Wynter's Horizon (4 page)

Chapter Six

Wynter—Possibilities

As I waited for the ATM to dispense money, I stared at my image reflected in the metal. The scar on my head was faint now, thanks to months of some kind of special cream my mother gave me. I leaned closer to get a better look, tracing it with my finger. I could still hear the crunch of the metal and the screams. For five days, I had been unconscious. When I woke up, everyone told me. “Well, just thank God you’re all right.”

All right. I wondered what exactly the definition of that was. I turned my head, staring at the way the pale line traveled across my forehead before disappearing into my scalp. The machine slot opened, breaking my reverie as the money shuffled out. I grabbed it and hurriedly pushed open the student center door.

A
s I scooted across the street, someone called my name.. Jason. Coming from dinner, he wore jeans and a dark green golf shirt, his hair still wet from the shower. My stomach clenched.

“You cut class today,” he accused me. I licked my lips, hoping my hair looked okay, and gave a quick tug to my black sweater.

“I know. I slept in. Just couldn’t get up,” I explained. That’s what nightmares of cars flipping over did. Kept you up all night and exhausted during the day.

“You better be careful. Bergman keeps track. Chatham missed, too, so I was alone. He definitely noticed.” Jason and I had been sitting together in history classes since freshman year.

“I know, but I’ll be okay.”

“Look at you. Planning to go down and see him? Give him some special services?” Professor Bergman had a reputation for hitting on the girls. It was rumored he had taken a leave of absence one year for getting caught sleeping with one of the students. Since returning, he had been more discreet, though was now divorced.

“Funny. I left him a voicemail. He called me back, and I told him I wasn’t feeling well.”

“You really are playing it up. Going for a late-night visit?”

“Sure. Me and a sixty-five-year-old professor just LTD.”

“I bet it’s a wet dream for him. Anyway, you look nice.” He was in a good mood, not that that meant anything. Jason’s moods changed like the wind—one minute nice and charming and the next a fucking bear, brutal and nasty. I’d been used to his nature when we were just friends, able to walk away or tell him off when he was being a bastard. But since sleeping together, the ground had shifted. I needed him more and he needed me less and the moodiness had only increased. When he was actually charming, it was almost worse—he made me forget the bad, think that we were back to normal, when sexual tension and joking made up our relationship, not guilt and secrets.

“Thanks. You going out tonight?” A stupid question, given it was Friday night.

“Maybe. Where are you girls off to?” He stepped into my space, and my heart beat faster.

“Jim’s. You should come by.” I fiddled with the money in my hand.

“Maybe. I saw you running today.”

“Yeah?” He nodded, smiling at me and then, reaching out, he swiped some loose strands of hair away from my face. It was a pretty intimate move for him, especially out on the sidewalk.

“If I don’t make it to Jim’s, I’ll text you later.”

“Okay.” I turned and ran up the steps of my dorm, glancing back once. He continued down toward the student center, but he turned and smiled at me before I slammed through the door. The night suddenly had possibility.

Chapter Seven

Beck—Jim’s Bar

I spotted Quinn across the room: at six-foot-two with a frame to match and a head of dark hair, he wasn’t hard to miss. Forever the jovial Irishman, he laughed and conversed with everyone he passed, shaking hands and smiling. His enthusiasm for life, especially after all we had been through, amazed me.

“Well?” He slapped me on my shoulder, seating himself on the stool next to me.

I raised my eyebrows back at him. “Well yourself.”

“How was the damn trip? Your first since you-know-what.”

I shrugged and ignored the reference to Colombia. “Fairly good. I got paid, so that’s a bonus, and a promise of more to come, so, all in all, a success.”

Jim slid another Guinness down the bar, and Quinn caught it and raised the glass in appreciation then turned back to me. “You should smile if it was a success.”

“I am smiling.”

“Really? It looks a little more like brooding on the verge of anger to me.”

I motioned with my head to the drunk next to me who had returned for a fresh beer. He swayed ever so slightly, bumping into me. Unbeknownst to him, I heard his non-stop muttering clearly. Apparently, his wife, Nancy, had found paradise with the manager at Stop and Shop. “I liked my quiet hole-in-the-wall bar.” I explained, moving my arm out of the drunk’s way.

“I love this. Look at them all enjoying life, getting drunk, some already hammered, hormones flowing as much as the beer. It makes me want to join them.”

“You’re just jealous because we never got to do that, and now we’re too old.”

“Too old? We’re, like, five years older than them.”

“Yeah, but I bet anyone over twenty-five is old to them.”

“Well, speak for yourself. I’m
only
twenty-six. You’ve got two years on me.”

I shook my head and saw the door open. In walked what I could only surmise as
the girls
. There must have been ten or fifteen in all sizes and shapes, some tall and dark, some short and blond, with a red head or two thrown in for good measure. They were not local girls. Each of them wore expensive clothes, not overly flashy but oozing of good breeding and smarts. They shrugged out of their jackets, piling them in a corner, and set about mingling and getting drinks.

I gulped down my
beer and glanced at Quinn. “You should shut your mouth.” I suggested.

“What?” He
stared at the newcomers.

“The drool is hitting the bar.”

“Do you see those girls? Each prettier than the next.” He shook his head in frustration. “I bet they’re good in bed, too. Very flexible. What do you think?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“Why not? Just imagine it.”

Angela, the waitress, dropped off my wings. “Hi, Beck. Quinn. Haven’t seen you in a while. Where have you been hiding yourselves?” She smiled seductively.

Quinn ignored her except to grin then raised his eyebrows to me. “Wings, huh?”

“I know. I’ve been peckish all day, and you know they make them so spicy they warm me up.” He reached over and grabbed a steaming wing, watching Angela’s retreating back. Her outfit strained to meet in the middle, between her top with its plunging neckline and her skirt which barely covered her bottom.

“You could probably get laid with her,” he suggested, going back for another wing.

I frowned at him. “I don’t need charity sex.”

“Who’s talking about charity?” He cocked his head to one side, blue eyes flashing, and pointed his half-eaten wing in my direction. “Or rather, charity on which side?”

I shook my head. “Bollocks.”

“All I’m saying is the tension comes off of you in waves. Getting laid might do you some good, and Angela seems keen on you. Or you could go for one of the flexible college girls.”

“I’m not looking to shag the waitress. Or some bloody university girl. Flexible or not, she probably wouldn’t know her ass from her elbow.”

The annoyance I had been tamping down clearly broke through. I grabbed another wing and signaled Jim for a beer just as the door opened again. Three more girls entered. My eye landed on the second one, medium height, dressed in a black leather jacket and jeans. Her straight blond hair fell past her shoulders, and she shook her head, causing it to swing as she slid out of her jacket. She smiled at the other girls, gave a quick perusal of the bar, and made a beeline for Jim. The drunk leaned over me; his breath scorched my nose.

“Fucking women. All they’re good for is sex. Then they leave you.”

Quinn stared at him, transfixed, most likely by the fact his entire body lay across my space. “Is that right?”

I scowled at Quinn for encouraging the drunk and glanced down the bar, looking for Jim to get rid of this guy. He was pathetic and annoying. I didn’t want to do something I would regret. Jim stood at the other end chatting with the blond. I concentrated on them.

“Hi, Jim.”

“Hey, girl. What can I get you?” She leaned over the bar, and the v-neck of her black sweater dipped forward, exposing the tops of her breasts and the black lace of her bra. My stomach jolted.

“Now that’s a nice sight. Not very big, are they, but I bet they’re very perky,” the drunk interjected, his eyes fixated on the blond’s chest. I wanted to knock him unconscious, disgusted that I had been thinking similarly.

“A round of French hookers, please.”

Jim smiled conspiratorially at her. “You know, Wyn, you should really lay off the hookers.”

She laughed, her voice rising and falling in twinkling tones like the keys of a piano, and then, in a throaty whisper that sliced through me, deliciously answered, “I know, Jim, but I just can’t seem to control myself.” He smiled and shook his head.

“See that…” the drunk waved his hand in her direction “a slut … flirting away.” I wondered what he would have said if he caught their conversation. Thankfully, he stumbled away.

She slid some money toward Jim and waited as he poured the shots. Her friends—the brunette and the dark blond she had come in with plus some others from the earlier arrivals—crowded around as she passed out the shots. She threw her head back and poured the drink down her throat, her blond hair fanning out behind her.

Licking her lips, she set her glass down just as the drunk sidled up to her. He grabbed her wrist, swaying into her, and mumbled something in her ear. I couldn’t hear. She yanked her arm back. Her lips pursed in anger, her eyes narrowed, and even from across the bar I could see the red flush on her chiseled cheekbones. I waited for her to belt him, but she didn’t. She just stared at him seeming to contemplate something, then shook her head and walked away. I grabbed another wing and finished my beer, pretending to listen to Quinn yammer on about something but all the while watching her. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but I couldn’t place what it was.

She had moved across the room to the pool tables by now, talking with a few of the girls and looking around. I caught her eye. She turned away quickly but then glanced back. I smiled at her, and she returned it before ducking her head down slightly and pulling at her beer bottle label. Damn. She
looked hot and innocent all wrapped into one.

“So, what do you think?” Jim asked, sliding another round toward us.

“Beck likes the blond with the Marilyn Monroe eyes,” Quinn offered, bringing me back to the current conversation.

“What did you say?” I frowned, picking up the fresh beer.

“I said, you like the blond. With the bedroom eyes.”

Bloody hell right.
Her eyes alone made me think of tangled sheets and naked bodies. I waved my hand at him and made a face of disgust. “I’m just wondering what the drunk said to her and why she didn’t hit him.”
And why I seem to know her.

Jim raised his eyebrows at us. “Well, the drunk’s heartbroken and, so far, has made a pass at most of the girls in here. I’m about ready to cut him off. He’s a drink away from ugly. But she. She’s Wynter. And you could do worse.” He was right on point for me, but
she
probably couldn’t do worse than me.

Quinn looked at them, eyes shining like a kid in a candy store. “I like the little brunette or the dark blond one. The one with the round wholesome face. And what the hell kind of name is Winter anyway?”

“She was probably named after the season. Has a winter birthday,” I offered.
Where did that come from?

Jim laughed. “You’re right, Beck. But she spells it with a y.”

My stomach flipped. I knew that, too.
But how?

“So, are they your new patrons?” I asked casually, taking a long draw of beer in the hopes of disguising my interest and
drowning the sick feeling in my stomach.

“Yep. Almost every weekend. Sometimes they start the night here and sometimes end here. I think it depends on what’s happening on campus. They tip well and spend a lot on booze, so it’s fine by me.”

I glanced casually her way again. Our eyes met and held and, for a brief second, we were the only ones in the room. Quinn slapped the bar, thankfully drawing me back.

“That’s a penalty.” He pointed at the television. Jim laughed.

“Relax, Quinn. It’s only a pre-season game.” In response, Quinn launched into a soliloquy about the state of the Bruins. I tipped my beer glass back and forth and half listened, staring at the mahogany liquid.

The crowd thinned after a while. Many of the girls from the original group left with guys, but the three stayed behind, shooting pool and taking turns loading the jukebox with money. My eyes wandered back to her as much as I tried not to. Her jeans were just the right amount of tight. She wasn’t tall, but from what I could discern, her legs looked long and lean underneath.