Thomas & January (Sleepless 2)

The guy had about ten seconds before I lost my cool.

“I’m sorry, friend! I know your band! The Ivories! Ah, right, see this here, I know your music. You were here, were ya’ not, two years past?”

ked over at her transiently throughout the run. I found her to be one of the most beautiful women I’d ever met and that included Kelly, I was loath to admit. I couldn’t deny it anymore, not when every male within a five-mile radius could sense her coming and would have jumped in front of a bus to make way for her. Every guy we passed, I wanted to punch in the gut for glancing her way. God, I’m a mess. For her, I was a slobbering mess. I hated it and loved it all at the same time.

She was a good five feet ten inches, possibly taller. She met my chin, which was practically unheard of. She had ridiculously long dark brown hair and blue eyes the color of the Atlantic. She was lean and beautiful and apparently talented according to Jason. He said she’d given up a full scholarship to Berkeley for piano. I was beginning to become enthralled with her and I absolutely hated it. I had to fight it. Had to.

When we reached Anchor House, we both leaned against the wrought-iron railing to catch our breath. We sat for a good five minutes before we were able to acknowledge each other.

“You’re kind of a hoss,” I admitted.

“So are you, actually,” she said, wrapping the cord of her earbuds around her iPod. “Hear anything good?” she asked, gesturing to my own iPod.

“Maybe. I was partial to a couple of indies who were too good to want a label’s interference, I think. There was one,” I said, thinking, turning her way. “A band in Paris. Feel like crossing the channel?” I asked with a slight smile.

“Uh, um, of course,” she said too cheerfully, even for January.

“Okay,” I said, skeptical.

“What’s their name?” she asked, changing the subject.

“All The Pretty Girls,” I admitted.

“Lame,” she said, laughing.

“Yeah, but if all bands with terrible original names were turned down, we wouldn’t have The Beatles or even Led Zeppelin.”

“Yeah, Johnny and the Moondogs and the New Yardbirds would probably be playing pathetic hotel lounges right about now,” she said, then snorted, shocking the shit out of me.

“You - how did you...?”

“How did you?” She rolled her eyes and jogged up the steps into the Anchor House and up to her room, leaving me with my jaw flush on the concrete below.

Zap.

After dozing off a bit after my run, I woke flustered to someone pounding on my door. I turned on my back, tired as hell from the time difference, and pulled my cell out. Eight-thirty. Damn. Wait, I wasn’t supposed to meet January until nine. I dragged myself off the bed and threw the door open.

January stood at my feet, absolutely breathtaking and in one of the sexiest outfits I’d ever seen. The kicker? She was practically covered from head to toe, go figure.

“Is this okay?” she asked, frantic.

“What?” I asked, dazed from her sheer presence.

“Is this okay? For tonight? I have no idea what’s appropriate anymore. People in the city don’t dress like we do in Austin, Tom.” I got a kick out of the fact that she associated me with Austin although I’d lived in New York my entire life. “So, I figured it was the same for Dublin.” Her face bunched. “Help me?”

“This is fine,” I said, not exactly telling the truth. The truth was, she made me want to rethink wanting to be alone. If she were my girl, Temple Bar could suck it and I’d just stay here, in this room with her, memorizing her face with my fingers and mouth.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I stepped inside and she followed, shutting the door behind her.

“Why aren’t you ready?”

“Truthfully? You woke me up. If you hadn’t stopped by, I would’ve probably missed meeting you downstairs.”

“I’m sorry. Did you want to bail?” she asked. “I don’t mind going alone.”

Not if you paid me a million dollars, I thought, sinking another nail into my coffin.