One Night Stand with My Boss

The tequila burned Hazel Thomas's throat as it went down, but the fire in her chest burned hotter. She sat at the bar, her fingers wrapped so tightly around the shot glass that her knuckles had gone white. She squeezed her eyes shut, but the images kept coming anyway. They seared into the backs of her eyelids cruelly like photographs left too long in the sun.

Max and Alex. Naked. Tangled together in the bed that was supposed to be hers.

She had gone to his apartment to surprise him as he got the promotion last week and she had been so proud. She wanted to see his face when he opened the box containing the watch he'd been eyeing for months, the one she'd saved for because making him happy was the only thing that had ever made sense to her. Also, the promotion deserved a celebration.

But when she used her spare key and stepped inside, she found clothes scattered across the living room floor. Shirts, trousers, a trail of discarded fabric leading from the living room to the bedroom. The sounds coming from behind the door told her everything.

She pushed the door open anyway and there they were. Her fiancé and his best friend tangled together in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

Hazel stood there like a fool, her mind refusing to accept what her eyes were seeing. This was the man she loved and was going to marry. He wouldn't do this to her. But he did. The watch box slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a soft thud.

Max pulled away from Alex with an annoyed sigh, as if she was the one inconveniencing him. He didn't scramble for clothes or look ashamed.

"I told you not to come over tonight." Max exchanged a look with Alex that made her stomach turn. Then he looked at her. "I never loved you, Hazel. I was going to tell you. You were convenient, played the perfect girlfriend and kept my parents off my back from asking questions," he continued, crossing his arms. "But you had to show up here like this, making everything difficult."

"Making everything difficult?" Her voice cracked. "Max, I was going to marry you."

"Then you should be thanking me." His eyes narrowed. "I saved you from a marriage to a man who never wanted you. You should be grateful."

Alex said nothing.

"You need to leave now and leave the key," Max said, gesturing toward the door.

He didn't even let her speak or ask the thousand questions burning in her throat. He simply opened the front door and waited until she walked through it. She remembered throwing the key at his door with enough force to leave a mark.

That had been six hours ago. Since then, she was sitting in this bar. She couldn't stop replaying every moment of their three-year relationship through a new and devastating lens. Every time he'd pulled away from her touch, every night he'd rolled over, claiming exhaustion, every excuse she'd made for him or every flaw she'd tried to fix in herself, wondering why she wasn't enough.

She had blamed herself for everything.

"Fuck you, Alex!" she screamed, not caring how cheap it looked or who was watching and gulped another shot, slamming the glass onto the bar. "Fuck you and your fucking boyfriend!"

The bartender slid another shot in front of her. Hazel didn't remember ordering it. She didn't remember the last shots either.

"Another shot," she shouted at the bartender, her words already slurring.

"Give her double tequila shots and add them to my bill."

The deep voice came from her left, cutting through the bar's pulsing music. Hazel turned her head slowly, the alcohol making the motion feel disconnected from her body.

The man beside her was impossibly tall, towering over her even as she sat on the barstool. His hair was jet black, perfectly styled and his eyes were the deepest shade of brown, fixed on her with an intensity that made her skin prickle despite the numbness settling into her bones. He looked nothing like Max.

"I don't need anyone buying me drinks," she managed, but her voice came out weaker than she intended.

He smiled. "Didn't say you did. I'm buying them because I want to. There's a difference."

The bartender set down their shots. Hazel reached for hers without hesitation, throwing it back anyway and when she reached for the second, he caught her wrist.

"Slow down," he chuckled with amusement. "You're either very brave or very reckless."

"Maybe both." She lifted her chin.

His eyes dropped to her mouth. "Reckless it is, then."

Hazel tried to stand. But her legs betrayed her. The alcohol rushed to her head and she stumbled, reaching for the bar to steady herself. His hand found her waist first.

"Easy." His breath was warm against her ear. His fingers pressed into her hip, holding her upright. "I've got you."

She should pull away, thank him, walk out, go home and cry into her pillow like a normal, heartbroken woman. Instead, she leaned into him. His hand slid higher, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast through her thin top. Her nipples tightened instantly and she heard his low chuckle.

"That's a reaction," he murmured. "I like that."

His other hand cupped her face, tilting it up to meet his gaze. His thumb traced her cheekbone, gentle in a way that made her eyes sting with fresh tears. "Would you like to dance with me, babygirl?"

Babygirl?

The word hit her like another shot. Alex never called her anything but Hazel in these three years. He never gave her a pet name or made her feel special like this. This stranger had done it in five minutes.

She nodded before she could think better of it. He led her to the dance floor at the back of the bar. The music was slow, smoky and sensual at the same time. His hand found her waist again and he pulled her against him. They swayed together.

"Can you move that pretty body for me, babygirl?" he mumbled in a husky tone and his lips brushed her ear and a shiver raced down her spine.

Hazel's heart hammered against her ribs. She nodded slowly, not trusting her voice.

"Then show me."

He released her and she bent forward, arching her back the way she'd seen women do in videos, giving him a view of every curve her dress offered. Her hair fell forward, exposing the curve of her spine, the swell of her hips. She felt his gaze on her like a physical touch. When she straightened and rolled her hips back against him, his hands found her waist and pulled her back against him, fingers digging in just hard enough to make her gasp.

Hazel closed her eyes and moved against him, letting the rhythm take her and for a few minutes, she didn't think about Max or Alex or the life she had spent three years building only to watch it crumble in a single moment. She just moved while his body answered every sway, every grind and she lost herself in the sensation.

He spun her to face him and framed her face in both hands. His eyes were dark, unreadable and his jaw tight. "What are you looking for tonight?" he asked.

Hazel swallowed hard. "A distraction."

His thumb traced the curve of her bottom lip. "Lucky me."

She didn't ask his name, nor did he ask hers. There was something freeing in that, in being nobody, in wanting nothing but to feel something other than the broken pieces of her heart.

"I want to take you somewhere," he continued and there was no question in his voice. "Do you want to leave with me?"

She should have said no, but she didn’t. "Yes."

Somewhere between the last shot and the first touch, they ended up in the backseat of his car. His demanding and consuming mouth was on hers before the door closed. His tongue slid against hers and she moaned into his mouth, her fingers fisting in his shirt.

His hands were everywhere. He found the hem of her top and pushed it up and she didn't stop him. She wanted his hands on her skin.

He pulled back just enough to look at her. "Last chance to tell me no."

"Don't stop."

His smile was sharp. Then they didn't speak in the car. Hazel didn't ask where they were going and he didn't offer. His sleek black vehicle cut through the city streets and she pressed herself against the leather seat and watched him drive.

By the time they stumbled into his hotel suite, Hazel was trembling. He walked her backward toward the bed, his mouth never leaving her throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin. She gasped against his lips and he swallowed the sound, pressing closer until she could feel every inch of him.

"You have no idea," he murmured against her skin, "what you're doing to me." He laid her down on the massive bed, following her down, his weight pinning her to the mattress. "Beautiful," he breathed. "Absolutely beautiful."

His fingers traced the edge of her bra, teasing. She arched into his touch, desperate for more.

"Please," she gasped.

He raised an eyebrow. "Please what, babygirl?"

She couldn't answer or form words. She could only feel the ache between her thighs, the fire where his hands had been, the desperate need for him to fill the emptiness inside her. He lowered his mouth to her chest, kissing a slow path down her sternum. His fingers found the clasp of her bra and undid it with practiced ease.

He pulled back, his eyes dark with desire. He looked at her like she was something to be savored, like she was worth taking time over. She let him consume her. She let him take her apart piece by piece until she couldn't remember why she'd been crying or remember the man who threw her away.

Outside, the city hummed with night noises and inside the hotel suite, the darkness wrapped around two bodies tangled in expensive sheets.

Neither knew the other's name. Neither asked.

For one night, that was enough.