can place your dress clothes without getting them wrinkled. A week’s worth of everything is carefully packed, and Love’s going to be here any minute.
It’s been a week since I took her to Sound Underground and showed her a different side of me—the realest side of me. And when we got back that night, she wasted no time telling me exactly what she wanted me to do to her.
So I gave her exactly what she wanted.
Three times. Three different ways.
In the past seven days, we’ve jogged together like one of those annoying cutesy couples a handful of times, caught a couple of movies, and binge watched an entire season of The Leftovers, occasionally pausing the show because we needed to … take care of business.
I can’t keep my hands off her.
I don’t know what it is, but I’m hooked. I’m addicted. I can’t quit her. I’ve fallen and I can’t fucking get up, nor do I want to.
I zip my bag just as Love knocks at the door.
“It’s open,” I yell.
A moment later, she steps inside, wheeling her bag behind her. “Car’s going to be here in five minutes. You ready?”
“I am.” I flash a smile. Spending a week with someone else’s crazy family isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, but a week with Love is, so it’s a tradeoff I’m willing to make.
I lock up and grab her bag, wheeling both of