As I watch, he lights up a cigarette and takes a drag, releasing the smoke slowly into the night. His lips are full and masculine and he’s got a cleft in his chin. He’s undeniably sexy. Normally I would stay far away from someone like him, someone sinfully sexy but so… forceful. A guy like that is trouble. That’s for sure.
But I didn’t come to the club tonight to run away.
I came here to hook up. To blow off my responsibilities and be reckless for a night. To act my age. To be someone I’m not.
I eye the guy again.
Normally I would run away from him.
But maybe… just tonight… I won’t.
I don’t have to be me tonight. I can be anyone I want to be because he’ll never see me again.
Just for tonight.
I hesitate, trying to decide what to do.
Then, almost as though my feet have a mind of their own, I take a step toward him. And then another.
* * *
Gabriel
My cigarette burns red in the dark as I take a nice long drag. I suck in the city air and the nicotine, then exhale the toxic waste. I know that smokes are bad for me, that they’re shit for my lungs, but I don’t particularly care right now.
From inside the club, I can feel the bass thumping against the wall, vibrating my spine. Inside, women are mindlessly mashing together on the dance floor in time to those drums, waiting for guys like me to take them home and fuck them.
I don’t care about that either. I had to get some fresh air, to get away from the claustrophobic club smoke and sweat before I fucking exploded.
If I were a normal person, I’d be nervous in a dark Chicago alley by myself. I’m not a normal person, though, and the shit I saw in Afghanistan rendered my ability to feel fear impotent.
But not the rest of me.
I shift my weight and adjust the boys and my semi-hard dick. I’d have to be inhuman to not be horny after watching the half-dressed drunk girls rub themselves on anyone who might buy them a drink. I should feel bad about that, but I don’t.
Before my tour overseas, I wouldn’t have been caught dead with any of them. But after being overseas for three years, my penis isn’t listening to reason anymore. It knows what I need.
I sigh and adjust the constraining crotch of my jeans again, before taking another deep breath, then another. My dick starts to calm down and my claustrophobic feelings begin to fade. Thank God. One of the many things I brought home was claustrophobia, and it’s not even the predictable kind where I’m afraid of small spaces. It’s the random kind that can strike at the strangest times, like in the middle of a crowd.
Fuck it.
I toss down the cigarette and grind it out with my heel, then pull out another, lighting it up. It’s a bad habit I brought back with me, along with a couple tattoos and the tendency to wake up in a cold sweat from crazy-ass nightmares.
“You know those will kill you, right?”
I startle to attention, my head snapping around to find the soft voice in the dark.
A woman steps closer and I can’t believe that I didn’t see her approach.
Fucking hell.
We’re the only two people in an isolated alley. How could I have missed her? My senses have seriously dulled since I’ve been back stateside. She’s a tall, willowy bombshell, the kind of woman who stands out in a crowd, let alone an abandoned street.
Blonde hair falls halfway down her back and wide eyes stare at me. Her full lips are pursed, as though she’s trying to decide if it’s safe to be out here. And it’s not, especially for a woman who looks like she does.
“Don’t you know walking alone in a dark Chicago alley is more dangerous than a cigarette?”
I gaze at her levelly as I take another drag on my smoke.
She doesn’t look afraid at all as she shrugs.
“Either of those things has to be better than being crushed to death in there.”
She gestures toward the closed club door in disdain. I examine her again. She’s wearing the right clothes to be here… tight pink leather pants, a cream-colored halter top, equally tight, and a pair of extremely high glittery heels. As I examine her, I notice that she’s not wearing a bra under her light-colored shirt. Somehow that looks out of place on her, as though she doesn’t fit the slutty clothes.
The problem is, the slutty clothes definitely fit her, in all the right places. My dick lurches back to life as my gaze skims over her curved hips and tight ass.
“In that case, want one?” I offer her the pack.
She looks surprised, then chuckles, shaking her head.
“No, thanks. I’m already in the alley alone. I think that’s enough of a risk tonight.”
I grin back as I tuck the smokes into my pocket. “But you’re not alone now. I’m here.”
She eyes me and I can see now that her eyes are blue.
“Somehow,” she says thoughtfully, “I doubt I’m any safer.”
I smile. “Somehow, I think you’re right.”
The funny thing is, she doesn’t look worried. In fact, she steps closer and leans against the filthy brick wall beside me. Even under the yellowed dingy streetlight, she looks flawless.
“You’re going to get dirty,” I point out. She looks up at me innocently, her blue eyes wide.
“I like getting dirty sometimes.”
And then she grins a wicked grin.
I feel like I’ve been sucker-punched as all the air whooshes out of my body. A suggestive grin like that on this runway model is too much for my logical thought processes to overcome. My good sense has apparently been hijacked by my hormones.
Tossing the smoke down on the sidewalk, I grind the heel of my boot into it. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, but I don’t much care at this point. I’m horny and she’s gorgeous. That’s a perfect arrangement if I ever saw one. The air between us practically crackles with sexual attraction.
I look down at her and as I do, I let myself lean into her. She’s soft and she smells even softer.
“I’m Gabriel.”