HAYES
When my boys told me to scope out Mickey’s, I was immediately approached by a handful of girls who knew my name. But as attractive as they were, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the lonely girl at the bar. Even with that dark parasol hanging over her, she caught my attention the moment I stepped into the place.
Autumn-colored ringlets fall softly in place on the middle of her back, her bangs framing a round face. Her eyes are dark, slathered in kohl that clings to the crescents of her lids and rides the length of luscious, dark lashes. She has a soft jawline and cherubic cheeks. And if my eyes don’t deceive me, I can make out a few faint freckles that bridge over her nose.
I don’t mean to unnerve her, but I can’t stop staring at her body. She has curves in all the right places. Her cleavage is spilling out of her too-small top—one that I admire with a half-lidded gaze—and the hem of it ends just above her navel, where a sliver of tantalizing stomach extends into the waistband of her jeans. Did I mention she has a belly button piercing?
Outside the bar, I’m glad for the nightly chill that seems to be reining in my rising body temperature. The sky is a shawl of endless space, save for the milky stars that hang over our heads like sandbags. Moonlight filters in from the leaves above, casting its opalescent brilliance across overgrown vegetation in little streams.
Once we make our way to the sidewalk, the terrain lets up a bit and she gains her footing back. I plan on getting her home safe, then I’ll head back to the house and lie to the guys about accomplishing my mission for the night. I couldn’t just leave her there, not with how drunk she was. I know plenty of bottom-feeders who would’ve taken advantage of the situation.
The girl in front of me is a wobbly mess, so I’m doing the majority of the navigating for her. She shivers in the little number she has on, tufts of breath slipping through her lips and swirling through the air before being pulled apart by a relentless breeze. I shrug my jacket off and wrap it around her shoulders, earning me a tiny half smile.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other.
It dawns on me that I never got her name.
“What’s your name?” I ask, not wanting to let my arms fall away, not wanting to stop touching her. I gamble with myself and decide to keep a light hand pressed to the small of her back for some extra support.
“Aer,” she replies, a slight tremor to her vocal cords, one I’m hoping is from the cold and not my presence.
“Air?” I ask, making a stupid motion with my hands. “Like, O2?”
A laugh breaks free from her throat, and although it’s at my expense, I can’t help but love the way it sounds. Hoarse and full, melodic even.
“Aer,” she corrects, dragging her tongue across her teeth. “Short for Aeris.”
The name suits her. It’s beautiful, just like she is, but I want to call her something that’s uniquely mine.
“I think I’ll call you Stacks,” I decide.
Her brow crumples. “Huh?”
“You know, like a shortstack. Because you’re short.”
“Oh, har har. Very funny,” she monotones, making a show of turning her head up. “I’m not that short.”
My voice frays slightly. “I’m not making fun of you. I think it’s cute.”
She stops walking, then stares up at me through her lashes. “What’s your name?”
Her breath is warm as it settles over my neck. Her lips are full, red—maybe even swollen, if I didn’t know any better. I want to kiss her so badly. And she smells so good, like lavender mixed with a hint of strawberry. I inhale her like she’s an aphrodisiac.
I’m staring into melted pools of toffee—the kind of eyes that feel like September, like a warm breeze winnowing through the air, or like the coziness of a crackling fireplace.
And her touch…don’t get me started on her touch. I want it everywhere and all at once, scouring every inch of me. I want to know her body like the back of my hand, so I don’t have to open my eyes to find all the ways to make her come undone.
The desirous flower inside of me blossoms into an untamable fervor. I can feel a carnal ache in the marrow of my bones, feel the butterflies stir restlessly in the pit of my belly.
“Uh, it’s Hayes,” I respond, starting to walk, hoping she catches on and mirrors my strides.
Fascination dances in her caramelized eyes, and she hiccups, lolling her head against my sternum. Her six-inch heels give her some height, but without them, I’d guess she’d hit somewhere beneath my pectorals.
“And here I was going to call you Talls.”
She doesn’t know who I am? I mean, not everyone is a hockey fan, so I guess it’s not impossible to believe. I thought for sure she would’ve heard my name with all the publicity I’ve gotten recently, but I guess not. It’s…refreshing…to be myself around someone—the version of myself not attached to peoples’ expectations.
She’s stopped moving, so I usher her forward a bit, but she seems pretty content with taking a break and falling asleep on my chest.
“You said you lived down here, right?” It’s starting to get colder, and at the snail-like pace we’re moving, we might contract hypothermia by the time we get to her place.
“Yep!” she says, popping the P. “It’s the pink one.”
“Okay, stay with me, Stacks. Just a little farther.”
A lazy smile steals purchase over her mouth, and the tension stacked in her body melts a little. “I guess that’s not so bad.”
“What?” I humor her.
“My nickname.”
I stop in my tracks. I don’t know what it is about this girl, but she gets all my wires crossed.
“My mom would’ve liked you,” I say.
It’s true, she would’ve gotten along great with Aeris. Aeris might be small in stature, but she commands the attention of the room like a big shot. Sherry valued authenticity in a person. She said it was something inherent, and she could sniff out an ingenuine disposition after just one interaction.
If you’d told me that some drunk chick at a bar would get me to open up about my mother, I would’ve never believed you. I never talk about her. Whenever I think about my mom, I think about the fact that she went the one place I couldn’t follow. It’s nice that, for once, I can acknowledge her without the subsequent grief that always follows.
“Your mother…I would’ve…She sounds—”
Aeris’ words are cut off by something, but I’m too distracted to notice that she’s come to a shaky halt. Once I note the lack of a small person by my side, I turn around and quickly sprint back to her, holding her by both her arms.
“What’s wrong? Why did you stop?” My heart and breath seem to be operating in the wrong rhythm.
She looks a lot paler than she did back at the bar. Her lips part, and the last thing I expect her to do is burp in my face. It seems to startle her, and I have to stifle a laugh.
“I’m so sorry,” she says in a rush, her lower lip quivering, her hands covering her face.
I gently move her hands away, using my index finger to lift her chin up. Her red-rimmed eyes are as large as discs, and they swim with water. “You’re fine. You’re okay. Do you want me to carry you the rest of the way?”
She shakes her head, hugging her arms around her midsection.
“It’s really no big deal. I think I can see your house from here.”
“I don’t…” I watch her throat work as she swallows, and then I hear her stomach emit a loud gurgle.
My tone is steeped with alarm. “Aeris, are you okay?”
That ivory pallor of hers has turned into a concerning shade of green.
Oh, shit.
I try to move her toward the bushes as quickly as I can without making her dizzy, but we barely make it a few steps before she throws up all over me.
