It’s not until I think about what I’d do if I did go home that I make my decision. I’ve cried enough already today. I’m not going home to hug my pillow and feel that loneliness again. A little touch-up of powder and gloss is all I need. My cheeks are a bit flushed, but hey, how could they not be after sitting next to that man?
Mistake number three: going back to the bar.
The third time is the charm, isn’t it?
“You came back,” Mr. Hot Stuff comments and it forces a blush to heat my cheeks.
Sliding back onto the barstool and getting myself situated, I let out a huff of protest. “I said I would.”
“Brody,” he says and the one word finally hits me. Brody. The sex god has a name.
“I’ve never met a Brody before,” I say absently. I thought maybe, while I was in the bathroom, that he wasn’t as good looking as I imagined him to be. Beer goggles had taken effect or something. But looking at him from his profile to his broad shoulders, no one could ever deny Brody is a good-looking man.
“Nice to meet you, Rose.” The moment he says my fake name, a basket hits the bar, stealing my attention. It’s hot and filled with slices of fried pickles. My mouth waters instantaneously. My favorite. Some people have a sweet tooth; I’ve got a salt tooth.
“And a water,” the bartender says, placing a tall, clear glass in front of me.
“Oh, I didn’t order this,” I say to correct him, although I will definitely be ordering fried pickles the moment he takes them away.
“I think you might need them,” Brody tells me, leaning in close. I get another whiff of him, but it’s too short lived as he pulls away. “You’ve got to share the pickles, though. They’re my favorite.”
“Mine too,” I say, pushing the basket so it’s between the both of us instead of in front of my lonesome seat. “Whenever they’re on a menu, I always get them.”
I pop the first one into my mouth and bite down, but immediately my mouth makes an O and I breathe out. “They’re hot,” I comment around the pickle and cover my mouth with both hands. The steam blows against them.
I feel like such a mess and foolish.
Brody’s chuckle eases me, though. I could get used to a laugh like that and the way it lights me up is like something I haven’t felt before.
Maybe it’s just because I haven’t flirted in so long. That has to be why I feel all these butterflies.
I can’t even remember the last time I had fun like this.
We stay until “Closing Time” plays on the speakers and they turn the lights on full blast in the bar, ushering us out. By that point, everything is a blur. It all happens so fast but it’s seemingly so right.
It turns out Brody’s a gentleman, waiting with me for my Uber to come. It’s colder than it was when I came down here and he gives me his jacket. As he’s doing it, I get up on my tiptoes and steal a kiss. Surprise lights inside of me that I did it. Then other feelings spread through me.
My kiss may have been short and sweet but the one Brody gives me in return, with his hand on my chin and his scent and warmth wrapping around me, is anything but short. It’s also far more sinful than sweet.
Renee was right about the kiss. Some men do kiss in a way that’s different. Searing. I don’t need to kiss another man in my life to know that this one isn’t like any of the rest.
I knew I shouldn’t have gone home with him but I did anyway, having the Uber take us to his friend’s place instead of mine.
I didn’t pay attention to where we were going and where he was taking me. I was too busy with my lips pressed to his while my eyes were closed.
I was still at his friend’s place, contemplating sneaking out and accepting the walk of shame with my head held high when my phone rang far too early the next morning. I could still feel him and the dull ache of a good night when I answered the call with a whisper in his bathroom.
Everything changed in that moment.
I snuck out after crying silently on the floor of his bathroom, not letting him see what a wreck I was after the call.
The one-night stand I had was my first and last.
Because that morning, my life changed forever ... in more than one way.
Magnolia
Present day in Beaufort, South Carolina
Bridget’s curls bounce like they have a mind of their own. I don’t know where she gets the light brunette color from, but those curls are all mine.
She doesn’t even look back to say goodbye to me; all I can see is a head of golden curls as she races to sit down in the circle on the bright blue rug. I think taking her to the library for weekly readings was exactly what she needed to transition to daycare. She knows all the little songs by heart and plops down next to Sandra’s little ones like she belongs right there. Autumn told me it would help the shift in her routine and she was so right.