Page 1 of All or Notching
CHAPTER 1
Laurel
(JULY)
My God, he’s beautiful. Too young for me, but I can look.
He stands out from his group by the way he holds himself. Unlike the others, who seem to be competing for who can be the loudest, there’s a quiet intensity about him. The guy going for ‘most boisterous’ is a tall redhead, holding court while his friends look on and listen intently to whatever story he’s telling. All eyes are on him.
Except mine.
Mine are drawn to my guy. My guy, as I think of him, nods politely, smiles and occasionally chuckles at the other man’s antics.
After a long day at the office, we decided to grab a drink and unwind. Typically, I decline when my colleagues start to round everyone up on Fridays because my to-do list is lengthy, and I like to be on top of things. That extra hour or two gives me a head-start on next week’s tasks. But tonight, rather than heading home to my empty condo, I accepted the invite. It’s been a sweltering summer, and a cold drink on a hot Friday evening in July, before the start of an even hotter weekend, sounds better than any other task or activity I could think of.
Besides, my AC is on the fritz.
For the first time, I regret not having somebody special waiting at home for me. Somebody I can cozy up to and vent with about wasting time in meetings that accomplish nothing, difficult employees, and impossible-to-achieve deliverables with unrealistic deadlines.
I love my career. It’s always taken a front seat in my goal planning. I’m so different from my two younger sisters; you’d think we came from different parents. Where they’ve been married to their high-school sweethearts since graduation and live in the same small community we grew up in, I’ve never had the desire to run back and forth between PTA meetings, play dates, and kids’ sporting activities.
I craved the city, the action, the career.
However, and I will never admit this to them, or anybody else; lately, I’ve felt like I’ve been missing out. Maybe it’s watching my sisters face life with middle graders and husbands who dote on them. Perhaps it’s because the first anniversary of our parent’s death is around the corner, and I’m suddenly realizing they got to see my sisters settled and blissful with their families but didn’t get to see that for me. They always worried I’d be lonely. I assured them I didn’t need a husband. My job fulfilled me. I remember the disappointed expressions on their faces, never sure if it was for them or me.
Maybe that’s why I noticed him as soon as we grabbed stools at the bar. He and his friends are gathered around the opposite end. He’s probably a good six or more inches taller than me. His hair looks brown in the bar’s lighting, but it could be a darker shade of blond. He’s got a dimple, I can see it from here. I’m a sucker for dimples. He’s wearing dark jeans, a light blue collared shirt, and the cuffs rolled up to his elbows. I like when a man puts thought into his appearance. It looks good on him. Maybe that’s why I’m leaning toward him being more blond than brown. Blonds favor shades of blue.
I’m giving this far too much thought.
Oh, shit. My heart slams into my rib cage. He spotted me staring at him. I fight the urge to turn away and feign interest in the conversation around me. Even though I should probably disengage, and normally would, I don’t. I’m captivated by watching him watch me. I can see the movement of his facial muscles as he smiles, nods, and winks at me—okay, I didn’t expect that. Now I’m blushing. I hope the lighting will hide it.
“Who are you staring at, Laurel?” My assistant and good friend Sally, who has been making flirtatious comments about any handsome man she sees walking through the door, and there’s been a lot, follows my line of sight. “The one in blue?”
I nod.
“Oh, he’s cute.” She leans in and shoulder butts me. “You should go for it.”
With a sigh, I shake my head and turn my attention back to her and the others. “He looks too young.” It’s true. He doesn’t have the baby face some men have, but it’s not the rugged, been-around-the-block-a-few-times appearance I’m usually drawn to. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s ten years younger than my thirty-eight. A child. Handsome, but still a child.
Nancy, who is sitting next to Sally, pipes in. She has to lean past Sally and practically yell because the volume is rising in the bar as more professionals and locals decide they need to start the weekend with a few beers or wine under their belts. Voices mix with music, and it’s hard enough to hear myself think, let alone my colleagues speaking. “They’re only too young if they could be your son. He’s not that young.” She nods in his direction as she sips her margarita. “He’s watching you.”
I glance up, catching his gaze. He lifts his bottle of beer in greeting.
My cheeks flush again, and I immediately look away. I can still feel his gaze burn into me as Sally urges me to go talk to him.
“Come on, Laurel. You don’t want regret not taking a chance when you had one, do you?”
Nancy leans back in her chair and crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s right. Live a little. He looks really nice. Go talk to him.”
I can feel myself wavering, but then reality sets in. No matter the weird loneliness I’ve been feeling lately, it’s got to be temporary. Even if My Guy is interested, I don’t do relationships. No time. No interest. I don’t need to meet the family or plan make plans for the holidays. I prefer a whirl-wind affair with a few good orgasms. And, while I’m happy to hook up with Mr. Right-for-the-Night, the age thing is a problem. I don’t look good in animal prints.
Sensing my hesitation, Sally takes charge of the situation and waves him over before I can even open my mouth to stop her. He's obviously seen her signal because he looks over with a curious expression. I watch as he says something to his friends and then leaves them to make his way through the crowd, his stride confident.
“Hi there.”
I have no trouble hearing two simple words in such a deliciously deep baritone, even in this atmosphere. It’s like he’s whispering in my ear, drowning out all other sounds. The warmth I feel must be the alcohol because it can’t be him.
I swivel around on the stool, and My Guy is standing right behind me. He’s even more handsome up close. There’s a tightness around his eyes, like he’s tired and seen more than he should at his age. But the twinkle in his gaze tells me he’s still in the game.