Kathleen O'Reilly - New York Nights - Shaken and Stirred

Tessa licked her lips slowly, carefully, and he still didn’t breathe. “It makes me a weak person if I don’t want you to leave, and I don’t want to be weak, but I don’t want you to leave, either.”

Gabe took a breath. “I don’t think you’re weak.”

“I do,” she said, sounding so sad, so lonely, and he hated that wanting to be with him made her sad. It shouldn’t happen that way. He shouldn’t want to take advantage of it, but, goddamn, he couldn’t stop. How could he stop?

Silently Gabe got up, refusing to look at the heartbreak in her eyes. Tessa looked at him, startled, but didn’t keep him.

They’d both be better off if he left.

TESSA KNEW GABE HAD done the right thing. He was trying to give her the time she’d asked for. She waved over the bartender.

“I’ll take a tequila shot,” she ordered, which was her panacea for most everything in the world.

She looked around the bar, seeing the cartoons on the wall, the beautiful people who were laughing and living here.

She didn’t belong.

When Gabe sat next to her, she could pretend, and it was fun to pretend, but it was nothing more than pretend.

She rubbed a finger around the rim of the glass, tasting the tang of alcohol, and then Gabe returned.

He ordered a beer and didn’t say a word to her, but there was a key in front of him. Not a car key, not a key to the bar, not a key to all her problems, but a hotel room key.

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