I stand there like a deer caught in headlights.
He lifts his cell phone to his ear, then turns and sees me. His lips part and for a brief moment, we’re two statues. Then, slowly, his lips curl into a smile that makes my heart skip a beat.
Judd’s hand falls to his side, his call forgotten.
“Bailey,” he says.
“Judd.” I raise my hand in a salute, then feel stupid.
He shakes his head. “Twice in one day,” he says. “Lucky.”
My hands tingle. “Lucky for you, maybe.” I point to the gash on my head.
He laughs. “I really am sorry about that,” he says. “Can I buy you a drink to make it up to you?”
He hitches his thumb back toward the door.
I glance toward the door. “Sure, why not?”
He puts his phone back into his pocket, then pushes his hair behind his ears. His face is freshly shaved and when he moves, I catch the scent of him on the wind. Instead of the worn jeans he was wearing earlier, he’s changed into a pair of dark jeans that hug the muscles in his thighs. His dark navy button-up shirt is open slightly at the top, showing off the smooth chest beneath.
“Did you need to make a call?” I ask.
He opens the door and the music spills out into the alley. “It’s not important,” he says. “What were you doing out here, anyway?”
I laugh, knowing he has to notice my red eyes and tear-stained face. I probably have raccoon eyes from my mascara at this point. If he still wants to buy me a drink after seeing me cry twice in one day, this guy’s insane. “I was having an epiphany,” I say.
“Oh really,” he says. He gives me that smile again. That half-smile that makes him look like he has a secret. A sexy secret I’m dying to know. “What kind of epiphany?”
“Buy me that drink and maybe I’ll tell you.”
Judd leads me toward the bar. We sit down on a corner so that our bar stools are facing each other instead of just side-by-side. I want to hide my face. I have to look horrible. At least Monica stayed true to her promise and brought me to a dark place.
“What do you want?” Judd asks. He motions toward the bartender and orders a beer for himself.
Out of habit, I order a Jack and coke. It’s my go-to drink when I’m with Preston. He made a joke once that I was more fun when I was drinking Jack Daniels, so I started ordering it all the time. I don’t even really like it that much. All I’ve cared about for the past three years is whether Preston wanted me to like something.
“Wait,” I call out to the bartender. He grabs Judd’s beer from the cooler and walks back toward us.
“Can I get something else instead?”
“Of course, you want another shot of Jagermeister?”
I shake my head. I don’t even know what to order. I just know I don’t care if I never have another Jack and coke in my life. “What can you make that’s Christmas-y? Something strong that tastes good.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Judd raise an eyebrow at the word strong. He takes a quick drink of his beer. “Sounds like you have your work cut out for you, Beau.”
“I think I have just the thing,” Beau says. “If you don’t like it, I’ll make you something else.”
“Do you guys know each other?” I ask Judd when the bartender walks away.
Judd nods. “Yeah, he’s one of my good buddies. I hang out here on the weekends when I’m not working in the lab or studying,” he says. “Sometimes he slips me free drinks. It’s a perk of being friends with a bartender.”
“Ah,” I say, swiveling on my stool. “So when you said you’d buy me a drink, what you meant was that you’d buy me a free drink?”
He cuts his eyes toward me and one side of his lips curls into a smile, that I have to say gets my heart racing a little bit. How did I miss how good looking this guy is?
“Maybe,” he says. “Dating on a budget 101. Find a bar where you can get free drinks.”
I laugh. Dating a budget was never in Preston’s vocabulary. He spent money like it grew on trees. I guess for him it really kind of does.
Still, the fact that Judd just used the word ‘dating’ sends a funny jolt through my mid-section.
When Beau comes back, he’s carrying a bright green drink in a martini glass, garnished with a red cherry.
“Wow, this looks amazing,” I say. “What’s in it?”
“Vodka and Midori,” Beau says.
I take a sip and am instantly addicted. “I can’t even taste the alcohol in this.”
“Exactly the point,” he says. He winks at Judd, then takes off to help a group of girls who just hobbled over from the dance floor.
“What was that wink about? Are you trying to get me drunk?” I tease.
Judd throws up his hands. “I didn’t say that,” he says. “It just seems like you’ve had the kind of day where you could really benefit from a couple of drinks.”
My smile fades and I play with the cherry. “Is it that obvious?”
“That you’ve had a bad day?” he asks. “Other than the fact that you’ve got a nasty cut on your forehead from some jerk hitting you in the face with a door, you were just standing in the alley of a nightclub crying. I’d say, yeah, it’s pretty obvious.”
Part of me wants to get up and walk away. What kind of guy tells you straight out that you look like hell and could use a drink? Then again, other than Monica, not many people in my life are willing to tell it like it is. Most of the people I know have been tiptoeing around me like I was a ticking time-bomb ever since Preston broke up with me. No one wants to push me or really talk to me about what I’ve been going through.
This guy doesn’t seem to have any trouble just cutting through the bullshit and talking about the obvious.
He’s very different from Preston, and right now, that’s exactly what I’m looking for.
One glance at the dance floor tells me Monica’s going to be here for a while. She’s dancing with some guy I don’t recognize. And calling what they’re doing dancing is really a stretch, considering they’re mostly just grinding each other.
I may as well sit here and enjoy myself. What could a few more drinks hurt?
“So, Judd, there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you since this afternoon,” I say.
He takes another drink and my eyes drift to his mouth as it touches the glass. My stomach flips and I force my eyes away.
“Ask me anything,” he says.
I look down at the napkin and fiddle with a small plastic straw. It’s been years since I looked at anyone and felt that first flutter of excitement and attraction. Either this is the greatest drink ever invented or there might really be something here.
I almost lose my train of thought in my nervousness.
“Why do I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before?” I ask. “You look familiar, but I can’t remember ever meeting you before.”
He laughs. “The Cup,” he says. “I come in there a lot to study.”
My eyes widen and I study him. “Caramel mocha,” I say, snapping my fingers. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”
How in the heck did I not notice how amazing and sexy he is before now? Was I really so blinded by Preston that I missed something that was right in front of my eyes?
Or is the alcohol going straight to my crotch?
Judd downs the rest of his beer and taps the bar top twice. Beau sets another down a few seconds later, like this is something they do all the time.
“You don’t strike me as a med student,” I say, taking another sip of this magical green cocktail.
“Why?” He chuckles.
I shrug. “Long, impossible hours. No time for fun,” I say. “Plus, you don’t look the type.”
I honestly don’t know why I’m saying all this. The alcohol is making my head spin and there doesn’t seem to be a filter between my brain and my mouth at the moment.
He leans closer. “It’s the hair right?”
I nod and look him over. “Yeah, maybe a little,” I say. “And the shoes.”
He cocks his head toward me. “Shoes?”
“I know it’s stupid, but I’ve always thought a person’s shoes said a lot about their character. Their ambitions, if you will. And you’re wearing those beat-up tennis shoes with a hole in them,” I say. “I would have guessed you more of an anthropology major or something. Maybe psych. Something more liberal arts than medical.”
“Oh really?” he says. “I never considered guessing someone’s major by their shoes, but I’ll have to try it some time.”
He looks down and I realize he’s looking at my shoes. I giggle and turn, holding my legs out straight so he can see my shoes clearly.
“What’s your best guess?”
I’m wearing a pair of red heels that are just barely covered by the cuff of my dark blue jeans. I almost always wear heels when I go out. Otherwise, I’m super short compared to everyone else around me. Besides, Preston is tall and he always liked for me to wear heels, so I always did. I have a closet full of them.
Judd brings a hand to his face, rubbing his chin and looking serious. I can’t help but laugh at his intense study of my red heels.
“Red shoes are very complex,” he says. His eyes travel all the way up my legs and he takes his time. My body heats up at his intense look. “They say you’re daring and not afraid to be yourself. Red heels definitely say confident and classy, but with a touch of rebel.”
I laugh, but not because he’s right. I laugh because he’s so far off, he’s not even in the right zip code. I may act confident, but the truth is that I’m terrified of being myself. I’ve spent the majority of my life in a constant state of worry about what other people will think of me.
“Education or maybe something like Communication,” he says finally.
“Which one?” I say. “You can only choose one.”
“Definitely Education, then,” he says. “You’ve got that sexy teacher vibe about you.”
Warmth spreads up my neck and cheeks. He thinks I’m sexy? I can’t even remember the last time someone called me that.
“Wrong on both counts,” I say. “Art.”
He slaps his hand down on the bar top. “Damn,” he says. “That was my third guess.”
I laugh. “Liar.”
He looks at me and winks. His smile is so free and genuine it tears at me. Pulls me toward him. He lights up when he laughs.
“That explains the paint, I guess,” he says.
I hold my hands out, studying my fingers. I try to keep my nails short, but I always end up paint or clay or something under my fingernails.
“Good eye,” I say. The fact that he noticed the paint even in the darkness of this place impresses me.
“Something like that,” he says. “Want another drink?”
A buzz of energy flares through my body. I want to know this guy. It’s such a foreign feeling, I don’t even know what to do with it.
I look toward the dance floor and see that Monica is standing at the edge of the crowd staring at me, her mouth open in shock. She catches my eye and jumps up and down like a little girl. She raises her fist into the air and heads back onto the dance floor.
I laugh and shake my head, then turn back to Judd.
I said I wanted something to bring hope to the season. I said I felt the universe was trying to tell me something. How can this all be a coincidence? Maybe it's fate.
And who am I to deny fate?
Without taking my eyes off of his, I reach out and tap the bar top twice.