The Seattle Boy Ch 01

I should not be here right now, she thought to herself as she scurried through the January rain. Being in Seattle made her irrationally nervous, knowing he had moved back into the city after he was done with college and had looked for a place to make his way in the world. It's a big city and all, but just my luck we'll end up in the same bar tonight.

She walked into the bar, the neon lights flashing overhead. In her travels, she had been in many a bar, had the chance to experience the smell and the sound in many places all over the world, but had found very little variation. This particular one smelled of sweat, leather, and beer, with the slightest hint of cooking meat over the top. Fighting her way to the bar, she snagged an empty stool and perched on it warily. The woman behind the bar approached her, her long red hair frazzled.

"What can I get for you?" She asked.

"A burger, a salad, and the biggest glass of beer you have, please." The other woman nodded and turned away, already talking to the next patron.

She looked around the dimly lit room, surreptitiously scanning the room for a familiar face. Catching herself in the act, she scolded her actions and turned back to the bar to nurse the tall, wide glass of golden colored beer in front of her.

"What's your name, darlin'?" A voice, slurred with alcohol and laughter came from behind her.

She turned around, in the process of chewing a mouthful of salad, and looked up... And up... And up, into the biggest pair of deep blue eyes she had ever seen, on a face that was alarmingly familiar. Charlie, the little voice inside her heart murmured. It seemed, that for all her fervent hopes and wishes, they had in fact chosen the same bar.

"Oh... Um... My names...." She took a huge slug of beer to garble the rest of her sentence. "What's yours?" Knowing that she should have simply turned back around, he was so drunk that he wouldn't remember the events of tonight in the morning, she couldn't help but interact with him, to confirm it was really him.

"Charlie," he said, drawing out the last syllable, making him sound both drop dead sexy and ridiculous at the same time. "I missed your name though, sweetheart. If you don't tell me, I'll just have to make one up for you."

"Oh?" She asked, despite herself. "If you had to guess, what do you think my name is?" She settled back on her stool, her back braced against the bar.

Charlie studied her for a moment with his drooping gaze, shielding what she knew to be eyes of incredible intelligence and kindness that was dulled and hidden beneath the lights of the bar. "I'll guess... Clare."

"Why Clare," she asked numbly, though not surprised that he had guessed it right.

"Oh, you know... You remind me of a girl I used to know. Her name was Clare, she had the same colored eyes as you..." He frowned down at her, peering through the haze of smoke and alcohol in his brain. "You have her hair, too. But she had it cut differently, all long and silky like. Yours is shorter, and... And..." He collapsed onto the stool next to her, long ago vacated.

"What happened to her?" Clare couldn't help but ask. Knowing this would be the only time she'd see him while she was here, as her flight left the next night, she couldn't pass up the opportunity to talk to him, even from the perspective of another woman, about their past.

Charlie continued to peer at her, and for the first time since he'd asked her name, Clare felt a little uneasy, that maybe he really would recognize her. When he shook his head like a dog trying to dispel water from his ears, trying to shake the confusion from his mind, the vice around her heart relaxed a fraction. He would not remember her tonight; his incredible lightweight nature would protect her from his memory.

He sighed and looked away, running his hands through his hair. "She left the country and didn't bother to tell me. I was gone for a week, back here to visit my folks, and she just left."

"Were you living together?" Clare looked away too, focusing on the half empty glass in her hands on the bar. It was easier, she found, to stare intently at the liquid inside than to look at his face.

"No, but we might as well have been. She spent most nights at my house instead of her own apartment." Even though the stools were a good four feet off the ground, his feet still touched the ground when he slumped on his stool, matching his pose with hers, his back to the bar.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Clare sympathized. She took another huge gulp, drowning the tears that threatened to rise in response to the pain in his story.

Charlie turned his face back to hers, peering intently again. "Hey... Don't I know you...? You look really familiar." Despite his mental haze, somehow the memory of six years ago still threatened to rise to the surface.

Clare swiveled on her stool, ordering another glass for herself and for him. Shoving the glass into his hand, she shielded him with the liquid, knowing that true recognition would hurt him more than never knowing he'd run into her tonight.

He mournfully drank from the glass, his brown hair mussed and slightly sweaty. In the span of thirty seconds, he had drained the entire glass, and his chin drooped in the direction of his chest, eyes almost closed.

"Charlie?" Her throat threatened to close around his name, having kept in locked inside herself for so many years. "Do you need to go home now? It's awfully late and I don't think you can drive." She was in no fit condition herself, but maintained the ability to see and walk in straight lines. The last time she and Charlie had drank together, it had taken very little to knock him flat on his back.

"Yeaaah..." His words were long and drawn out, exhaustion weighing heavily on him. "My truck..."

"Don't worry about your truck, Charlie. Tell me where you live and I'll get you there." She slid off her stool, the distance to the ground shocking her. Shelling out the cost of their drinks, she took Charlie by the arms and heaved, managing to make vertical his body, and slowly they make their way to the door like some bizarre three legged animal.

When they got into the parking lot, she discovered that the rain had long ago eased off, leaving the city with a clean fresh sort of smell, like someone had turned the dial to rinse. The temperature had fallen to far below freezing, the wet road icy and slippery. The clouds hung heavy and silent, threatening snow. They stumbled to his truck, dark green and covered in the shelter of the trees lining the lot. He silently handed her his keys, slouching behind her while she unlocked and opened the passenger side door. When she turned around, he had shuffled a few steps closer, his head dropped down and hands braced against the side of the truck.

"What is it Charlie," she asked when he didn't move to let her by.

He said nothing, but peered into her face with the same intensity as before. Clare gazed back, nervously. He had never scared her, not in the fifteen years they had known each other, but his size and drunken state made her a bit apprehensive.

Slowly, as though he was made of molasses, his hands came down to hold her waist, drawing her closer to him. Never losing eye contact, he lifted her easily, up onto the seat.

"You look just like her," he murmured, holding himself close to her, pushing himself between her legs. "And you smell so similar..." He ran his fingers up her spine, dancing in the spaces between her ribs, seeming to remember how ticklish she was, and buried them in her short hair.

Clare could hardly breath, her chest crushed to his and her heart raced. She hadn't been this close to him in six years, and it still felt like home. His arms were heavy and powerful, always protective and never anything but. He wrapped his fingers around her hair, securing her head and drew her face to him. Lightly at first, and then with the fire and passion of years past, he touched his chilly lips to hers, the taste of beer and Charlie flowing from his mouth to hers. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, feeling the oh-so familiar muscles beneath tense and relax under her hands. His lips heated up, becoming hot and demanding, searching and questioning for hers to answer him. She moaned into his mouth, grinding herself against him, her pent up misery at their separation attempting to escape in the form of lust.

Charlie's hands fell to her hips, holding them still, keeping them from driving him to insanity. This strange woman, who looked, and smelled, and even tasted like Clare, was making his head spin, making him feel like he was seventeen again, like it was their first time again, like he had to be careful not to make too much noise for fear of waking a parent. When she bit his lower lip in retribution, his trip down memory lane ended abruptly, snaking one hand around her back and held her breast while the other forced its way between her legs, rubbing the place she ached most through her business pants.

Clare pulled her mouth from his, gasping his name as she tried to catch her breath. He dropped his face to her neck, biting and licking his way up to her earlobe and then back down to her collarbone, then up the other side. She writhed against him, gasping loudly as her movements pressed his thumb harder against her center, and crushed her breasts harder to his chest.

He pulled away from her, chest heaving in tandem with hers. "Who are you," he asked hoarsely, staring into her eyes, the haze of alcohol burned away by lust.

She gazed at him, her own breath ragged as she said, "I'm no one, you told me my names Clare."