THE CON (Manhattan Nights #8)

Chapter 1-2

I shake my head. "No... I'm good, Lach. In fact, I'm going to piss out half my body-weight in alcohol."

He shrugs, pouring some of the tequila into his glass.

"Good idea. Just don't wind up in an over-the-toilet romp with Sophie if you can help it, okay?"

I roll my eyes. "Right. Because I'm the type who'd do that."

"I'll do my best not to be one to judge you," he says, raising his glass.

I clink it with his.

"To trouble."

"To trouble," I reply, then raise my glass in the air once more. With this air toast, I finish off the tequila, too.

Lachlan chuckles, walking away. And within half an hour, I know I'd made a colossal mistake.

I'm going to regret this in the morning.

The alcohol hits me like a freight train, and before I know it, I'm drunk as a skunk.

I stumble up from the sofa and start to weave my way through the crowded crowd, but all I can see is a blur of faces, laughing and smiling as if nothing in their lives is wrong. The jaded divorced part of me thinks it's a pity that people have to pretend everything is alright.

But I can't stop myself from doing just that.

Pretending.

I can still taste the tang of tequila on my tongue as I head to the restroom, where I splash some water on my face and dab myself with a damp paper towel.

I stare at the mirror for a moment, over my cinnamon skin, dark brown eyes, the short dark curls of my hair—the small signs and paler hue that should have warned me that I was different from other family members all my life.

According to my mom, I'm half-Black, a quarter-Irish...and a quarter something else I can't remember.

But I can never forget the person who's responsible for the most mysterious chunk of that heritage: A man I've never met. A man who turned out to be my father who I can't begin to understand.

I frown at the reflection of my face, then dip the towel into the sink, wringing it out and glaring at it for a moment, wondering if everything's about to change for me now.

I'm twenty-seven years old. A bastard, in a sense.

A man with a deadbeat dad who never looked back to see if his son was okay.

I scoff, throwing the paper towel into the trash bin.

At least I made it through the night without making a fool of myself. I deserve another shot of tequila for that alone.

Ready to piss and leave, I grumble and let a stream of urine loose, the relief a welcome sensation as I place a hand on the wall with a moan.

The sound is followed by another one. A small gasp.

I freeze, c**k and brain both lulled by alcohol, as I take in the sight of a familiar silhouette at the now open doorway just several feet away.

Sophie.

She's staring at me, a hand to her mouth, eyes wide with shock and curiosity.

I fumble, forgetting how to operate my fly as I try to pull it up, holding my prick in place. "Gahdammit."

"Whoa. I didn't mean to do that. I-it's--I shouldn't have. I guess...I was a little drunk. And the door was unlocked. Sorry."

I clear my throat, at last, pulling up my pants and zipping everything up. "Jesus. So much for keeping my distance."

"Excuse me?"

"Huh?" I look at her. "I mean, I'm sorry. I'm-I'm rambling."

She shakes her head, gazing at the floor. "No, it's okay. I'd been looking for the toilet for a while, and couldn't find it. I shouldn't have surprised you." Her eyes rise back to mine. "I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

"No, wait," I say, stepping closer and seeing her eyes widen even more. "Just let me wash my hands, and the bathroom's all yours."

She lifts a brow. "Do you want me to leave? Or should I continue standing here awkwardly, as if I just didn't cross a thousand personal boundaries just now?"

Taking a step towards the sink, I make quick work of washing my hands. I dry my hands, throwing a second paper towel in the trash. I try to put on a smile, but I'm sure it comes out as more of a grimace. My face flushes, too.

"I think it's a little too late for me to act shy now. You just saw me pee, Sophie. You watching me do anything else after that will be a million times less risqué. You watching me wash my hands, for instance."

"Depends...on what's on your hands."

I turn around, facing her. I like the way she looks at me in the dark of the tiled bathroom, her eyes shining, a small smile on her lips.

Her hair is up in a bun, but there are still tendrils falling around her face and down to frame the curve of her neck. She's not wearing much make-up, which makes her look younger than usual, with the exception of that red lipstick she always wears. I can't help but imagine the way it would feel on my own lips. The way it'd taste on mine.

"As you can see, they're clean." I hold up my hands, showing her my clean palms.

She gives me a curious look. “God, I hope so…Kidding. I can clearly see that." She looks down at my crotch, then back up at me. Her eyes linger on my lips again before she looks away. "I feel like I owe you for--for..."

"The peep show?"

"The unintentional peep show. If it's any consolation, I haven't seen a man pee since my dad last took me camping back when I was twelve, and one of the nearby campers decided to take an overnight leak. It's not something I make a habit of."

"I'm not sure if that makes me feel better or worse."

She laughs. "It makes you feel better. I promise."

"You're sure?"

"Oh yeah. That particular incident traumatized me for life. This, however... Let’s just say I’m pretty sure I'll be able to sleep just fine tonight."

"Well, good. That makes one of us." I smile at her, trying to get the image of her watching me pee out of my head. In my drunkenness, I try to divert the rest of my thoughts and think about something else. "Enjoying the party?"

What happens next is something I didn't expect.

Out of all the weirdest places I've had a conversation, the universe has decided that the bathroom is the right place for us to have it.

The next however many minutes are a blur--a drunken, sexy, funny blur--and I find myself agreeing with Sophie that the bathroom is a good place to talk in private when you're trying to avoid another game of Scrabble.

Somehow, some way, I find myself engaged in a proper, actual conversation with a person I'd nearly labeled a miniature anti-Christ.

The tequila is no longer pumping through my veins, but I still feel its effects in the way my nerves have gotten up and left me, leaving me feeling more relaxed than I have in a long time.

This woman in front of me is no longer just Sabrina's friend--a seductive semi-stranger I can't seem to keep my eyes off of.

She's suddenly become a person. A person I find myself fascinated by and drawn to.

Funny and quirky and gifted with the ability to leave me breathless with just a few words.

And I don't have a notion of what to do about that.

I admit it--it's really not the way I thought this night would go. I was sure I'd spend it watching from the sidelines as she had fun, flashing that smart mouth at everyone around her.

But she has eluded me all night. She's kept her distance, keeping busy with other people and activities, making sure to avoid me at every opportunity.

Now that we're alone, though...now that I'm having a real conversation with her, my plan to keep my distance is crumbling.

Apparently, I have nothing but time on my hands.

I find myself leaning against the counter, looking at her as she speaks, checking the time on her rose-colored chrome watch. "Holy hell," she says at some point, "We've been talking in here for half an hour."

"I know that's a really long pee. People are probably wondering what the hell we're doing in here."

"Once they hear our voices—a man and a woman’s, I'm pretty sure I know just what they'll be thinking."

"Damn. Or they'll really think we're into something kinky. Which we're not."

"Mmmhmm." She laughs, and I look over at her, surprised to see her looking so relaxed. Her eyes are half-lidded as she leans against the counter. "That's okay. I'll tell them the truth."

"Yes, please do. Because when we walk out of here and tell them we just talked about our feelings about peeing in front of strangers, they're going to think we're both crazy. And you'll be the cause of it."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard." She shakes her head. "It has been an interesting conversation, though."

"What can I say? I'm an interesting person. And you? You turned out not to be the she-devil I thought you'd be." I smile.

Sophie clasps her hands together. "My god, you're so sweet. Have I told you what an awfully nice guy you are?"

"Not in the last five minutes."

She laughs. "Just some things we had to get out of the way, I guess. I'm sorry. I know the few times we've met up before, I've kinda used you as a verbal punching dummy. I've...had a lot of personal stuff happening lately. I was rude. I'm sorry," she says again, earnestly. "I get like that sometimes."

"Don't be. It was fun, actually." It really was. I've enjoyed our conversation more than anything I've done tonight. "Scrabble, notwithstanding."

She nods, then leans against the sink. Her eyes fall briefly to my crotch again. "So..."

"So?"

"What do I owe you? I was serious earlier. And despite all my terrible joking, I do feel bad." Her eyes play with mine, but there's no trace of malice or sarcasm in them now. They're soft and warm, with a glimmer that is almost hopeful.

I smile, swallowing hard again. "Well...I can't say it'll be cheap, but definitely fair. I mean, everyone at this party is only in Seattle for the housewarming, so let’s think of something good to mark the occasion. Make a memory, you know?"

"Hmm..." She swallows, too. "Then I guess I owe you dinner."

"I said ‘make a memory.’ Dinner isn’t exactly a memory-maker."

Her eyes widen, then she laughs. "God, you're right. That's just as bad as the Scrabble game we had to play."

"In order for things to get memorable, I'd say you do owe me dinner. And drinks. And dancing. And whatever else you'd like." I grin, deciding to push my luck a little further.

The liquor's doing all the talking.

And Jacob Masterson—the unlucky bastard who would never, ever make a move on a woman he barely knows—has already left the room. "I heard the hotel up the street serves a great breakfast buffet tomorrow morning. You know, to kick off the business day, and all."

"I think I might have heard about that," Sophie answers smugly. “Earlier. When I overheard you telling someone that you were looking forward to a good night's sleep after this party."

"I stand by that statement. But I can also say that sleep is overrated. I'm a big fan of hot, sumptuous, decadent...breakfast food."

"Well, then. I guess you're about to get your wish.” She blinks. “I’m a big fan of hot, sumptuous breakfast food as well."

I take a step towards her. "In fact, I've really been hungering for it lately." I give her a warm smile, and she meets it with an even warmer one. Her lips are bright, shiny red in the light of the overhead bathroom fixture.

I want to taste them.

I keep walking, my voice low. "Thing is...I've been finding it hard to concentrate on anything else. Nothing but...hot, sumptuous breakfast food. I've been thinking about it all night, really."

"Is that so? Well, then..." She lifts one brow. "Maybe we can work out some kind of breakfast date deal. You cook, I eat."

I look down. "I think I'd prefer to be the one who's eating, if you don't mind."

I place my hands on her hips and she doesn't move away.

Her eyes drift down to my lips, then back up to meet mine. I take a deep breath, watching her do the same thing.

"You want to help me with that?"

She smiles, her eyes softening. "Yes," she says, barely more than a whisper. "I think I'd like that. A lot."

I press my lips together, then finally let them part, taking her in. Her eyes are the first thing I see after I open them. They're shining again.

I close the gap between us and taste her, slow and easy at first. I search her mouth, probing with my tongue. I taste the champagne on her lips, lingering for a moment before I give her a soft nip that causes her to shiver.

She tastes like little else—sweet and warm.

Like trouble.

The kind I told myself I wouldn't get in tonight.

It's the same trouble that moves my hand to her hip, where I cup her through her skirt and press her tight against me. She hisses out a breath against my mouth, then licks it off as I kiss down the neck of her throat.

I shake my head as my tongue laves her skin. I sigh. "God bless tequila. Truly. I'm pretty sure I'm going to be mortified later, when I remember the corny lines I've just come up with. You should probably make sure to take photos. And video. To document the moment."

She laughs, the sound silky and warm against my skin. "I think I can do that."

"Good. Because I might not be able to repeat it." I give her another kiss, slow and deep. She echoes my movements, her tongue warm and easy against mine. "And I don't want to forget anything."

"You mean, forget me," she says, her voice soft and low.

"I'm not sure it's possible. Don't worry, I'll think of you every time I pass a bathroom. Or any time someone's being mean to me."

“Oh, that sounds reassuring." Her hand moves to where my shirt meets my pants and she slides the fabric out of her way. "But we did call something right, didn’t we?”

“And what was that?”

She slides in closer, our lips almost touching now. “That people would be thinking we might be getting kinky in here. I think we should follow up with that, don’t you?”

She presses herself into my chest as I press against hers. It's a point of contact that feels almost searing.

She's soft.

So very soft and sweet.

Her body sinks against mine, warm and inviting.

"Oh, I think that's the best idea I've heard all night."

"Mmmm. Then what are we waiting for? No better time than now..."

"But...the party's right outside," I say, smiling against her skin. I nip her shoulder through the fabric of her shirt, and she shivers in my arms.

"They can have their party. I don't care. I've found something way more interesting. And by the way...this doesn't automatically mean I'm going to be super nice to you from now on." She pulls herself away, looking up at me with a smirk, her hand in mine.

I grin. "I'd be seriously disappointed if it did."

The air between us crackles with all the things we haven't said. All the things that might have been meant but right now can't be spoken.

Her eyes pose a question, and I know this is my chance. My chance to stop this right now. For f*****g things up worse than they already are.

But I don't.

When she pulls me towards the door, I follow her, and I let myself be led by the hand like a little boy. We reach the hallway, and she turns around to face me.

I lean in again, capturing those soft, red lips with mine. She tastes sweet, too.

She's a wild little thing. I can see that now. Knowing what she is feels like I'm drowning in wildfire, and the flames burst through my skin, scalding me all over with their heat and their light.

I should drop her and run, get away from her before I burn.

But instead, of pushing her away and ending this, I take her hand and walk through the door, letting the fire inside engulf me along the way.

So much for staying out of trouble…