Page 1 of A False Start
1
Nadia
Tommy Koss is a terrible kisser.
He’s mashing his lips into mine with zero finesse, and I wonder if a girl has ever taken the opportunity to tell him how utterly awful he is at this.
“You’re so fucking hot,” he murmurs between messy, slobbery kisses.
“So are you,” I whisper back, arms slung loosely over his shoulders, rolling my eyes and wishing I could shut this running monologue off and just enjoy myself. His tongue tastes like cheap beer, and he’s pawing at my breasts like a bear mauling a tree. The taste of alcohol in my mouth is an instant turnoff. A relentless reminder.
I had it in my head that making out with Tommy might make me feel something. It might be the cherry on top of an unusually wonderful day. Turns out, I only feel repulsed.
Maybe I’m outgrowing these antics?
His hands glide up under my tight tank top as he steps between my legs where I sit on the vanity in the men’s bathroom. It smells like urinal pucks and whatever cheap body spray Tommy is wearing. I’m not so sure the scents are very different.
He yanks one of the slim straps of my tank top down and moves his lips to my chest. My head tips back, resting against the splattered mirror, and I stare up at the ceiling. The water stains on the foam panels are so old they’ve turned a rusty brown color. Tommy’s elbow bumps the hand dryer, and a loud blowing noise fills the small room.
My lips tip up in amusement, and I stifle a laugh. If this weren’t so sad, it would be hilarious. At nineteen years old, making out with boys in the bathroom of shitty bars is supposed to be fun. Nineteen is when you’re allowed to hit the bars in British Columbia. Going out is supposed to feel like living. But legal ages have never stopped me. It used to make me feel rebellious and excited. Now I just feel numb and bored. This idea that I’m missing something and hoping I might find it near some guy’s tonsils is getting old.
Chalk it up to daddy issues, I guess.
My brother thinks I’m a wild card—reckless. Possibly even promiscuous. And I am, but what he doesn’t understand is that I’m looking for something.
I’m just not sure what yet.
Tommy is about to pull my breast out over the top of my neckline. He’s fumbling with it when the bathroom door swings open. I glance over at who walked in, but all I catch is a flash of dark eyes beneath the brim of a cap and a bearded jawline before the guy turns his back and makes use of the urinal like we’re not even here.
Talk about big dick energy.
My lips part in a mixture of shock and glee, and Tommy gives me this sweet, boyish expression before shrugging and grabbing the nape of my neck, pulling me in for more unskilled face-sucking. I should tell him to stop, but my body isn’t attuned to him. For a few moments, I keep my eyes open, but I’m not looking at Tommy. Every ounce of my awareness is on the man taking a piss. The confidence. The sheer gall.
I’m honestly impressed.
I let my lashes flutter shut and pretend I’m kissing someone else.
The sound of a zipper closing draws me away from the wet smacking noises Tommy is making. And then the deep gravel of the stranger’s voice makes me pause entirely. “Move.”
The boy with his lips on mine pulls away and looks into the eyes of the man beside him. “My dude, just use the other sink. There are two.”
The man’s features are shadowed beneath the low-slung brim of his worn cap. Dense brows and deep-set eyes top off a strong nose. But mostly, he’s too obscured beneath the brim of that for me to really make him out. Like he’s hiding in plain sight.
The white mesh covering neatly trimmed brown hair has a faded brown panel at the front and the outline of a cowboy on a bucking horse. I lean in closer, inextricably drawn to the man, trying to make out the writing just beneath it.
Someone only wears a hat into that state if it’s special to them. And I want to know more about what’s special to a man like this. One that can take up all the space in a room without even trying.
“Go!” he barks, and I startle.
Raised voices always do that to me. I freeze, fire licking up my throat. Ihatewhen anyone takes that kind of tone with me. All it does is make me combative.
Tommy just scoffs, totally oblivious to the steel in the man’s voice, behaving like a boy who has seen nothing bad in his life and has no concept of the consequences. “Whatever, man. Let’s go, Nadia,” he says, moving toward the door without a backward glance. He doesn’t stop and wait for me. He doesn’t hold the door open for me. He just assumes I’ll follow him back out into the bar where all our mutual acquaintances are waiting, where the other girls who I barely know will glare at me with envy in their eyes like Tommy is some great catch.
If they’d ever kissed him, they’d know the glares aren’t necessary.
I don’t follow. I sigh and lean back against the mirror, facing off with the mysterious stranger. The one glaring at me. I’ve always promised myself I won’t respond when a man uses that voice on me, when they try to intimidate me, and today is no exception.
You’re going to bark at me? I’ll bite you back.
