Thursday, July 20, 2017
Blog Tour Excerpt: The Bars Between Us by A.S. Teague
I was pissed.
I’d spent the entire day looking forward to seeing her, and then she’d just blown me off. No call, no text, nothing.
So when she’d texted that she was outside the bar at three a.m., I‘d fought the urge to tell her to take a hike.
I didn’t need to spend my entire day waiting on a phone call.
I didn’t need to hear her voice.
I didn’t need to see her face, hear her laugh, smell her hair.
At least, that was what I was telling myself.
But, it was all lies.
Even after she’d shown up and apologized, I’d continued to tell myself that I didn’t need her, that she didn’t have any effect on me. I’d tried to be cold and distant, not letting her know just how fucking pathetic I’d been tonight. But she wouldn’t stop pushing, apologizing, asking me what was wrong. And the words had flown out of my mouth before I could stop them.
Here I was, pining over a woman, worrying that something had happened to her, or worse, that she had finally decided to cut her losses and move on, like the smart woman I knew she was.
In the matter of mere weeks, I’d gone from the consummate bachelor, destined to be married to my work, to being so wrapped up in a woman that it was a wonder that I could breathe without her.
Though the funny thing was, now, with her nestled beside me in my bed telling me about the not so pleasant parts of her life, I didn’t want to breathe without her.
Not even in the slightest.
I was invested. It wasn’t even that I wanted to know more about her—I needed it. Deep inside me, I needed to see the ugly parts of her so that I could show her the ugly parts of me. The parts I tried so desperately to keep hidden. The parts that she somehow made acceptable with nothing more than a simple grin and gentle touch. I couldn’t explain it, this deep-rooted need to connect with her, but it was there all the same.
Her body is small against mine, fitting into the curve of my arm as though she’d been made to be there.
And hell…here I am staring down at her, wondering if she had been.
Her soft hand rests over my racing heart and her silky hair smells of flowers as it tickles my chin.
Maybe it was the beers I’d slammed back in a worthless fit of anger earlier, but whatever the reason, I’d spilled the beans about my dad, and then revealed to the only woman I ever wanted to keep the horrible things my piece of shit mother had said.
She should have looked at me with disgust.
She should have run.
She should have never looked back.
But Grace, being well, Grace, her beautiful face above mine, her eyes full of sadness, she stared down at me with respect and admiration blazing in her eyes.
There was no pity, and for that I was thankful. No, what I saw in her eyes was understanding, a commonality that somehow bonded us, two people from different sides of the tracks. And that thread of likeness only caused the lust to surge through my veins thicker and faster than ever before.
I study her face, asking for something that it’s probably too soon to hope for. But, through her sadness, there’s also desire.
She wants me, too.