Page 23 of Saving Ren
“Glad you like it.” He leans in and says against my ear, “Would you like another drink?”
My senses are invaded by the clean, citrusy smell of his aftershave combined with the unique musky smell that is all him.
He moves his head back, but he’s still all up in my space as he looks down at me. We stare. It’s a moment. If I press up on my toes, I could kiss him, but I don’t. I won’t.
“What is it exactly you think is happening here?” I ask, gesturing between us with a wave of my hand.
“I have no fucking idea. What would you like to happen here?” He mimics my gesture.
Making a split-second decision that I’m far too old and my life complicated enough for any more bull
shit, I go with total honesty.
“I’m right in the middle of what is likely to be a very messy separation from my husband.”
A flicker of something passes across his eyes, but it’s there and gone so quickly, I don’t have any idea what it means.
“I haven’t even moved out of our home yet, that’s not happening till tomorrow, but even then, even once I move out, it’s likely to be a very long time before I’m ready for anything. . .anykind of relationship with anyone else.”
His thick brows are pulled down tight over those amazing blue eyes of his. He licks his lips and swallows but remains silent.
“I’m nine years older than you, my life is a shit show that is about toimplodebefore itexplodes, and as much as I would love to leave here right now with you and spend the rest of the night in your bed, it’s not gonna happen. I just want you to be aware of all of that before you waste your time with me and miss out on the chance of taking one of your Gabettes home.”
Scratching at his stubbled jaw, he looks around the bar before letting out a long, slow breath through his nose.
“Firstly, I don’t take women back to my bed, not ever. That’s my daughter’s home, and I keep those two parts of my life very separate. Secondly, all I asked was if you’d like a drink. I have no expectations and no hidden agenda. Of course I’d like to take you home and fuck you senseless all night, but if that’s not an option, I’m equally as happy to stand here and talk. I give zero fucks about your age, it’s just a number and has fuck all to do with this.” He makes another gesture, this time with his pointer finger, between us. “This—connection, or whatever the fuck it is.”
I watch as he rubs between his pecs with his knuckles, something I’ve seen him do a few times while we’ve been talking.
“Connection? We met an hour ago, that makes no sense.”
“Nothing about tonight is making sense. I didn’t come out tonight expecting this, expecting you. I don’t usually stand in a bar making small talk with a woman. If it’s obvious they’re interested, we leave. We go back to theirs, and we fuck. When we’re done, I leave, and that’s the end of our connection. I don’tevercatch sight of a flash of red hair, and a smile from across a bar and have an overwhelming urge to get to know who all of that belongs to. That’s not me, that’s not who I am.”
I fold my arms across my chest, unsure as to whether I should feel flattered or offended at his words.
“But I’m going with my gut right now,” he continues. “And when all of that happened, when I caught sight of you earlier, something shifted inside me, and I didn’t want to doanyof the things I usually do. All I knew was that I had to know you, and that’s not changed. Now that I’ve spoken to you, it’s not likely to change. So it looks like tonight is all about doing the things wedon’tusually do, and for once in my life, I’m paying attention to the way all ofmeis reacting to all ofyou. And, not meaning to sound crass or course, instead of thinking with my dick, I’m going with my gut, and my gut is telling me something’s happening here. So, would you like another drink, yes or fucking no?”
“Vodka, lime, soda,” I tell him quietly, trying not to sway as my world tilts a little further on its axis.
“Don’t fucking move, I’ll be right back.” He kisses my cheek and leaves.
Struck speechless, I can do nothing but admire the view. The band’s cover of ‘Sweet Dreams are Made of These’, plays as I watch him move towards the bar, and I couldn’t agree with those sentiments more.
“Whatchya doing?” Jemma says from beside me, and I’m so lost in my thoughts, I almost hit the ceiling in fright.
“Shit,” I hiss out with my hand pressed against my chest. “I’ve no clue, Jem, no fucking clue. I should go. He’s nine years younger than me, I’ve known him five minutes, I’m married, about to be separated. . .”
“Stop! You need to stop with this nonsense right now.” Jem leans forward and gets all up in my face as I jerk my head back away from her.
“Stop with the overthinking. Let him hit on you, let him buy you drinks and give it all the chat. Then, at the end of the night, you go home. You go to bed remembering all the flattering bullshit that he’ll doubtless come up with. You remember that this God-like man-child spent the night trying to get into your knickers. You go to sleep dreaming about all the different ways that could’ve played out while that bastard of a husband of yours snores next to you. Then, when you wake up, you’ll pack your bags and get the fuck out of there and don’t look back. No harm done, just a big fat fuck you to the man who’s done nothing but shit all over the twenty-seven-years of your life that you’ve given him.”
I let out the breath I held on to the whole time she was talking, and my head spins.
“You’re my sensible friend. You’re supposed to talk me out of shit like this, not encourage me.”
“Exactly, Iamyour sensible friend, so trust me when I say you’re doingnothingwrong.”
She lets out a long slow breath as she looks at me, and it’s the look I’ve been dreading getting from anyone.
