Chapter 15: John

Chapter 15 – John

I don’t know what possessed me to stay. I guess it’s because I don’t want the evening to end. I like Gabrielle. I like being around her. She’s different from a lot of the women I know. She’s straight-forward and to the point. She doesn’t play games. She’s not coy. She’s not a flirt. She’s the kind of woman who’s worth taking a chance on.

For me, that means taking a big chance.

I haven’t lowered my guard around a woman in a long time. And to be honest, I’m not sure I can do it now, not even with her. There’s just so much at stake. I hate to admit it, even to myself, but my self-confidence has really taken a hit over the past few years. When I’m with a woman, I feel like I’m a freak. Someone to gawk at. Maybe this is my own insecurity talking. Maybe it’s all in my head. But whatever the reason, it’s different with Gabrielle. She treats me like I’m just any other man.

She makes me forget I’m damaged.

Gabrielle motions me in and shuts the door. “Come on in, then. I’m afraid I have only wine and beer to offer you. Or a soft drink. I don’t have any liquor. I’m still stocking my pantry.”

“A soft drink would be great. Thanks.” I think right now would be a really bad time for me to drink alcohol.

It smells good in here, faintly of fresh baked cookies. Maybe cinnamon or vanilla. I don’t know if it’s because she’s been baking or if it’s air freshener, but regardless, it smells nice.

She flips on a light switch just inside the door, and two lamps in the living room turn on. I watch her walk over to the kitchen, where she flips another couple of switches. A light comes on over the kitchen island, as well as overhead lights.

“They did a good job on your apartment,” I say. “It’s nice.”

Gabrielle nods. “I love it. I wasn’t expecting something this nice. Hannah’s sister Sophie oversaw the decorating, so I shouldn’t be surprised. She has great taste.” She studies me a moment. “You can take your hat off, if you want to.”

My heart slams into my ribs as my lungs seize up on me. No one’s ever asked me to do that.

She gives me the tiniest of smiles. “Make yourself at home.”

I swallow hard past the lump in my throat. “I—” She stands there patiently, just waiting for me to do decide what I’m going to do. She has no idea what she’s asking of me. Or, maybe she knows exactly what she’s asking. She’s asking me to let down my guard, to expose myself. To trust her. “I’ll have hat hair.” As stupid as that sounds, it’s the only excuse I can think of not to take it off.

She shrugs. “That’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Still, she waits. I could say no. I could turn around and walk right out that door. I could do a dozen different things, and somehow I find myself really wanting to do the one thing she’s asking of me.

It’s terrifying. And yet, somehow I find myself reaching up to grip the crown of my cowboy hat and lift it off.

She holds out her hand. “I’ll hang it up for you.”

Standing stock still, like a wild animal caught in a trap, I hand her my hat.

She hangs it on a coat rack near the door, then returns to the kitchen. “I’ll grab our drinks.”

I can’t believe I’m standing here without my hat on, my face fully exposed. She’s looking right at me as if it’s just another Tuesday, and she doesn’t care that one side of my face looks like road rash. I swallow hard and find my voice. “On second thought, I’ll have a beer.” I’m going to need something stronger than a soft drink to get me through this. Whatever this is. I’m still not sure.

She opens the fridge and grabs two bottles of Fat Tire.

“I see you’ve been studying up on Colorado beers,” I say.

Nodding, she hands me a bottle, then grabs a bottle opener from the silverware drawer. “Colorado has a vibrant culture of craft breweries.” After popping the cap off her bottle, she holds the opener aloft. “Can I open yours?”

She’s asking because my left hand—encased in a leather glove—is jammed into my front left pocket.

Shit. Now I’m backed into a corner. I can’t pop the cap off my bottle using just one hand. “That’s okay. I’ve got it.” I withdraw my hand from my pocket and take hold of the bottle so I can pop off the cap with my right hand.

“Do you have limited use of your left hand?” She asks me that matter of factly, like she’d say, the weather’s sure nice today.

Suddenly, it feels real warm in here. “No.”

“I just wondered as you keep it covered and usually out of sight.”

“It works well enough, for the most part. It’s a bit stiff because of, well, the scar tissue makes it stiff. But I can use it fine.” God, I can’t believe I’m telling her this.

She nods, then she tips her head back and takes a swig of her drink, her slender neck arched. For some reason, watching her swallow is turning me on.

I’m such a perverted fuck. She deserves better.

“How are you liking Bryce?” I ask, hoping to change the subject to something safer. I hate talking about myself, and I especially hate talking about my injuries.

She sets her bottle down. “I like it here. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I would, but I do. I thought I’d miss the city, the hustle and bustle, the amenities, and maybe I will eventually, but right now I’m enjoying the pristine wilderness and the snow-covered mountain peaks in the distance.”

Our gazes lock, and for a moment I can’t breathe. Her green eyes are crystal-clear, like the pristine water in a crisp mountain lake. I could stare into those eyes forever, searching for the secrets held in those deep pools.

She stares right back, not looking away, not bashful. Her gaze slowly skims across my face as she studies my features. There’s no disgust there, no sense of horror or disappointment. She’s just a woman—a beautiful woman—looking at a man.

I don’t know what to make of it. Most of the women I’ve been with lately I picked up in a dark bar, and we were both a little bit drunk. And if I fucked someone, it was with the lights off. Neither one of us is drunk right now, or anything close to it, and yet she’s watching me with something I can only describe as interest. I can’t even let myself dare to think she could be interested in me.

Gabrielle picks up her bottle and peruses the label. “It’s pretty good. I can see why it’s so popular.” She takes another sip. “I like the fruity notes behind the subtle taste of malt. It’s very crisp, bright, and balanced.” She nods as if in approval.

I laugh. “I can tell you’re a chef. If someone asked me what I thought of the beer, I’d say it’s good. I don’t have a culinary vocabulary to tell you why I like it.”

We’re still in the kitchen, haven’t moved from our spots. I don’t want to move. I don’t want this moment to end. Right now, I can pretend that we’re just a man and woman, getting to know each other, and there’s no impediment between us.

She sets her bottle on the counter. I polish off the last of my beer and set my mine down too.

Suddenly, the air thickens, and my heart jackhammers in my chest. “I should go,” I say, breaking the silence. “It’s getting late.”

The corners of her pretty lips turn down slightly. She’s disappointed.

The knowledge hits me like a blow to the gut.

How can she want me? How can she want anything to do with me—even a one-night stand?

Gabrielle walks around the kitchen island and comes to stand directly in front of me. She’s tall for a woman, so she hardly has to tilt her head up much to look me in the eye. “If you’re sure you have to go,” she says.

I nod. “I do.” My pulse is racing. “I should.”

“Or, you could stay a while longer.”

“Gabrielle, I—” Again, I get lost in those eyes. I can’t look away. “I don’t—I can’t—”

Her expression falls. “Can’t, or don’t want to? Just so I’m clear.”

“Is there a difference?”

She nods. “I think so, yes. A big difference. But either way, I guess you should go.” She takes a step back, giving me space.

“It’s not that I don’t want to.” Damn it!I’m fucking this up before it even started.

“Then what’s the problem?” she asks. “We’re both single, available, consenting adults.”

I feel my face heating. “You shouldn’t want to. That’s the problem.”

“Well, maybe I do.”

And then she shocks me senseless when she steps forward and presses her soft, warm lips to mine. When I suck in a startled breath, my lips part on their own, and she settles her gorgeous, delicious mouth against mine.

Suddenly, I’m in a freefall. I sink my right hand into her hair and grip the back of her head. With a rough and heated groan, my lips move against hers, drinking in her sigh, tasting her sweetness, her incredible responsiveness. My mind is reeling, my heart thundering. This is—she’s—fuck!

I pull back, nearly stumbling, and catch myself on the countertop.

Her beautiful eyes are wide and full of so much promise.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter. I turn and head for the door, grabbing my hat on the way and shoving it hard onto my head. “I’m sorry, Gabrielle.” And then—like the coward I am—I’m out the door, practically slamming it shut behind me.

I fall against the wall as I try to catch my breath. Between kissing her and then bailing on her, I’m a wreck.

She kissed me.

She wanted to kiss me.

I feel like a freakin’ teenager with his first crush all over again.

Damn, I’m too old for this. Too old—and too damaged—to risk my heart over a pretty girl.

I make a beeline for the exit and stalk out into the cool night air. For a moment, I gaze out over the parking lot and the darkening skyline beyond. The sun is setting, casting long golden rays of light skimming over the tops of the trees.

She kissed me!

I never thought—hell, a guy like me has zero chance with a woman like Gabrielle.

I take a few steps toward the barn, then stop dead in my tracks. My body feels oddly alive. My nerves are buzzing.

She kissed me.

And like a damned fool, I walked away.

What the hell was I thinking?

And even more importantly, why aren’t I halfway to my cabin already?

I turn back to face the lodge. She’s in there, in her apartment. Probably pissed at me for walking out on her. Or maybe she’s nursing hurt feelings.

Damn it. I’d never want to do anything to hurt her.

I’m halfway to the front entrance before I realize what I’m doing. But still, I keep walking. Maybe she’ll accept my apology and give me another chance.

Maybe it’s not too late.