Rookie Mistake (California Dreamers #4) (2 page)

“Fine,” I tell her, finally succumbing to the peer pressure. “I’ll find someone to tinkle my bell for the night.”

She furrows her brow. “That’s not even a thing.”

“You make up ridiculous euphemisms for sex and intimate body parts all the time.”

She holds up her index finger. “One, they’re not ridiculous.” She holds up another finger. “And two, I don’t just make them up. They’re well known. They’re in the online Dick-tionary.”

“Whatever…”

“Drink your beer. You don’t want it to get warm.”

I take a gulp. It’s bitter going down. I realize how much I dislike the taste of beer, but I’m stuck with it. And Zoe’s right. If I’m actually going to go through with the
hit-and-run
I’ll need to be a lot less sober than I am right now.  

As soon as the server brings my second beer I down the contents of my first and start on the fresh one.

“Good girl,” Zoe tells me. She sounds like she’s talking to one of her pet dogs.

She has a house full them. Her family owns a kennel and she’s in love with all creatures furry and four-legged.

As soon as I’ve managed to choke down the rest of my second beer Zoe rises from the table.

My heart starts to beat wildly. You’d think after being an officer of the law for seven years I’d be used to stressful situations. This is a completely different kind of situation. I’ve never had sex with a total stranger before.

“Show time,” Zoe says.

“How exactly is this supposed to happen?” I ask.

She narrows her gaze. “What do you mean?”

“How do I get him to take me home? How do I even start the conversation?”

She laughs.

I’m not really sure what’s funny. “I’m totally serious. I have no idea how to pick up a guy at a bar.”

“This isn’t something that actually requires
conversation
. Just say:
your place or mine
?”

“It’s really that easy?”

“It’s that easy.”

I let out a deep breath, but it doesn’t make me feel any calmer. My heart is still racing.

“Which one do you like?”

We look over at the table of guys again. I shrug. “They all look the same.” They’ve all got brown hair and dark eyes. They’re all dressed in jeans and black t-shirts.

“I guess it doesn’t matter,” she tells me. “I’m sure they’ve all got the necessary equipment. See which one talks to you first.”

I nod. “Okay. At least that’s a plan.”

We cruise by the table, but not one of the guys looks at us. They seem to be engrossed in their conversation.

“This isn’t working,” I whisper to Zoe once we’re out of earshot.

“You need to do something to get their attention.”

“Like what?”

She shrugs.

I rub my temple. “This was a terrible idea.”

“No. I refuse to give up when we’ve come this far. You’re going home with one of those guys if I have to grab him and pull him over here myself.”

“I was lukewarm on the idea anyway. Maybe this is fate’s way of saying that I’m not destined for a one-night stand. I’m perfectly okay with that.”

Zoe shakes her head. “I’m not.” Then she snaps her fingers. “Give me your cellphone.”

“I’m not giving you my cellphone.” Maybe if I put my foot down she’ll give up on this ridiculous scheme.

She puts out her hand and glares at me. “Cellphone. Now.”

My best friend is definitely the most persistent person I’ve ever met. Resistance is obviously futile. I reach into my pocket, remove my cell and hand it to her.

Before I realize what she’s doing she bends down and slides my cellphone across the sleek tiled floor. It hits the foot of one of the guys at the end of the table and comes to a stop at his feet.

The guy frowns then bends down to retrieve my phone from the floor.

I hurry over to him. “Sorry.” I grab my cell from his hands. “I’m such a klutz.”

His brown eyes narrow as he gazes into mine. For a split second the intensity of his stare takes my breath away.

The guy is a little more attractive than I initially gave him credit for. Or maybe it’s because the lighting is a little better on this side of the bar. He’s a bit rugged and rough around the edges. Not the type of guy I usually go for. I usually find myself with guys who are more polished and charismatic.

This guy seems very reserved. The strong silent type. Obviously quite silent because he hasn’t said a word to me.

Now what
? Zoe said this would be easy and wouldn’t require conversation at all. She was wrong. It’s incredibly awkward that we’re just gawking at each other.

“Thank you for picking up my phone,” I tell him.

He just nods in return.

My face is starting to heat. I’m sure I’m turning red with embarrassment. This was a bad idea.

As I turn to walk away I see Zoe shaking her head and pointing at the guy. 

“Go back,” she mouths.

I’m not going to go back just so I can stare at the guy again. I have no idea what to say. I’ve always been the one who was
picked up
by a guy. I was never the picker upper.

I definitely have a better appreciation for what guys go through asking women out.

When I glance at Zoe she pantomiming what I can only assume is:
your place or mine
. 

Does she really expect me to be that bold? I quickly scan the bar trying to think of something else,
anything else
, I can bring up to start a conversation.

It’s a rundown country bar. I hate country music. I’ve got nothing.

Then I notice a man join the three girls on the dance floor. I suppose I could ask the guy to dance.

As I make my way back to their table I notice one of the other guys is now talking to my guy.

I catch the tail end of their conversation as I approach the table.

“She’s not really my type,” my guy says to his friend.

“And what type do you need for an overnight rental? I think spreading her legs is the only requirement?”

“I don’t know…”

“Dude, you haven’t gotten any action in months. You need to do something about those dusty balls of yours. And that girl looks ready, willing and very able.”

I don’t know how
ready
and
willing
I truly am, but last time I checked I was still
able
.

I clear my throat and both guys turn to face me. My guy’s friend elbows him.

“I was wondering…” the words seem to be getting caught in my throat. I swallow then attempt to finish my sentence. “Would you like to dance?”

“Go for it CJ,” his friend whispers loud enough that I can hear him.

CJ doesn’t look quite as enthusiastic about the proposition as his friend does. Maybe his friend is the one I should be taking home instead. He’s not quite as attractive as CJ, but he’ll do for one night.

Just as I’m about to change course CJ slowly rises from the table. He towers over me, which makes me a little nervous. My stomach knots. What am I thinking? All of the sexual assaults I’ve taken reports on over the last seven years and I’m actually considering going home with a complete stranger?

It’s not that I can’t handle myself. I’ve had quite a bit of self-defense training and I carry a weapon. But why put myself in a dangerous situation?

I’m about to tell him to forget it when he grabs my hand and pulls me over to the dance floor with him.

His hand is rough and calloused, but it’s also warm. Does that mean he has a cold heart? Noah had cold hands, but his heart wasn’t warm at all so maybe that saying is complete crap.

Just as we step on the dance floor a slow ballad starts playing. The other dancers scurry away leaving me and CJ alone.

He doesn’t even hesitate to pull me close and start swaying to the music.

I take in a trace of his masculine cologne. It’s a vaguely familiar fragrance that I can’t quite place. I wouldn’t call it sexy exactly, but there’s something comforting about the scent.

There’s actually something very calming about CJ’s demeanor. Maybe it’s because I tend to be a little obsessive and high strung that CJ feels so sturdy and solid. It’s like nothing could shake him.

When the song ends CJ doesn’t let go of me. I’m not sure what to do. He’s still swaying like the music in his head is never going to end.

“I think the song is over,” I say as politely as possible.

“Right.” The corners of his mouth upturn so slightly it’s difficult for me to tell if the facial expression is actually a smile.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks.

“Sure.” Maybe another beer will calm my frayed nerves.

He takes my hand again and leads me over to the bar. We wait for several moments while the bartender serves a few of the other patrons. When he finally turns his attention to us his eyes land on my breasts.

“What can I get for you?” he asks my ta-tas.

I want to scream, “Dude, my boobs aren’t thirsty,” but I decide to let CJ handle it.

He snaps his fingers right in front of the guy’s face. That seems to disrupt his obsessive gawking at my tits.

The bartender looks up at CJ. “What would you like?”

“Two Bud Lights.”

CJ reaches into his pocket, removes a ten-dollar bill and places it on the bar.

The bartender returns with two draft beers and places them in front of us. “Six dollars.”

CJ points to the cash on the bar.

“Change?” the bartender asks.

CJ shakes his head.
Generous tipper
. Noah wasn’t. That should have told me something. Hindsight is always 20-20, or so they say, whoever
they
are.    

We sip our beers. CJ doesn’t seem to be one for small talk. He hasn’t even asked me my name. Maybe that’s a good thing. It’s not like I ever plan on seeing him again. I just want to
use him and lose him
.

I take a big gulp of the beer. If I’m going to do this I’d better do it now. “Your place or mine?”

He spits out the sip of beer he just took. That was great timing on my part.

He actually looks flustered, and his cheeks flush. “What?”

Shitty McBitty
. I’m in a quandary. Do I repeat my obviously lame attempt at propositioning him or do I try to make it sound like I said something else?

“I—um…” In my alcohol-induced haze my brain isn’t working as quickly as it normally does.

I take another huge sip of beer in an effort to stall, but I can’t seem to come up with anything else to say.  

“Your place or mine?” I squeak out.

He laughs. A very hearty belly laugh. The first time I ever proposition a guy and he laughs at me. That can’t be good.

Maybe I can escape into the restroom and climb out of the window or something.

Once he’s composed himself he looks into my eyes. “My place.”

I down the rest of my beer and place the empty glass on the bar. CJ has barely touched his. He places the nearly full glass next to mine. “I’ll drive.”

He takes my hand again. He might not be a man of many words, but he definitely isn’t shy when it comes to physical contact.

Once we exit the bar into the cool night air I take in a deep breath to clear my lungs.

“Nice night,” I say as I look up at the starry sky.

“Did you see that?” CJ points into the air just as the tail end of a shooting star disappears into the night.

“Did you make a wish?” I ask.

“My wishes rarely come true.”

“That’s sad.”

“That’s life.”

He pulls me towards a motorcycle parked between two massive pickup trucks.

“Please tell me that’s not your vehicle.”

“Sorry. I can’t do that. Have you ever been on the back of a bike?”

I shake my head.
I didn’t really intend to start now
.

He hands me a helmet. “You’re not driving. I saw how much you had to drink.”

“Were you watching me?” I narrow my gaze at him.

“Maybe just a little.”

“I thought I wasn’t your type.”

“I just said that in case you turned me down. I didn’t want to be disappointed.” 

“My wishes rarely come true either,” I admit as I put the helmet on.

He climbs on the motorcycle and I climb on the back. When I lock my arms around his waist and hold on tight it seems too intimate a gesture for someone I just met, but then I remember where we’re going.

To get even more intimate.

***

I have to laugh when CJ finally parks his motorcycle in front of a small apartment complex. He’s just a few blocks from my apartment.