A/N: A new AU, multi-chapter story that I've been kind of mapping out for the past couple of weeks. I'm sorry to start something new when I have so many other pieces left unfinished, but this has been eating away at me like the worst (best?) sort of inspiration often does. The prologue does not reveal the crux of the story yet, but I'm sure you can gather what it shall entail by the title and the song lyrics attached.
Rated M for mature content including but not limited to: swearing, sexual encounters, and suggestive innuendos. (In-YOUR-endo, tehe)
The characters will be more brash and raw than you are accustomed to seeing from me. Don't say I didn't warn you.
All right! Onward!
I'll play along with this charade
That doesn't seem to be a reason to change
You know I feel so dirty when they start talking cute
I wanna tell her that I love but the point is probably moot
'Cause she's watching him with those eyes
And she's lovin' him with that body, I just know it
And he's holding her in his arms late, late at night
You know I wish that I had (a certain person's) girl
I wish that I had (a certain person's) girl
Where can I find a woman like that?
"Jessie's Girl" - Rick Springfield
A WOMAN LIKE THAT
PROLOGUE
Philadelphia, Summer 2013
"This place blows," Hanna groaned for the fourth time that evening, her head slumped dejectedly on one hand. She absentmindedly used the tiny black straw in her Sex on the Beach to stab at the ice cubes with the other. "I told you we should have gone to Blazers."
Toby sighed, taking a sip of his Budweiser and surveying the bar once more. He could not deny that Hanna was right – the atmosphere was rather bleak, and the most exciting thing that had happened was when an underage college kid was asked to leave for toting a fake ID. The music consisted of a solitary iPod hooked into the speaker system, crooning repetitive country tunes about gun-toting cowboys drinking whiskey, riding horses, and pining for an unrequited love.
"It's not so bad," he insisted weakly. Hanna shot him an impatient glare. "Okay, it sucks. But you were the one who wanted to branch out. You said, and I quote, 'we need to find somewhere with fresh meat.' End quote."
"Don't try to blame this on me!" she said incredulously, flinging her blond hair over one shoulder. "You've been bitching about how predictable Blazers is for the past month."
"Well, when you spend every Saturday in the same bar, things do get a little stale."
She sighed melodramatically, finishing the last sip of her drink with a loud slurp. "I'm not even buzzed. What did they make this with, water?"
He ignored her, determined to salvage the evening. "How about a game of Describe the Bar Patrons?"
"Fine. I'll go first." She folded her arms diligently on the table, glancing around the room for a suitable specimen. "That guy – over there. The one in the suit who has been nursing that Scotch for so long he should have gone to medical school."
Toby followed her gaze to the far side of the bar, where a thirty-something business tycoon sat in solitude, sipping periodically at his drink and flipping through the electronic pages of his tablet.
"He's the CEO of a big company. Probably something like Apple. Married for a few years to the only woman who would have him. Always away on business, leaving the poor sap to take care of three kids all by herself. Wife demanded a divorce when she realized he could only get it up for his iPhone. She packed up the kids and didn't look back, and he hasn't even tried to contact them since. Now he's a workaholic who spends his nights crying to his hookers and trying to convince himself that he has no regrets."
Toby offered her a golf clap of quiet approval. "Dark. I like it."
"Your turn," she chirped, greedily sipping from the refill the bartender had just set in front of her.
He scanned the crowd – or lack thereof – trying to pick out a candidate of his liking. His eyes landed on a tall, willowy brunette in a silk blouse and pencil skirt, who was chatting amicably with the tiny, mousy girl across from her.
"Overachiever," he deduced, taking another swig of his beer. "Constantly trying to live up to Mommy and Daddy's expectations. Never had a lot of friends or a serious relationship because she always had her nose in a book. Masks her loneliness by taking on extra projects in school and at work. Has spent her entire life being told that other people just slow you down, and being independently successful is the only way to achieve true happiness. Has only recently begun to wonder whether she really wants to stay in the family business, because her biological clock is ticking and she's – "
She turned just then, glancing over her shoulder towards the bar. Her chocolate eyes met his for but a moment, but in that brief instant, everything else he had been about to say suddenly escaped him.
"…Gorgeous…"
Hanna coughed into her drink. Once she recovered enough from the hacking, she slugged him in the shoulder with her tiny fist. "Oh, no. Don't even. Tonight is my night to bring someone back to the apartment. You got last week, and the week before. I've had enough of sleeping over at Emily's and listening to her go on and on about her wedding plans. I've tied more ribbon doilies than I can fucking count, Toby."
His feisty blond roommate was right, of course. They had developed a system long ago that granted equal rights to both parties when it came to bringing weekend conquests home. He remembered vividly how she had laid down this ground rule during her interview for the spare bedroom, and it had been one of the defining qualities that had prompted him to call her back.
Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that his ideal living companion would be female, but Hanna had quickly grown to be his best friend in a substantially short amount of time. She was stubborn and determined, much like he was, but made no excuses for her wild side. They were two peas in a pod, really, and he couldn't imagine living with anyone else.
But God damn it, if that rule wasn't a buzz kill right about now.
And just like that, the brunette's gaze darted away once more, back to her friend. He felt the universe shift back into alignment, and no sooner had he drifted back to the conversation than Hanna was snapping two perfectly manicured fingernails in front of his face.
"Are you hearing me?" she demanded.
"Yeah, yeah, I hear you," he grumbled, slinking backwards dejectedly in his chair.
"Don't," she hissed. "Don't you give me those baby blue puppy dog eyes, Cavanaugh. I'm not giving in."
This warning, of course, only meant that she was already caving. He turned to face her, letting his bottom lip droop into a dramatic pout.
She growled in annoyance, squeezing her eyes shut tightly as she took a generous gulp of her drink. "I can't see you. It won't work."
He laughed good-naturedly. "All right, all right, you win."
"Good," she declared, buffing her fingernails on her leather jacket. "Because Mama has needs to fulfill tonight."
Toby could not help but grimace at the vivid imagery that followed. She was like his sister, and the thought of her in any sexual capacity was horrendously disturbing. "I don't want to know."
"Not like there's a lot to choose from," she sighed. "My options are pretty much between the drunk cowboy and the guy crying into his chili fries. Face it – we're probably both going home alone tonight."
He could not help the cheeky smirk that tugged at his lips as he raised the bottle to his mouth once more. "You could always try your luck with your divorced CEO."
"No thanks. If I wanted VD I'd just go rub my lady parts on the toilet seat."
He practically spit out his beer at this, his body quaking in fits of laughter. The beer was finally doing its job. "Hanna!"
"I know, I know. I'm not supposed to talk about my lady business," she said, sarcasm bleeding through her tone.
"That's right," he agreed. "You have Barbie doll parts and that's it."
"If you say so."
The two were doubled over in hysterics, too distracted by their mirth to notice the presence that had come up alongside them.
"Another white wine, please."
He turned instinctively at the sound of the new voice, and felt his heart come to an unceremonious halt behind his ribcage. The brunette had come up to the bar, and was now standing a mere two feet from him. She was even more attractive up close, he realized. She had the face of an old-fashioned movie starlet, one that transcended the confines of time. The planes that carved out her features were defined and symmetrical, punctuated by a pair of luscious, full lips.
He didn't even realize he was staring until Hanna jabbed him in the side.
"Ow!" he cried instinctively.
This caught her attention. She turned to face him again, and he was sure his complexion had gone scarlet under her scrutinizing stare.
"Everything all right?" she asked uncertainly, an amused smile dancing onto her mouth. There was a bit of a rasp to her voice, and he was reminded instantly of the dulcet, velvety tones of iconic females from old black and white films.
"Fine," he said hastily, offering what he hoped was a flirtatious smile. "You?"
Hanna snorted behind her hand.
The woman laughed a bit, as though sympathetically amused by his lack of game. "I'm good."
"What my friend means to say," Hanna cut in, leaning across Toby to address the newcomer properly, "is that he'd like to buy you a drink."
"Is that so?" the brunette asked coquettishly.
He shot Hanna a warning glare, after which she merely rolled her eyes and hid her sadistic grin behind her hand once more.
"Yeah, of course," he said smoothly, though Hanna hadn't exactly left him with another option.
Just when he thought she couldn't get more beautiful, the woman smiled, and what little composure he had left was immediately siphoned from his body.
"All right."
"Great!" Hanna declared, a little too much glee in her voice. She swiped her cocktail from the bar and made to stand. "I'm going to go…uh…somewhere else."
He snapped his gaze to her, eyes narrowed in warning. She jerked her head pointedly in the direction of the brunette, as if to say, 'I got you in, now don't fuck it up.' And with that, she was gone.
Well. That was that.
He turned back to the girl, who had now taken a seat at the bar beside him. "So, uh," he began pathetically, "are you from around here?"
She seemed to be trying to politely hide her amusement at his transparently bad flirtation. "Kind of."
What kind of an answer was that?
"You?" she returned.
He offered a brief nod. "Yeah. My roommate, Hanna – the girl that was just over here – she and I live a few blocks away."
She delicately crossed her legs and she took a sip of wine, and the way the skirt rode up her thigh made his stomach do an awkward flip-flop in his abdomen.
"A female roommate, huh?" she asked suggestively.
"No, no, no, it's not like that," he insisted, shaking his head so fervently that his vision swam a bit as a result. "She's just my friend."
"You guys seem to have a lot of fun together."
"We do," he agreed with a casual shrug. "We both like to keep things interesting."
She hummed thoughtfully, swirling her drink around in its flute. "Interesting like trying foreign beers, or interesting like playing wingman for each other and preying on innocent, unsuspecting singles at the bar?"
He blanched at her inquiry, and suddenly his vocal chords felt akin to Jell-O.
Her tight smile did not suffice to hold in her laughter, and soon she was bursting at the seams. "I'm just messing with you. It's okay. I'm anything but innocent and unsuspecting."
A warm tingling sensation ran through his nerve endings that had nothing to do with the alcohol coursing through his veins.
"So," she began again, as though nothing had happened. "What do you do for a living?"
He cleared his throat, trying to make use of his voice once more. "I, uh, have an apprenticeship at an architectural design studio."
She nodded, seemingly impressed by this. "Nice. What made you decide on architecture?"
The question caught him off-guard. Nobody had ever really asked him that before, much less any number of the women he had picked up in recent months. It left him with such a sensation of whiplash that he had to remind himself that she was expecting a response.
"I like building things," he said candidly. "I like mapping out a design and bringing it to life."
She smiled again, and her dark eyes appeared to sparkle in the low light of the bar. Perching her chin in one hand, she gazed at him in fascination.
"Having that sort of passion is beautiful," she murmured. "I wish I had that much inspiration."
It was as though a warm hand had encircled his heart; simple though her words were, they had succeeded in tapping into his soul in a way he was not accustomed to.
"What about you?" he asked quickly, before she could peel any more of his layers away.
Her smiled faltered in slight as she straightened her posture once more. "I'm interning at my father's law firm right now, but I'm still kind of on the fence about where I want to go from here."
He felt a sudden pang of guilt about choosing her for his and Hanna's stupid game earlier. What was even worse was that he had been partially right.
"Family business is tricky," he murmured. "Because it's harder to do what makes you happy when you're worried about what makes your parents happy."
"Tell me about it," she said darkly. A whisper of melancholy flitted across her face briefly, and was gone as soon as it had arrived.
"But you're the one who has to live with your decisions," he added. "Not them."
She turned back to face him, a quiet air of anticipation ruminating in the air between them.
"You should do what makes you happy," he continued. "That's the most important gift you can give yourself."
There was a moment of silence in which she cocked her head at him thoughtfully, her mocha eyes darting analytically between his own cobalt ones. She seemed to be registering his words, the wheels turning in recognition. Though he had regretted the cliché words of wisdom almost as soon as he had said them, she seemed to be inexplicably moved by his advice.
He had stripped naked more times than he could count, with more women than he was proud to admit. But for whatever reason, the vulnerability that pierced through him now was more revealing than any degree of literal nudity.
He felt suddenly self-conscious, practically choking on the ever-thickening air of implication that swirled around them.
"I'll, uh, be back," he sputtered, sliding off his bar stool and heading toward the bathrooms in the back hall. With every step he could feel his extremities burning in embarrassment, and for the life of him he could not figure out why. Perhaps it had been the way she saw a piece of him that often lay untapped. Perhaps it was how she had gazed at him with unprecedented affection when he had peered right past her façade and into her soul. Maybe it was just the alcohol. Maybe it was all three.
The further he got away from her, the more of his bearings returned, and he realized that the feelings of intoxication had more to do with her than the beer.
He slumped against the wall in the dark, trying to even out his breathing and regain his composure. He could do better than this. He could pick women up in his sleep. So why was talking to this one so damn hard? Why had both of them insisted on poking at each other's protective barriers when they clearly preferred leaving the gates untouched?
A shadow danced across the wall as a figure passed, and soon she was appearing around the corner. He felt his pulse pick up once more as he peeled himself off the wall, his tongue tied in useless knots.
"Sorry, I just, uh, I just needed to – "
"Don't talk," she said thickly, and before he realized what was happening, she had grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth.
The feelings of inebriation returned tenfold, like a tsunami taking out the levy. He pulled at her waist to bring her closer, delighting in the residual taste of lip-gloss lingering on her lips.
She moaned quietly, which only dragged him further into the undertow. Every part of him felt on fire at her touch, and that included the man downstairs. He could feel his desire building with every heady breath, every exploratory hand, every bump and grind of her figure against his.
He flipped her around so that he had her pressed against the wall, to which she sighed in ecstasy. His hands dove into her curly locks, angling her face more properly to his as he hungrily explored her mouth with his own. Her hands had gone into full wandering mode, sliding up the back of his shirt and gripping at his shoulder blades in desperation. He could feel her heart pounding beneath her left breast, matching the beat of his own and creating a beautiful synchronized cadence.
Of all the girls he had ever been with, he had never wanted someone more. She was beautiful, and refined, and had depths that he had only begun to navigate. She was more than just an attractive woman he had met at the bar. She had hopes, and dreams, and boundless layers to the soul she kept so delicately guarded. He could see it in the way she had been with him earlier. The way she had reacted to his attempt to experimentally chip away at the wall he had predicted was there.
And it was because of that chivalrous realization that he pulled back, somewhat regrettably, to survey her once more. Her eyes drifted open, still heavily lidded with an intoxication that had nothing to do with the beverages she had consumed, her lips parted in withdrawal.
And as much as he wanted to, he couldn't.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, using one hand to cup her cheek. "You're amazing, and beautiful, and I want to so bad – but I can't."
She chuckled a bit, and he could hear the nerves seeping back into her voice. "Yeah…yeah, you're right." She slowly slid out from her position between him and the wall, straightening her skirt and glancing away self-consciously. There was an immediate chill that resonated through his frame, and he realized just how warm he had been in her presence. "It's probably for the best," she murmured. "I told myself I wouldn't do this tonight."
He was at a loss for words. There was so much more that he wanted to say, but everything sage and comforting was suddenly escaping him.
"I'd like to see you again," he said quietly, before he realized what he was saying.
She glanced at him over her shoulder, a wry smile playing at her swollen lips. "I come here once a month," she whispered. "Come back and find me."
He felt that smile in the very tips of his toes, mesmerized as she began to saunter away.
"Wait," he called. "What's your name?"
His words merely echoed back to him in the gaping solitude. It took him a moment to gather his composure once more, bounding down the hall and back into the bar. He nearly collided with Hanna as he rounded the corner.
"Jesus! What's the rush, Forrest?" she cried.
His eyes roved the room, gently taking her by the shoulders and pulling her aside so he could get a clear view. But the woman was nowhere to be seen. It was as though she had vanished amongst the other patrons, leaving in her wake a dull pain in his side, her seraphic presence utterly ripped from the atmosphere around him.
"Toby," Hanna said worriedly. "Are you okay?"
He gulped hard on the knot in his throat, wondering how she could have disappeared so quickly. Sobriety was rapidly kicking his system back into full alert, and in its unwelcome return brought a headache and a disappointing realization.
"She's gone."