Hold Her Close

2JonBig green eyes look up at me from where she’s kneeling, and I see bright streaks of lipstick on my cock. Shaking my head, I try to banish the image from my mind. But it’s one of the many that continues to pop into my head featuring her. The nameless woman I fucked in that club and then haven’t seen again.

It’s been over a month, and I’m still thinking about her. Maybe this was how the prince in Cinderella felt after she raced away without her glass shoe. I don’t even have a shoe. Not a single clue. All I have are the scorching hot memories that leave me hard and stroking off every chance I get.

I could have kept the panties that she left behind, but something about that struck me as a little weird, so I threw them away. There has been more than one night when I regretted that and instantly felt like a stalker.

We went to that club a few more times while I was in Atlanta, and I looked for her. But I never saw her again. Even so, I have our encounter memorized, and there have been times when I thought I might rub my dick raw trying to get even a fraction of the pleasure that I felt with her.

Even when I wasn’t inside her. Feeling her come? Sweet Jesus that was a beautiful thing.

I punch the bag harder, making it swing. It’s good to be home. Atlanta was fun—and I won the fight I had gone there for—but Nashville will always be home, and I don’t know if there will ever be somewhere else that makes me feel as comfortable. Sure, the city has its flaws, and I have more than my share of bad memories here, but that’s exactly what makes it home. My history is written in these streets, and I don’t like the way other, newer places make me feel blank like that history doesn’t matter anymore.

When I woke up with her face in my dreams again, I thought it would be a good idea to try to work the bag for a while to try to punch my way out of my own head, but it isn’t working. I’ve been going for an hour and I still have a workout with Frank later. He’s going to kick my ass if I’m too tired for it.

Besides, it’s in the past. I’m never going to see her again. And this obsession with her isn’t because of her, necessarily. I don’t even know her name, let alone anything about her. It was just an extremely hot encounter with a stranger in a nightclub, so of course that would leave an impression, an indelible impression, on my horny brain. If it had been another chick at the club that night, I’d probably be lusting after her, instead.

And I can’t ignore that she was the first person I’ve slept with since Kristy ran off with that asshole drummer. I’m sure most people who’ve been dumped by their fiancée remember the first person they slept with after that, right?

Vividly? Over and over? Every night?

Fuck.

I stop punching the bag, grabbing my towel and wiping the sweat from my face before drinking some water. Her voice enters my head, and I almost roll my eyes. Fucking hell, I’m hallucinating her voice now? I might have to go see a shrink to get this woman out of my head.

I’m sure that Frank and Ben would just suggest a trip to the strip club before jumping all the way to the psych ward. And they wouldn’t exactly be wrong.

It takes a second for me to realize that I’m not actually hallucinating her voice. No, it’s coming from the TV that I’ve got on in the corner of my home gym. It’s just there for background noise since I didn’t feel like listening to music today.

But fuck, there she is! Sitting behind a desk, perfectly put together in a dress that’s far more conservative than the one I last saw her in. Hair smooth and not tangled with sex, make-up not smudged. Her eyes meet the camera with easy grace and I think she’s talking about school board elections.

It can’t be her, right? This is just another example of my mind playing tricks on me.

But the longer I stare at the television, the more it sinks in and I know it’s true. It is her. She’s on the fucking news. Her name flashes at the bottom of the screen. Sadie Crawford. She’s not only on the news, this is local news. She’s here in town. She must live here if she’s an anchor for a Nashville station. Holy shit.

I force myself to slow down and not let my mind spin too many possibilities. She is here. A car ride away. Which means that I can see her. Or try to. What station is this? I look at the logo at the bottom.