Erin McCarthy: It’s About Time

Irritation rose in her, and she wasn’t even sure why. “And what were you getting drunk for, anyway? To talk yourself into dragging some woman home with you tonight?”

Caleb shifted on his stool, pinning her with another one of those hard stares. “What does it matter? Why do you care?”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t!” Stupid lug. Here she was, being friendly, reaching out, something she didnot normally do. Let him wallow. “Order yourself another beer, for all I care. Get blitzed and pick up some giggling, brain-dead bimbo who might be impressed by all that muscle you’re hauling around.”

“Maybe I will.”

“And maybe I’ll just leave you here to do that.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.” Yet Trish didn’t move. She just switched legs and wondered why she wasn’t walking away.

Because she didn’t want to. Caleb was drunk, totally not her type, and he drank domestic beer. Yet she just didn’t want to go home alone. Again. So she’d stay with Caleb for a little while longer, another minute or two, before she headed back to her empty apartment. He needed the company.

She needed the company.

Caleb picked his sandwich back up. “Aren’t you leaving?”

“No.” She shrugged. Let him think what he wanted.

But he shot her a quick glance out the side of his eye. “Good.”

Trish laughed. “You are drunk, aren’t you?” And she nudged his brawny arm with her side.

He grinned. “Maybe just a little.” And his finger reached out and moved past her face to touch her earring. “These are pretty.”

“Thanks.” She reflexively ran her own finger over the spot where his had been. “They were a present from my parents when I graduated from law school.”

“Are you a good lawyer?”

“The best,” she said, never doubting it for a minute. She’d been born to argue, and she was good at it.

“I believe you. You look like you could run circles around those guys downtown. I bet you won every staring contest when you were a kid.”

“Of course.” Trish pushed the plate of fries away from her and went back to the nuts. It had been too much to expect that Joe could produce a salad for her. But instead of leaving and finding a grocery store or deli, or just scrounging something up in her fridge at home, she was still sitting there on a stool so hard her backside had gone numb.

It was stupid.

Caleb took another swallow of water and some of it sloshed down the front of him. “Damn. Got a hole in my lip.”

Trish reached for a napkin. The guy clearly needed a keeper. He couldn’t even drink water without slobbering all over himself. There would be no telling how he’d find his way home if she didn’t stick around.

“Here.” With less-than-gentle fingers, she swiped at his chest. His solid, football stadium-wide chest.

His hand grabbed hers, stilled it. A big, scratchy hand that swallowed hers whole like a shark with a tuna. He was strong, holding her immobile even when she tugged a little, and she was annoyed, yet simultaneously fascinated.

“Trish?”

“What?” Damn if she wasn’t actually leaning toward him, gazing up into his murky green eyes like some soulful Juliet wannabe.

Only she didn’t have a romantic bone in her practical body. The dating game and her job had only confirmed that romance was dead in the twenty-first century, if it had ever existed.

“I think you’re a lot nicer than you pretend to be.”

Giving up on retrieving her trapped hand, she let him cup it like a baby bird, while she sat back and snorted. “Don’t bet your tool belt on it, buddy.”

But she was secretly pleased.

Caleb had figured out that his beer buzz was still racing, and that the room was pulsing in bright, fuzzy, undulating waves. Which had to be why Trish looked so deliciously tanned and perfect, perching on her stool with posture that would make a chiropractor proud, and why he suddenly wanted to taste her. Every polished and smooth inch of her attorney ass, from that tidy hair down to her rounded breasts. Past her firm belly, skimming over her dark, wispy curls, down her toned and tan thighs to satin toes, capped off with a dash of red toenail polish.

Two years was a long time to go without sex.

At the moment he couldn’t even remember why he’d been celibate. It had something to do with his ex-wife, and how he’d vowed not to make the same mistake twice. April had been about the neediest woman he’d ever met, lacking in confidence and unwilling to give him any independence. He had loved April in the beginning, loved that she was a generous, caring woman, but in the end he’d realized he wanted to be friends with her, not married to her.

And if he ever got involved with a woman again, he wanted passion this time. Not just friendship. Not just companionship. But passion, and deep, lasting love.

He’d been holding out on the sex. Waiting for the right moment, the right woman, when he was so turned on, so intrigued by a woman that the thought of waiting was downright painful.

He was thinking he was just about there.

Enough so that his jeans were straining at the crotch and he was shocked at himself. He’d just met Trish-what the hell?

He let go of her hand. “I was married for eight years.” Flicking the crusty rye bread on his sandwich, he stared at the bare spot on his left hand where his wedding ring had been. He had felt a tremendous relief when he’d taken that ring off. He’d been more than ready to move on, to a new life, to a new woman. Yet it was April getting a second chance, not him.

“Was married?”

“Yep. I’m divorced. Been two years, and my ex is getting remarried tomorrow.”

“Yeah? So I guess you’re heartbroken? Jealous of the new hubby?”

That startled him. Jealous? Definitely not in the way Trish meant. “Nah, I actually feel kind of sorry for the guy. Everybody loves April, but not everybody’s had to live with her.” It had been exhausting to always ease April’s insecurities.

“So it was a mutual breakup?”

“Nope. I left her. She dragged out the divorce as long as she could.”

“So you’re here getting drunk…why?” Trish wrinkled her nose. “I’d think you’d be happy to get her out of your hair.”

“I’m celebrating, that’s why I’m getting drunk.” Caleb frowned. “Was getting drunk.”

“Yeah, you look like a barrel of laughs to me. Party on, Caleb.” She made a funny face and stuck her fingers out in some frat-boy gesture.

It made him want to laugh. “Okay, so it’s kind of hard to celebrate by myself.”

Trish played with a French fry on her plate. “Why’d you leave her?”

“I left her because I wanted something more, you know what I’m saying? And here she’s moved on, getting married.”

Trish leaned over the bar counter, propping her arm up as she watched him. Caleb wasn’t sure how the conversation had turned to his life story or why he was telling her anything about his ex-wife. He’d have to blame it on the beer, because he was not the kind of guy who talked about his friggin’ feelings on a regular basis.

After studying him for a second, Trish nodded. “Aah. I get it. You’re feeling bad because she’s over you. Found someone else. She’s got a lot of nerve picking up the pieces of her life after you broke them.”

Wait a minute. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It didn’t sound flattering.

“That you’re just such a typical guy. You don’t want her, but you don’t want anyone else to have her.” Trish made a face at him. “What was she supposed to do? Sit around crying for the rest of her life because you decided the marriage wasn’t working? You should be happy for her.”

Trish had it all completely wrong. “I am happy. Very happy. Happy that Harry fell on my grenade. If you don’t press down April’s pin at all times, she’ll explode.”