Michele Campbell - A Stranger on the Beach

Time passed. I can’t count how many vodkas I drank. A bunch of people got up to leave, and Aidan went to settle their tabs. I followed him with my eyes as he worked the crowd. He had a lot of fans. The women in the bar lit up under his attention, poor saps. It never occurred to me that I was one of them.

I watched him taking people’s money, and it came rushing back for the umpteenth time that I had no money to pay my tab. Just then, Aidan returned, carrying two more drinks and an antipasti plate—which I couldn’t pay for.

“Something wrong? You look upset,” he said, his face full of sweet concern.

“I forgot my wallet.”

“No worries. I know you’re good for it. Here, eat something or I’ll have to carry you out of here.”

He smiled at me, then took a toothpick, speared an olive, and held it up for me to eat. And I ate out of his hand. In the bar. In front of people. What the hell was I thinking?

The din had died down. When Aidan’s brother called his name, the sound carried across the empty room. The cops were standing up to leave, waving money at Aidan. He went over to take it and shook hands all around. I drained what was left in my glass—vodka-flavored melted ice. My body felt loose; my face felt numb. My vision was doubled. Bands of light reflected off the mirror behind the bar and seemed to vibrate in the air. I knew I was drunk, and I didn’t give a shit. The booze held Jason at bay, at the edge of my consciousness where I could tolerate him. I got up and went to the bathroom and peed for a really long time. I thought about sticking my finger down my throat to get rid of the liquor but decided not to. My face in the bathroom mirror was puffy, and my eyes were too bright. I didn’t recognize myself, so I redid my lipstick as fast as I could and got the hell out of there.

When I got back to my seat, the bar was nearly empty, and people were talking about me.

“—your lady friend?” one of the cops said to Aidan.

“She’s waiting for me to close up shop,” Aidan said.

That made no sense, since I was not actually waiting for him. Well, I was waiting, in my own mind, but he’d be pretty full of himself to assume that. We had no understanding. It hadn’t remotely been discussed. For all he knew I was about to stiff him for a night’s worth of drinks and run out the door. But I didn’t say anything to contradict him in front of his brother.

I should’ve, probably. I realize that now.

I looked at my phone. It was almost midnight. How had that happened? Aidan wiped down the bar, took the money from the cash register and placed it in a light-colored fabric envelope. The people on either side of me had left. Aidan looked my way.

“You okay, Caroline?”

“I think so.”

“I have to give the till to my manager. I’ll be right back. Stay there. Okay?”

“Okay.”

I closed my eyes, letting the room spin around me. It seemed like he was gone for a long time.

“Hey. You okay?”

I opened my eyes to see that Aidan had returned. He was pulling on a beat-up leather bomber jacket. It must be time to go. I tried to stand, and nearly fell off the stool. Magically, he was behind me. He caught me as I tumbled. His arms were like iron around my waist.

“Whoa, easy there. Let me drive you home, sweetheart,” he said.

I thought, What the hell, I’ve got nothing to lose.

Wrong.

I lowered the window and let the cold night air blow on my face. Aidan was driving me home in my own car. He asked me once or twice if I was all right, and I managed a nod. Otherwise we didn’t speak. I was grateful for his silence, and for the comfort of his presence. I couldn’t stand the thought of being alone tonight in that big house that I’d built for my husband and me.

He pulled into the circular driveway and turned off the engine. Jumping out of the car, he came around and opened the door for me. Such a gentleman.

The distance from the Escalade’s passenger seat to the ground seemed impossible.

“Here,” he said, in a gentle tone, “put your hands on my shoulders.”

I stepped down, and his arms went around me.

“Okay?” he whispered, his lips against my hair.

“Yes.”

I leaned into him, my head swimming, savoring the feel of his long, hard body against mine. A vision flashed into my mind of us in bed together. Lying naked, our limbs intertwined, his hands running over my body. The thought of it took my breath away.

I leaned on Aidan’s arm as we walked up the front steps. At the door, he took my keys from my hands and inserted them in the lock, as I crumpled sideways, my face against his shoulder. He smelled like the ocean, mixed with the tang of leather from his jacket. I’d been warned over the course of an entire female lifetime never to let a strange man into my house. But somehow every bit of caution I possessed had deserted me. Here I was—on a dark, deserted stretch of beach, my neighbors fled to the city—inviting the stranger inside. And not just any stranger. The one I’d seen a week earlier, possibly casing my house. I won’t blame the vodka. My dad used drink as an excuse for every wrong thing he did, and my mom’s excuse was my dad. I was drunk, yes, but I knew what I was doing. I felt awake, alive, fully conscious—more conscious than I’d felt in years.

Inside, I flipped on the lights and headed for the front of the house, stumbling slightly over the corner of a thick Tibetan carpet. Aidan was right there to grab me, and the grip of his hand on my upper arm sent warm waves through my body. In the kitchen, Aidan gazed around like a kid on Christmas morning. I was glad for how awestruck he seemed. He’d been taking care of me, and I’d been helpless. But now we could switch roles. In my house, I was in charge.

“I’ll give you a tour,” I said, and in my own mind, it was an invitation to more than that.

He lit up. “I’d like that. When I worked your party, I wasn’t allowed inside.”

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it in the hall closet, then held out my hand for his.

“Take off your jacket,” I said.

He stripped it off and handed it to me, and I thought, First piece of clothing, off. My heart was beating so loud I thought he would hear it. I couldn’t help it—my eyes went up and down his body, taking in the broad shoulders in a soft blue button-down, the flat stomach and narrow waist, the long legs. I took a deep breath, and met his eyes, only to find him watching me, appraisingly, like he knew what I was thinking. I felt a blush spread across my face. But I had no intention of turning back.

“Come,” I said, and took his hand.

I led him through the living room, over to the wall of windows that faced the ocean. “The water’s right there.”

“I know. I can visualize it even at night. I love this place.”

It was full dark outside, and our own reflections stared back at us. Aidan stood behind me, a full head taller, his outline blurred—or was that double vision from the drink? Our eyes met, and he put his hands on my waist. I leaned back against him, feeling his hot breath on my hair. He kissed my neck, and I shivered.

“Show me more,” he said.

Show him more ? Did that mean what I thought it did? I imagined undressing for him, unbuttoning my top, taking off my bra, my jeans, my panties, while he watched me in the window. The vision sent a sweet ache right down to my thighs. I would have done it then and there, but he took my hand and led me toward the living room, and I realized, no—he actually wants to see more of the house. For a second, I wondered if I’d gone crazy, imagining that a man so much younger, so good-looking, wanted me. But he did want me. If he also wanted my house, those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive.