Learning to Fall (10 page)

“I really don’t think-”

“After two martinis, you won’t
have
to think. Bartender! Excuse me! Well, hell-
o
.”

I didn’t have to look up to know the bartender was hot. The sudden purr in Whitney’s voice said it all. Annoyed by her bossiness, I grabbed the drink menu and purposefully turned it back over. The last time I had a martini I ended up sleeping next to the toilet. I had no intention of repeating the experience.

“Hello, Imogen.”

The sound of my name, so huskily spoken, sent shivers tingling down my spine as my fingers tightened reflexively on the menu, crinkling the sides.

There was only one man whose voice could make my heart rate instantly accelerate.

Only one man who could make me feel hot and cold all at the same time.

Only one man who I wanted to see almost as much as I wanted to avoid.

And his name was Daniel Logan.

My head jerked up so fast I felt an unpleasant
pop
at the base of my skull, but all traces of pain were instantly forgotten when I found Daniel’s grey eyes waiting for me. The dimple in his right cheek fluttered as he smiled, and even though I knew it was absolutely ridiculous not to mention impossible, I could have sworn I heard harps playing.

This is not a cute romantic comedy
, I told myself sternly,
and you are not Rachel McAdams. There are no harps. There are no doves. Pull yourself together.

Faced with Daniel’s smoldering stare, it was easier to think than do.

“Why…How…What are you
doing
here?” Was the best I could manage.

“I bartend here part-time.” He leaned forward onto his elbows and even though the bar was packed from front to back, it suddenly felt as though we were the only two people in the entire room. “You look beautiful, Imogen,” he said quietly, his gaze never leaving mine. “Truly beautiful.”

After the way I’d ended things between us, his actions were - to say the least - unexpected. Then again, where Daniel was concerned I was quickly learning up was down and down was up. After my disappearing act most men would have probably had a few choice words to say, but not Daniel. Instead of calling me rude he said I was beautiful, leaving me at a complete loss as to what I should say to him. As the familiar tendrils of anxiety began to unfurl like a smoky mist slowly pouring out across a vacant field, I took a step back and bumped into Whitney.

She pressed her hand against the small of my back, as much to steady me as to prevent me from escaping. “No room to run this time biotch,” she hissed in my ear, her smug smile revealing she knew
exactly
who Daniel was.

“Is this your roommate?” Daniel asked, looking curiously at Whitney.

“Yes.” I took a deep breath. Introductions I could do. Introductions I could manage. It was everything else - the flirting, the handholding, the unwavering stares - that I had trouble with. “Daniel, this is my roommate Whitney. Whitney, this is…” I froze as I struggled to think of the best way to introduce him. Boyfriend was out of the question, of course, but even friend seemed a little forward. Acquaintance? Associate? Hot man I had a huge crush on? “Daniel,” I said finally when the awkward silence demanded I come up with
something
. “This is Daniel.”

Brilliant, Imogen. Positively brilliant.
   

Whitney’s gaze ping ponged back and forth between us. Recognizing all too well the calculating gleam in her eye, I gave her a hard nudge with the point of my shoe, a silent plea not to embarrass me in front of Daniel any more than I’d already embarrassed myself.

The second she braced her hands on the bar and jutted her chest out, I knew it was a wasted action.

“
The
Daniel?” she purred, batting her eyelashes. “It’s so nice to finally meet you.” She slowly raked him up and down. “You’re much…taller than I was expecting.”  

Despite her outrageous flirting, I knew Whitney wasn’t
actually
hitting on Daniel. She was simply interacting with him the way she interacted with all men: a little bit too friendly and way over the top. Biting on the inside of my cheek, I waited to see how Daniel would react. If he found Whitney more appealing than me it wouldn’t be the first time I’d been passed over in favor of my prettier, sexier best friend. Men flocked to her like bees to honey and I had yet to meet a man she couldn’t charm the pants off of (literally).

“It’s nice to meet a friend of Imogen’s.” Looking vaguely amused, Daniel extended his right hand and Whitney, after a quick double take, shook it. I could tell she was a bit put off by his reaction (or rather
lack
of a reaction) by the way her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t let it stop her. If anything, she took it as a personal challenge.

Skimming her tongue across her bottom lip, she used her best come-hither voice to say, “Tell me a little bit about yourself, Daniel.”

He snuck a quick glance at me. I shrugged helplessly, unable to help him…but definitely happy with his notable lack of interest in Whitney. If a test existed for not hitting on the girl you (maybe?) liked best friend, he definitely passed it.

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

“Oh, any little detail will do,” Whitney cooed. “Your favorite color. Your favorite sport team. Your favorite sexual position.”

“Okay,” I interrupted. “That’s enough. Daniel it was - it was nice to see you again, but we have to go.” Latching onto Whitney’s arm, I all but dragged her away from the bar. Shaking free of my grip the second we were out of earshot, she regarded me with a grin that could only be described as devilish.

“But we just got here,” she said. “And you failed to mention how frickin’ fine
your boy-toy is. I mean, God
damn
Mo. The man is hot as Hades. If he wasn’t already spoken for I would jump on that here and now. We are
not
leaving.”

“Yes we are,” I said stubbornly.

Giving me a
get real
look, Whitney rummaged inside her purse and pulled out a bright red tube of lip gloss. “I’m going to the bathroom. Then I’m going outside for a smoke. You march your little ass over to that bar” - she mimed two fingers walking - “and talk to your man candy until I get back.”     

“But - but you don’t smoke.”

She sighed. “You know, sometimes I don’t know how you and I are friends. It’s an
excuse
, Mo. Now go!” She gave me a not-so-gentle push and I stumbled forward, still woefully uncoordinated on my high heels. By the time I managed to regain my balance and turn around, Whitney was already gone.

Great.

Left with no other option - it wasn’t as if I knew anyone else here and, as terrifying as it was, the idea of striking up a conversation with Daniel
was
slightly less frightening than talking to a complete stranger - I fought my way back through the crowd of hot, sweaty bodies pulsating to the music and managed to find an empty stool at the very end of the bar. Sucking in my stomach - skinny jeans weren’t exactly practical when it came to breathing and sitting at the same time - I slid onto the high backed steel stool and snuck a quick, covert glance down the bar. Despite the people piled up three deep and the other bartenders rushing back and forth as they attempted to keep up with the high demand for alcohol, I spotted Daniel almost instantly. He stood at least half a head taller than everyone else and with his broad shoulders, scruffy jaw, and smoldering grey eyes was impossible to miss.

At least for me.

Whitney was right. Daniel
was
hot, although that was something I already knew. What I didn’t know was why he seemed so interested in me. I’d barely held myself together during our first meeting, and had completely bungled the second. I had no illusions about myself. I may have been driven, independent, and successful, but I was also insecure. Occasionally neurotic. Anxious. Not to mention completely out of his league in the looks department.

And not in a good way.

While I possessed a healthy level of self-confidence and was secure in my own body (at least most days), I was realistic. I may have been fit and reasonably blemish free, but I wasn’t the sort of girl men who looked like Daniel Logan usually gravitated towards. I wasn’t sexy. I couldn’t do a husky laugh. My hips didn’t slide sinuously from side to side when I walked.

Then again, all that being said…

Why
not
me?

If I really wanted to change - if I truly wanted to step out from beneath my mother’s shadow and be more than the girl who always minded her manners and obeyed the rules - then why
not
start with a handsome stranger who made my heart race and my palms sweat?

I’d been asking myself so many questions where Daniel was concerned, but what if they’d all been the wrong ones? After all, liking Daniel didn’t mean I had to love him. Sleeping with him didn’t mean I had to marry him. I’d become so accustomed to living a life where the means justified the end that I’d never considered trying something the other way around. In this case, maybe that was
exactly
what I needed to do because when it came down to it, Daniel was just a guy. A guy, if Whitney’s breakfast theory could be believed, who
liked
me. So what was the harm in allowing myself to like him back? 

For once in my life, I wanted to be
that
girl. The one who could banter back and forth with a hot guy at the bar without giving a lecture on the history of cigarettes. The one who could have a simple breakfast without dissolving into an anxiety-ridden mess. The one who didn’t think about tomorrow. The one who didn’t plan or schedule every last detail. The one who lived in the moment and threw caution to the wind. The one who took Daniel Logan to bed.

My lips parted on a sharp intake of air as the thought of Daniel pressing his body against mine threatened to short wire every synapse in my brain.

I’d only slept with one man before, and the decision had not been made lightly. Only after learning Justin’s likes and dislikes, the names of his parents, and his five-year-plan had I made the choice to become intimate with him. During our time together we’d had a normal, healthy sexual relationship. I’d admittedly been a bit bored from time to time, but  had chalked it up to high expectations largely based on movies I’d seen and books I’d read, all of which mentioned ‘the spark’, something I had been halfway convinced simply did not exist.

Until a handsome stranger sat down beside me at a bar.

When Daniel brushed his hand across my thigh I’d certainly felt a spark then. One hot enough to burn through my jeans and scorch the flesh beneath.

If one tiny, incidental touch had burned me, what would a kiss do?

I suddenly, desperately, absolutely wanted to find out.

My hands curled into tiny fists of nervous energy as I waited for Daniel to circle back around to my end of the bar. Despite the number of people lined up for drinks, I didn’t have to wait long. As though he could sense my unblinking stare he turned suddenly in my direction, a half-filled pitcher of beer in his hand.

Our gazes met. Held. Lingered. I didn’t say a word - over the wail of music pouring out of the speakers Daniel wouldn’t have been able to hear me even if I’d been able to force my paralyzed vocal chords to work - but I didn’t have to.

The unspoken need in my eyes said it all.

He set down the pitcher he was holding hard enough to send beer lapping up and over the edge in a frothy spill of white. Never taking his eyes off of me, he murmured something unintelligible to one of the other bartender’s before he wiped his hands on a dishrag and walked slowly, purposefully over to where I waited, breath held, heart threatening to beat right out of my chest. 

“You’re still here.” He braced his hands on the bar and leaned in close. Close enough I could see the steady throb of his pulse on the side of his neck. Close enough I could smell his scent, a heady combination of pine and sweat that brought to mind a crisp autumn day. “I thought you had to leave. Where’s your roommate?”

“She… she had to go outside. To smoke.”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “Someone very intelligent told me smoking causes cancer.”

“It does.” I bit back a smile, more pleased to be called intelligent than beautiful. I knew some women who would have preferred the latter, but I’d always valued brains over beauty and I liked that Daniel seemed to as well. Shifting my weight, I crossed my legs at the knee as I did my best to appear calm, cool, and collected. “So…you’re a bartender?” 

“That’s why I’m behind the bar.”

My cheeks heated. “Of course, what I meant was-”

“Relax, Imogen.” He touched my shoulder, warm fingertips trailing down along the edge of my arm in a gentle caress that ended at my wrist. “You’re like a little fox.”

“A fox?” I drew back slightly. What was that supposed to mean? Was it a compliment? I always overheard Whitney’s various boy-toys using pet names.
Look at you, kitten. Come sit on my lap, lamb. Give me a smooch, dove.
I’d thought they were a bit demeaning, but Whitney seemed to like them and so I had never said anything. But fox? Fox was one I hadn’t heard.