Page 19

Allie

I get out of my car, smoothing my dress self-consciously as Thatcher approaches.

His piercing green eyes seem to see right through me, and I find myself momentarily frozen under his intense gaze.

He’s even more handsome than I remember and it’s like a sharp upper cut to my diaphragm, knocking the wind out of me.

“You look nice,” he says simply, his voice low and gravelly.

I feel my cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment, cursing my traitorous heart for skipping a beat.

“Thanks,” I manage to reply, hoping I sound more nonchalant than I feel.

His tall, muscular frame is imposing in dark jeans and a navy henley that accentuates his athletic physique, the top buttons undone just enough to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of his chiseled chest.

I force myself to look away, busying myself with my purse so he can’t see how he affects me.

Get it together, Larsen , I scold myself.

The kiss the other day meant nothing to him.

He’s made that perfectly clear.

But despite my internal admonitions, I can’t ignore the irresistible pull I feel towards him.

There’s a magnetism between us that transcends reason or logic.

Clearing my throat, I put on a breezy smile.

“Anything I should know before my date gets here?”

Thatcher’s expression shifts almost imperceptibly.

Is that disappointment I detect in his eyes?

Or simply wishful thinking on my part?

“Of course,” he says briskly, back to being all business.

“Let’s come over here on the side of the building to get you wired up so I can monitor the conversation.”

I follow him out of sight and lean against the cool brick of the building.

As his strong hands gently fit the tiny microphone inside my ear, it’s all I can do not to tremble at his touch.

His breath tickles my neck, sending goose bumps across my skin.

Can he hear the rapid pounding of my heart?

Being this close to him again unravels something deep inside me, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to confront him about the kiss we shared.

As he finishes tucking the earpiece in my ear, his fingers linger, his touch featherlight and my eyes blink heavily at the feel of his hands on me.

“Allie,” he says simply in that deep voice that never fails to make my knees weak.

I try to play it cool, ignoring the rapid thrum of my pulse.

“I, uh, guess we should go over the game plan again for tonight,” I say.

Thatcher blinks as if snapping back to the task at hand.

Then he gives me a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

We stand there for a beat, the space between us crackling with unspoken words.

I hate this strained awkwardness hanging in the air.

I want to grab him and kiss him again until we can’t breathe, until we shatter this wall he’s put up.

But I know that’s the last thing I should do right now.

“Right. I’ll be close by the whole time monitoring the situation...”

As he reviews the protocol, I can’t stop tracing the lines of his face with my eyes.

The hard set of his jaw, the fullness of his lips, the small scar on his chin.

It’s torture being this close and not being able to touch him, to feel the warmth of his skin under my palms.

I tune back in when he says, “Okay, Jason’s arriving. You ready?”

I blink and peek around the building just in time to see Jason enter the front door of the restaurant.

Even though I missed almost all of what Thatcher had just said, I nod all the same.

“I’m ready.”

Stepping into the dimly-lit bistro, I shake off the cocktail of nerves like raindrops from my jacket.

The place is cozy in an overdone sort of way, with vintage posters smirking from brick walls and jazz purring softly through hidden speakers.

“Table for Larsen?” I ask the hostess who smiles back at me with practiced sweetness.

“Yes, right this way. Your plus-one just got here,” she says over her shoulder as I follow her.

My mind is still weaving through Russian bathhouses and coded files, equally snagging on thoughts of Thatcher’s chiseled, rugged face.

Each step toward this fake date feels like a betrayal to the story that’s begging to be told.

We wind our way through chattering couples until she pauses at a table where Jason already sits, grinning as if he’s won something.

“Hey, Allie.” He stands, his eagerness brushing against me like static.

“You look...wow. ”

“Thanks,” I mumble, plastering on a smile that feels more like a grimace.

He leans in for a hug that lingers a little too long, his sharp cologne assaulting my senses.

“I’m glad you texted me. I was disappointed when you called off our hike.”

I slide into my seat, creating a necessary gulf between us.

Jason’s incessant gaze feels heavy and expectant.

I tuck a stray lock behind my ear, craving the comforting snark of Thatcher’s voice over this awkwardness.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jason asks, waving over the waiter before I can answer.

“Um, I guess a glass of wine to start with,” I say, but he cuts in.

“Do you like red or white?”

Well, at least he’s asking.

Unlike the last date I had.

“With fish, I prefer white.”

“Have you had Grüner Veltliner before?” he asks, his eyes on the wine list, rather than on me.

“That sounds great,” I say, placating him.

I’ll be lucky if I finish even one glass of wine tonight.

“Are you okay?” Thatcher asks in my ear.

I clear my throat, unsure how to answer him without looking like a crazy person who talks to myself.

“You seem off,” Thatcher says.

“Relax. Take a deep breath.”

I try to inhale slowly, but Jason has already launched into a game of twenty questions.

“So other than rollerblading with Biscuit, what do you like to do?”

I force a smile.

“I’m pretty boring. Kind of a homebody.”

“Oh. Well…you said you liked hiking, right?” Jason tries.

“Um, yeah. I do. I don’t go as often as I’d like, though.” I take a sip of water to cool my nerves.

“Well, maybe we can change that. ”

I’m relieved when the wine arrives, interrupting the barrage of questions.

“You’re not giving him much to work with, Allie,” Thatcher whispers.

“Ask him about what he likes to do.”

“So…” I clear my throat and swirl the wineglass.

“Other than hiking, what do you do for fun?”

“I’d say I’m a pretty passionate guy,” he says, his hand finding its way across the table, fingers inching towards mine.

I pull back, wrapping my hands around my glass like a lifeline.

“I love mountain biking. White water rafting. Skiing?—”

“Skiing? In South Carolina?” I ask incredulously.

“I have a vacation house up in Boone,” he says with a knowing smile.

Like he knew this little fact would earn him some brownie points.

Hell, it probably does with most dates.

“I’d love to take you there sometime.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t ski.”

“We don’t have to ski. It’s perfect for a romantic night in, too.” He leans in, and it’s not curiosity in his eyes—it’s something else, something presumptuous.

“You know what I’m passionate about?” I venture, hoping to steer this towards safe waters.

“ Food . I love food. I love eating.”

I grab a wedge of bread out of the basket in the center of the table and shove it into my mouth.

He’s momentarily taken aback.

“Food, huh?” But it doesn’t stop him for long.

“What’s your favorite?”

“I love all food,” I say, talking with my mouth full.

“Literally. It’s my job. I’m a food reviewer for the Charleston Sun .”

“Wow, that’s incredible. So you can show me all the best spots in town. And in exchange, I’ll help you embrace your more…wild side. ”

I swallow the hunk of bread and quickly wash it down with some wine.

“I don’t have a wild side,” I say quickly.

Jason’s eyes pass over the low v-neck of my dress.

“Oh, I doubt that.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes; it’s a hunter’s grin, and I’m the cornered prey.

“He’s…awfully forward,” Thatcher says in my ear.

“Allie, if you’re ever uncomfortable, cough twice.”

“Come on, there’s gotta be something,” Jason keeps pressing.

“You’re too interesting not to have some wild secrets.” He’s prodding again, pushing for an intimacy we’re miles away from reaching.

“Everyone has secrets,” I quip, my eyes darting to the back of Thatcher’s head across the room.

My face grows even hotter.

“Let’s make a deal,” he says, leaning closer still.

“You tell me one of your dirty little secrets, and I’ll tell you one of mine.”

“We haven’t even ordered appetizers yet and you already want my deepest, darkest secret?”

He licks his lips and chuckles.

“I don’t like small talk. I like to cut through the bullshit and get to the real stuff.”

“Like…secrets,” I say doubtfully.

“Exactly.”

“Allie, I don’t like this. His energy feels completely different than it did at the park,” Thatcher warns me.

I don’t disagree with him, but what am I supposed to do?

Get up and leave the date?

I clear my throat.

“Then you go first,” I say.

“What’s your dark secret, Jason?”

“Well…” He leans in even closer, elbows on the table.

“Did you know that seventy-six percent of women hold their breath during orgasm?”

I blink, unsure if I’m even surprised at the turn in the conversation.

“Is your secret that you like to mansplain the female orgasm to women?”

He chuckles and shakes his head.

“No. My secret is that once I learned this statistic, I realized that a little light choking during sex can heighten the experience.”

“During your orgasm? Or hers?”

“Hers,” he says simply.

“Allie…” Thatcher says.

“Be careful. I think you should get out of here. I don’t like this guy.”

“Huh,” I say, ignoring Thatcher.

“You know, most studies actually show that women sometimes hold their breath leading up to orgasm, but there’s strong evidence that breathing deeply during orgasm increases the length and strength of your climax. So…if you’re choking your partner, then you might be effectively stifling her orgasm.”

Jason runs his tongue across his teeth, but is still smiling.

Even though he’s being uncomfortably forward, I’m not finding him threatening.

Just…

awkward.

“Maybe we need to do a little compare and contrast and see?”

“Ready for my secret?” I ask.

“Despite there being no bone in the penis, vigorous sex can still result in a penile fracture. It’s not a bone fracture, but it’s actually the rupture of the fibrous covering of the corpora cavernosa. The moment of fracture is usually accompanied by a popping or cracking sound, intense pain, swelling, and unsurprisingly, flaccidity.”

Jason flinches.

“What the fuck? That’s not exactly a secret?—”

“Oh, I haven’t gotten to the secret yet,” I say.

“My secret isn’t in the fact that you can fracture your penis. It’s how I know that fact.”

Jason’s face drains of color, going pale.

“Was it…was it an accident? ”

“Oh of course,” I say sarcastically and give him a dramatic wink.

Then I lift my glass of wine and drain the last of it before standing and grabbing my purse.

“Wait…you’re leaving?” He stands as well, tossing his napkin down on the seat.

“Ummm, yeah. You seem nice, but choking isn’t my thing. And I think you’re a little too forward for me.”

He recoils slightly, taken aback by my sudden bite.

There’s a pause, a breath, a moment of clarity where the night hangs in the balance.

And then, darkness shrouds his eyes and his posture stiffens as he launches forward and grips my elbow, yanking me closer to him.

“Are you fucking joking?” he sneers.

“ You invited me out to dinner?—”

The air in the room shifts on its axis as Thatcher’s approach is swift and vicious.

He crosses the room in seconds flat with a cold, deliberate calm.

Beside me, Jason tenses, his previously lax demeanor snapping tight as a drum when Thatcher’s hand wraps around Jason’s shoulder and yanks him off me.

“Thatcher,” I murmur under my breath, not sure whether to be relieved or mortified.

“Get your fucking hands off her,” Thatcher says, his brows furrowed ever so slightly, the only visible sign of the protective storm brewing underneath that stoic surface.

The tension between the two men is palpable, wrapping around me like a snake suffocating its prey.

“Looks like your babysitter’s here. Again ,” Jason sneers, but his voice holds an edge of caution that hadn’t been there a moment ago.

“Are you okay?” Thatcher asks me, his voice even, but the hard set of his jaw tells a different story.

I’m oddly relieved to see him, yet the dread of what’s coming hangs heavy in the air.

“I’m…” What am I?

Nothing about tonight is going how it’s supposed to.

“She’s fine,” Jason retorts.

“We’re just getting to know each other better, isn’t that right, Allie?”

“I wasn’t asking you ,” Thatcher bites out, his jaw tight.

The air crackles with tension, Thatcher’s shadow looming over us like a warning.

“Allie?” he asks again.

Every syllable out of his mouth is controlled, yet laced with an undercurrent of pure potential rage.

“I was just leaving,” I manage to say.

“Cockteasing bitch,” Jason scoffs.

The moment holds its breath.

Thatcher’s eyes narrow, the green in them darkening like a forest at dusk.

Then, quick as lightning, his fist connects with Jason’s jaw, the sound like a gunshot echoing through the otherwise quiet space.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, my hand flying to my mouth.

Jason stumbles back, clutching his face, his shock mirroring my own.

“What the?—”

“We’re leaving,” Thatcher growls, low and menacing as he pulls a card from his wallet and tosses it at Jason.

“Here’s my information in case you decide to press charges. However, I should warn you that this entire restaurant saw you grab a woman’s arm, not allowing her to leave when she wanted to.”

We turn and walk briskly for the door, leaving Jason behind us, rubbing his reddening jaw.

I steal one last glance at him over my shoulder where he shoots me a bewildered look before skulking away, shoulders hunched and ego bruised more than his face.

I whip around, the soles of my shoes slapping angrily against the pavement as I storm away from Thatcher toward where my car is parked .

The night air does little to cool the heat flushing my cheeks.

The buzz of adrenaline is loud in my ears, mingling with a strange mixture of frustration and gratitude towards Thatcher as we rush toward my car.

Why does he have to be so frustratingly obtuse?

One second he’s all stoic and dismissive, the next he’s throwing punches to protect me.

“I had that under control, you know?” I say, glaring at him as he opens the passenger door of my car and gestures for me to get in.

“This is my car. I’m not riding as a passenger in my own car.”

“Yes you are,” Thatcher demands.

“I’m driving you home.”

“Only if you tell me why you flew off the handle back there.”

“He put his hands on you,” Thatcher growls.

“He grabbed my arm to stop me from leaving! He wasn’t assaulting me.”

“Not yet, he wasn’t.”

Exhaling a frustrated breath, I get in the car, knowing to choose my battles as Thatcher crosses around to my driver’s side and gets into my driver’s seat.

“Fine. He wasn’t assaulting me yet. But was punching him really necessary?” I ask as he adjusts my seat back.

“I’ve been called a lot worse than a cockteasing bitch before, you know?”

As Thatcher slows to the stop sign, his head whips around to face me at this admission.

The concern on his face is genuine but the rest of his expression is unreadable.

“I’m going to need all the names of anyone who’s called you a bitch or worse.”

“Why? Are you going to go punch every one of them? ”

Jaw twitching, he pulls forward, taking the right turn down my street.

“If they’re lucky,” he growls.

The silence that follows on the drive back to my house is awkward, filled with so much unsaid and everything left unresolved from the other day.

He may have just played the knight-in-tarnished-armor, but our last kiss—the one he seems determined to ignore—dangles between us, a question mark heavy in the air.

He pulls into my parking space and I can’t help but wonder how he knew which one was mine.

I scramble out of the passenger seat and slam the door shut, stomping up my front stoop and fumbling to get my keys out and shove them into the front door to unlock it.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Thatcher calls after me, his voice a mix of irritation and something else—something I can’t quite pin down.

With a frustrated sigh, I whip around to face him.

“You know, for someone who acts like they don’t give a damn, you sure have a funny way of showing it!”

He closes the gap between us with a few determined strides, green eyes blazing with that same controlled intensity I saw right before he decked Jason.

“I’m not going to apologize for caring about you,” he says, jaw set stubbornly.

“Caring about me?” I throw my hands up, exasperated.

“You kissed me—and then acted like it didn’t happen! You send me constant mixed signals, and then you go all caveman on my date? Which is it, Thatcher? Do you want me, or don’t you?”

“It’s not that simple…” The words hang heavy between us, our breaths mingling in the balmy warmth of the evening.

I search his face for any sign of the vulnerability I know lurks beneath that rugged exterior .

“How so?”

“Dammit, Allie...” His voice softens, and for a fleeting moment I see the man behind the mask—the one who kissed me so fiercely it stole my breath away.

But he shakes his head, reverting to his usual gruffness.

“This isn’t about what I want.”

“Isn’t it?” My voice cracks—a mixture of anger and something dangerously close to heartache.

“Because it feels like you’re toying with me.”

We stand there, the two of us locked in a silent standoff, the city’s distant hum, the only sound that dares to break through.

Then, without warning, Thatcher steps forward and cups my face in his rough hands, his touch igniting a spark that threatens to burn through all my defenses.

“Thatcher—” I start to protest, but the words dissolve into nothing as his lips crash against mine.

“Invite me in,” he asks, his mouth moving against mine.

“Tell me you want me, too. Or if not, I’m out of here for good.”

“I want you to come in,” I whisper.

I barely get the words out when his mouth is on me again.

The world tilts, and suddenly I’m being lifted off the ground, the familiar sensation of his kiss enveloping me in a whirlwind of desire.

Thatcher carries me effortlessly, striding towards my apartment as if he’s done it a thousand times.

As we reached my front door, our fight still echoes in my ears, but now it’s drowned out by the thunderous beat of my heart and the undeniable truth that, whether I like it or not, Thatcher Bryant has become my storm to weather.