Love Until It Hurts (Crazy Love Book 2) Read online

  My mind spun as I took in my surroundings. Several bars — one to the right, one outside, and another one on an elevated platform — took up a large portion of the space. The rest of the nightclub had plush sofas and chairs with tiny cocktail tables in front of each seating area. A wide stage spanned almost an entire side of the bar, and a wooden dance floor stretched the length of the platform.

  Brock led me to a half-moon-shaped booth at the rear of the club.

  “Wow … I didn’t know this place looked like this. I just thought it was a lounge where people sipped martinis and listened to jazz.”

  He lowered his mouth to my ear again, his warm breath tickling my neck. “I know you have an ID, and please don’t be upset with me, but if you don’t mind, I’d rather you not drink here. If you want something later, we can do that … just not here. Okay?”

  Not that I’d planned to drink alcohol, but I really hated people telling me what to do. But he’d been nice with his request, so I nodded slowly. “Okay. You’ll explain why later, though, right?”

  “Absolutely.”

  A tall cocktail waitress, with an extremely large front that she wasn’t concerned about showing off, approached with a super-wide white smile plastered on her face. “Brock! I haven’t seen you in forever, baby. Where’ve you been?”

  Brock shrugged. “Here and there. You know. New life. New job.”

  “Ah, yeah. I heard. Tough break. Sorry, sweetie,” the woman said around a mouthful of gum.

  “Jenny, this is Char.” Brock motioned his hand to me as if Jenny wouldn’t be able to deduce that he was referring to the woman pressed up against him. “Char, Jenny’s an old friend of mine from high school.”

  I reeled in my jealousy the best I could. After all, I had no right to be jealous of Brock. It was only our second date. I had no claim. I plastered on a smile that I hoped rivaled hers. “Nice to meet you, Jenny.”

  “So nice to meet you, Char,” she replied, and to my surprise, she sounded sincere. “What do y’all want to eat and drink? Happy Hour’s only for a few more minutes, so if you want half-price apps, I need to put them in now.”

  Brock looked to me.

  “I’m good with whatever you want.”

  “Okay. How ’bout the shrimp and crab dip, Margherita Flatbread, and a Caprese Salad.”

  “And to drink?”

  “Ginger ale for me,” Brock said.

  “I’ll take a Diet Coke,” I said, looping my hands around Brock’s biceps as the waitress trotted off. “She’s cute.”

  Brock’s hand moved to my knee. “She is. Not as cute as you, though, and she’s been dating one of my buddies for three years.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Of course you didn’t, Char. Why would you be jealous of her?” His fingers moved over my knee, and my insides burned as they had the previous night.

  “I was just saying she’s cute. So, what’s so special about this place?” I asked, changing the subject, hoping I could take my mind off his fingers grazing my bare skin.

  He turned his head into my neck and kissed the area directly below my ear, sending another dose of adrenaline through my body. At least Brock didn’t seem concerned with showing me affection. “You’ll see. It’s nice, though, right?”

  I glanced around the nightclub, taking in the clientele, who appeared to be of every ethnicity and age. Mostly, the patrons looked to be professional, but I couldn’t zero in on what profession. A long table held eight women, who looked as though they were here for an after-work party, but considering it was Black Friday, I didn’t think that was likely. The round of champagne glasses made me think that maybe it was a shower of some sort, but I didn’t see any gifts. Men in suits, casual dress, and even a few jeans-and-T-shirt combos surrounded the bar to our right. The top-forty music that played overhead was louder than most restaurants, but not so loud that I couldn’t hear Brock talk.

  I peeked up at Brock, ready to give him my answer, hoping I wouldn’t offend him. “It’s nice … but it doesn’t seem like you. You seem more like the country bar type.”

  “I do?” He choked out a laugh. “Why? Because I drive a truck?”

  I shrugged. “That, and your clothes … and your … gentlemanly behavior.”

  He dropped his head and smiled, as if shocked I’d call him a gentleman, but then furrowed his brow. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with your clothes. They just say laid back to me.” Maybe because I was imagining just lying back with him. “So, what’s special?”

  “You’ll see …”

  The waitress brought our drinks, then our snacks, which was more like a meal, and we just listened to the music, making idle chitchat until a DJ started speaking about upcoming events. The lights dimmed lower than they’d been as a buzz seemed to travel around the room.

  Red and blue beams of light swirled, but remained focused on the stage I’d seen earlier as, one by one, four beautiful ladies walked through a plume of white mist and perfectly timed chords of music.

  The first two band members had guitars draped over their shoulders, and moved to the front of the stage. The third moved behind a keyboard. And the last woman took a spot behind a set of drums. None of them sat, and all of them had earpieces with connecting mouthpieces.

  “Hel-lo, Tampa Bay!” One of the guitar players, a beautiful brunette with copper highlights, screamed into her mic.

  The crowd, including Brock, cheered.

  “Are you ready to rock, Blue Martini?” shrieked the second guitar player as she plucked a few chords while whipping her long blond hair forward and back.

  Another cheer filled the air around me, so I joined in. “Yeah!” It had been a long time since I’d been out like this. I hadn’t been to a concert since Nathan and I had split up.

  The other two beauties — one with blazing red hair, the other black as midnight — shouted out their greetings, then all four women jumped in the air as the bronze-haired and blond-haired guitar players strummed a chord on their guitars. The crowd let out another cheer, stomping their feet and thrumming their hands on tables.

  The chord transformed into a melody I recognized, and my body started rocking back and forth, seemingly of its own accord. The song morphed into several hits I recognized, but each had a rich, pulsating beat, which gave it a Latin-infused sound. I liked it. A lot.

  Without asking, Brock lifted my hand and coaxed me out of my plush seat, leading me to the dance floor.

  As much as I liked the music, I didn’t want to embarrass myself by trying to dance to it. “Brock, I can’t … I don’t know how —”

  Ignoring my protests, he pulled me close, lifting my hands around his neck and resting his hands on my hips. His hands pressed lightly on each side of my hips in perfect rhythm to his hips, and before I knew it, he was moving us around the floor to the Latino rhythm. I looked up to see the main singer — the bronzed brunette guitar player — smiling at us, and if I wasn’t mistaken, she winked at Brock.

  The woman was everything that made Latino women beautiful: warm almond-colored skin, shapely hips, voluptuous breasts, and full pouty lips. Her long hair fell in ringlets almost to those full hips too. And she was winking at my date. What did Brock see in me, when clearly these women fawned over him? It appeared he’d had several good dates in the last couple of months.

  The thought started to frustrate me. Had he brought me here to make me jealous? Or worse, was he using me to make one of these beautiful women jealous?

  Not wanting to make a scene, but irritated, I started to back away as the song ended and changed into a slower rhythm.

  Brock refused to let me go. In fact, he pulled me closer. “Dance with me, Charity. It’s been a long time since I’ve just been able to relax.” His hand slid up my back, moving my body with his in a seductive rhythm, making me forget I was upset. He lowered his head, singing the lyrics softly in my ear.

  Damn. He could sing too. My heart jolted. He danc
ed, sang, and looked better than he should. Dangerously good. Suddenly the idea of him keeping me sounded like a delicious idea. I might not mind being locked up if Brock held the key.

  I lifted my head, trying to break the spell, but his lips were right in front of mine. Before I could think, my lips parted, inviting him.

  As before, he led, taking control. His hand moved to the back of my neck and threaded through my hair. He kept the kiss short, but it didn’t matter … I was breathless, enraptured by this man with too many women in his life.

  His hand still at the back of my neck, he gently guided my head to his shoulder.

  Not sure why, but I had an unprecedented urge to run to the ladies’ room and bawl my eyes out, and it wasn’t even close to that time of the month. What was wrong with me all of a sudden?

  Clearly, it was Brock, not Nathan, who’d tangled my insides into knots. He was so sweet, but I knew I couldn’t have him. I reached up and swiped away one lone tear I’d failed to maintain control of.

  Brock leaned back, holding me at arm’s length, his brow furrowing. “Hey … you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. I just like this song.” I quickly covered my actions. That was normal, right? Girls cried over songs all the time, right? Not this girl. I’d never cried over a song. Heck, I hadn’t even cried when Nathan broke up with me. I’d been ticked and hurt, but I wouldn’t allow a man to make me cry.

  “Me too,” Brock said, pulling me back into his warm embrace.

  The song ended, and Brock led me back to the table. I just wanted to go. I didn’t need to get any closer to him. This man with an ex-wife and cocktail waitresses and singers in a band drooling over him. What was so special about him anyway? Yeah, he was good-looking as hell, but he wasn’t a doctor or a lawyer, as my mother had always said every woman wanted.

  “Having fun?” he asked as he pulled the table away from the sofa so I could easily hop up.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. I was having fun. If I could just turn off my brain for a few minutes, I’d probably have more fun. Wasn’t I the one who’d said we should just enjoy the weekend?

  The DJ came over the speaker, announcing a break for the band, reminding customers to tip their bartenders and waitresses for doing such a good job.

  “You want another Diet —” A squeal behind Brock cut off his words.

  “Brock, you came!”

  Brock swung around, taking the beautiful bronzed Latino woman into his arms. “Of course, I came. I said I would, didn’t I?”

  “And you brought a friend …” The way she trailed off on friend made me bite my lip, attempting to keep my emotions intact. As I’d suspected, Brock was using me to make her jealous. Then again, that’s what I’d initially wanted to do last night, so who was I to judge?

  “I did!” Brock scooped up my hand. “This is Char. Char, I’d like you to meet Autumn, the lead singer of Band AMIE and my baby sister.”

  Sister … I stared. The hair, yes, it was identical, and the hazel eyes that contrasted with her sun-kissed skin, but … clearly she was Latino, and Brock … I stared deeper at Brock. Yes, I could see it, but I had to really look.

  Brock laughed. “Yeah, we know. Autumn looks more like our Puerto Rican mother. I look more like our Irish father.”

  “No, no … I see the resemblance.” I laughed, giddy now to realize that everyone knew Brock because his sister sang in the band. And he could sing too, I recalled.

  Brock pulled a chair from a nearby table in front of ours, and I listened intently as the siblings discussed their week, Autumn apologizing that she’d had to do a show in Miami over Thanksgiving, and asking if Mom had returned from New York yet. I loved watching the siblings hug each other platonically, laugh and smile as they made eye contact, unconcerned with any of the normal issues most people had when conversing.

  The only relationship I had even close to that in my life was with my cousin Kayla, and I’d screwed that up for most of my life. Only in the last few months, after we’d spent all of last summer together, had we started talking on the phone and texting each other with tidbits about our daily lives.

  Out of nowhere, Autumn stood and wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Sorry I can’t talk too long, Char. I have to get back on stage.” She looked at her brother. “You’re bringing her for Sunday dinner, right? I’m sure Mom will be home in time.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Brock said, standing and kissing his sister on the forehead.

  “Okay! Bye, Char!” Autumn waved happily. “Nice to meet you.”

  Thrilled at her genuineness, I waved back. “Nice to meet you too.”

  Brock sat down and took my hand again. “Sorry ’bout that, but I didn’t want to put you on the spot. I was gonna ask you to Sunday dinner after our Saturday date if you were still interested.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “You haven’t asked me to go on a Saturday date yet. I may have to check my schedule again.”

  He shook his head, as though he only found what I’d said slightly amusing. “I was going to ask you to spend the day with me tomorrow when we finished tonight, provided you still want to hang out with me.”

  Determined not to play any more games, I answered honestly, “I think I’d like that, Brock. What did you have in mind?”

  “You’ll see …”

  Chapter 7 – Brock

  After texting Charity what she should bring for today, I started to get ready. Yesterday she’d said an hour, so I had time to pack a cooler before heading out.

  I didn’t need to go so far to find a nice beach; the beaches in Clearwater were some of the best in America. But I didn’t want to run into any of my ex-wife’s friends — or Charity’s, for that matter — again. We’d been interrupted way too many times, so I decided to go as far south as I could.

  We’d had plenty of time to talk in a more private atmosphere the previous evening, but it had been late, so I’d taken her home instead of to my place, as I’d wanted. If I’d brought her back to my apartment, it would have been near impossible to keep my hands to myself, and I really wanted time to see where this was going before I jumped into a physical relationship with Charity.

  Something told me that if I got a taste of Charity, it’d be hard to think straight, and I had to keep my head about me. I’d already given up one dream for a woman. No sense in wasting any more of my life.

  This time when I arrived at Charity’s house, she was sitting on the front porch, a large canvas bag resting in her lap with the word PINK written across it, and a large smile splayed across her face. She looked exactly like the woman I’d been enamored with the first night we’d met. Sweet, sexy, and even a bit prissy.

  “Mornin’, Princess!”

  She stood up, her smile growing wider, then sauntered over to me as I jumped down from the truck to open the door for her.

  “I hope you meant princess in a good way this time,” she said over her shoulder.

  “I didn’t mean it in a bad way the first time I said it.”

  “Sure … you didn’t. You asked me if I was too good to sit on anything but leather.”

  “That didn’t mean it was a bad thing. I really wanted to know. Believe it or not, I like prissy girls.” I closed her door before she could answer, then darted around to the driver’s door, pulling myself up.

  “Yeah, right!”

  I reached for her and pulled her to the middle of the truck. “I do. Just not bitchy ones.” I pressed my lips to hers before she could comment, and thankfully, instead of pulling back for a snappy comeback, she opened up to me. Spicy cinnamon mixed with her soft beachy smell assaulted my senses. I could kiss her for hours.

  She pulled back, another broad smile that I’d caused lighting her face. “I’d like to think that I am a little prissy, in a good way, though, and I’m definitely not bitchy, even though I know I can be a bitch if someone wrongs me.”

  I looked down at her rhinestone-studded flip-flops and pink painted toes, so much daintier than the blood-red color that my ex liked
. “Definitely in a good way! And I’ll try not to wrong you.” I pulled the shifter into drive and pulled out of her driveway with more confidence than I’d felt the last couple of times.

  The drive to Fort De Soto took about an hour. The good thing was that it was at the southernmost tip of Pinellas County, so more than likely, most of our friends — young single people — would hang out on the Dunedin Causeway or go to Clearwater Beach on a beautiful day like today.

  “Have you been here?” I asked as I passed through the toll booth that led to the five offshore keys that were originally used as a military fortification during the Civil and Spanish-American Wars.

  “Not since I was a kid.”

  “You said you liked the beach, and this beach is miles away from the hustle and bustle of Clearwater Beach. Plus, it has more things to do than just getting sunburnt …” I chanced a peek at her creamy skin. “Which I’m thinking you need to be concerned with.”

  “You noticed I’m as fair as Snow White?” she asked as I parked the truck.

  I looped her arm around mine, smoothing my finger along her flawless skin. “I did, and I love it. We can smother you in sunscreen and spend some time walking through the old fort.”

  Charity squeezed my arm. “Sounds like fun.”

  The smothering with sunscreen or walking through the fort? I wanted to ask. Instead I released her and hopped out of the truck, reaching for the two lounge chairs and towels I’d thrown into the back seat, along with the cooler I’d stuffed with bottles of water and a few snacks I’d had in my limited-stock pantry. We met at the front of the truck, and I headed toward the snack bar. “I packed water and snacks, but figured we could grab a couple of sandwiches.”

  “Perfect! I’m starving, as always. My parents don’t believe in stocking the kitchen or eating at home.”

  “Really? What do you eat? You don’t eat fast food every day, do you?”

  Charity shrugged. “Pretty much. Sometimes my dad calls me on the way home and brings home something for both of us.”