In the Distance by Eileen Griffin, Nikka Michaels Page A

been surprised how much I enjoyed just being around him.
    “Fuck a damn duck and call me Fred.”
    I slammed my head back against the headrest and scrubbed my hand over my face. “Goddamn it. Way to screw the pooch, Pratt.”
    I was such a fucking idiot. I’d asked Tyler out to celebrate with me. Celebrate. That’s all. I’d railed on both Jamie and Ethan for even insinuating I’d put the moves on their sous-chef. And when all was said and done, what had I done? I’d fucked it all to hell, that’s what I’d done.
    The night had started off rocky, but had gotten better after Tyler had realized I didn’t give a shit about his age. In fact, everything about him screamed older, rather than younger. So he wasn’t legal to drink? Big fucking deal. In my experience, that didn’t mean squat. I knew guys my age who didn’t have half as much of their shit together in comparison to Tyler. So, instead of taking a step back, I found myself wanting to scratch even deeper beneath the surface to find out what made Tyler tick. Once the jazz band had started playing and we were sitting side by side, it was next to impossible not to lean against him. Then the dessert came, and I’d just stopped thinking. All I could think when I first tasted that bread pudding was how much I wanted to watch his expression when he took his first bite. And holy fucking God, the way his lips wrapped around the tines of the fork? The way his head tipped back slightly as his eyes closed, slowly savoring the bite I’d fed him? And then that low guttural moan, so unlike anything I’d heard come out of his mouth since I’d first met him over a year ago? All I could think about from that moment on was getting that sound out of him again.
    And so what had I done? I’d fucked it all up by going in for the kill with someone who either didn’t want to have anything to do with me sexually, or was scared off his fucking rocks that I really was the tramp Ethan had accused me of being. Either way, I’d fucked up.
    I took one last look at his apartment and debated going up to explain, but what would I have said? “
Hey
,
Tyler.
Sorry I spooked you earlier.
I
promise I’m not a manwhore
,
but...
” But what? I really had intended to kiss him, and not just on the cheek. If he hadn’t pulled away, if he had asked me to come up, there’s no way in hell I would have said no in that moment. And that was exactly the reason why I had to pull away from the curb right now and get as far away from Tyler’s apartment as possible. I’d meant what I said at the restaurant; his age wasn’t a big deal to me. But couple our age difference with the fact he was the adopted brother of my best friend, and the wisest move was to walk away.
    I had no idea where I was going, but I was wired after what had just happened and the thought of being trapped in a hotel room with too much time on my hands didn’t sound like a very enticing proposition. At the next stoplight, I pulled out my phone and searched for the nearest club. I needed a distraction and I wasn’t going to find it sitting in a hotel by myself. A few more taps narrowed down the club of choice in Capitol Hill and I entered the address in my maps app. The closer I got to the club, the more wound-up I felt. When it came into view, I all but leaped out of the car, tossing my keys to the valet jockey and palming the bouncer’s hand with a fifty as I breezed through the front doors.
    I’d barely crossed the threshold when the music assaulted me. The heavy bass reverberated in my chest until my entire body was thrumming with the energy pulsating on the dance floor. The place was jam-packed. Just like in New York, there were guys dressed in leather harnesses and jeans, guys with bared chests and barely there shorts, chicks dressed in furry bras and boots, and one spectacularly dressed rainbow-clad unicorn twirling in the middle of the throng of sweaty bodies. One of the guys caught my attention and curled his fingers