Page 8 of Trapped
“Don’t call me that.” He’d given me the nickname Slick when I used a cheesy pickup line at the bar.
I remembered that moment as if it were yesterday. I’d walked up, plopped down on the bar stool next to the man who redefined sex on a stick, and asked, “Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”
“What was that?” he’d asked, looking so confused it was comical.
I repeated the question, enunciating every syllable of the line I’d heard a thousand times over the years.
“No, Slick, but it hurt when I clawed my way out of hell.”
In hindsight, that should’ve been a warning. Instead, I took it as a challenge.
A year later I regretted that choice almost as much as I regretted dating Finn.
“You didn’t correct me.” I put my hands on my hips and glared.
“It was easier not to.”
“Right, so what do you really do? Why were you in Vegas?”
He had to tilt his head down to stare at me because of his stupid, chiseled, tall body. The frown on his face tugged at his scar.
His expression was enough for me to know he didn’t want to tell me. Which was fucking stupid because he worked for my best friend’s husband. I’d find out, eventually.
“You know what, Scott, I’m sorry, Nathan,” my sarcasm thicker than molasses on a wintry day, “it doesn’t matter.”
He had the audacity not to budge when I shoved past him.
Too embarrassed and too emotionally scattered, I didn’t go back to Grannie’s. Instead, I texted my apologies to Emily and Mary from my car, like a coward.
Chapter 4
Nathan
Ashley relaxing was beautiful. Ashley, unleashing a year’s worth of pain and frustration, was magnificent. For the second time since walking into Grannie’s, all I could do was stare.
The nasty scar was a new addition since I’d last seen her, so I turned to hide the left side of my face as she marched towards me.
The cute T-shirt with a cartoon cat drinking a beer was in stark contrast to the anger rolling off her.
As part of my undercover playboy persona in Vegas, I hung out at the bar and occasionally, I’d pick up women. That’s all Ashley was supposed to be—a hookup.
But she crashed into the seat next to me and ended up being so much more than I’d bargained for. Ashley’s sassy, no fucks given confidence was a breath of fresh air.
The memory was as clear as if it’d been yesterday.
She walked up to the bar and plopped down on the stool beside me.
“Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”
Her cheesy pickup line turned out to be the perfect icebreaker, reeling me in with her infectious laugh.
I bought her drinks for the rest of the night, and a basket of chili cheese fries when she got hungry. We talked until the date on my watch flipped over.
When she asked, I eagerly followed to her room. We both expected a night of passionate sex, but we ended up talking. Talking, and making out like teenagers.
Unwilling to risk blowing my cover or putting her in harm’s way, I left without exchanging information. My sexless one-night stand was over, and it was time to move on.
It was the best night I’d had in just about forever.
