Ramsay peered up and down the windswept street and sighed. She was a little drunk, and even though she'd always heard that alcohol was supposed to keep you warm, she found the November night air nothing short of arctic. She thrust her hands so forcefully into her coat pockets she feared the seams would rip.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself as she looked around again for Claire. At what point, she wondered, had her birthday celebration turned to shit? Was it when she silenced her better judgment and accepted the fake ID Claire offered her? Was it when they walked into the deafeningly loud bar on the corner--the one Claire called "frat-tastic"--and drank the fruity martinis that left Ramsay's feet numb. ("Are these martinis 100 proof or what?" Ramsay had screamed over the music. "Aren't they awesome?" Claire had screamed in reply.) No, Ramsay decided as she shivered under the streetlights, the night had officially gone to hell when Claire had caught sight of the blond meathead across the bar. He'd leered at Claire for a long time before swaggering over to their booth and asking if they wanted to hang out with him and his fellow binge-drinking Greeks. Claire had ignored Ramsay's dagger stares and let the meathead escort her out of the bar. By the time Ramsay had pushed through the crowds and dismissed a few frat guys looking to get laid, Claire and the meathead had disappeared.
And now here she was: cold, a bit drunk, and alone on a bar-lined street. A few late-night carousers jostled her as they passed, their conversation punctuated by wolf-whistles and lewd comments. Ramsay ignored them and glared at the snow-dusted street. Her high-heeled boots were pinching her toes. Claire was ignoring her "Where R U?" texts. Her eighteenth birthday celebration had, in one short hour, turned into a debacle.
"Ramsay?"
She breathed a sigh of relief and turned toward his voice, eager to see who had come to her rescue. Her heart nearly stopped as he strode toward her. Even through her martini haze, she felt herself become both nervous and unaccountably happy as he approached. She always felt that way when Seth was anywhere near her.
"Hi, Seth." She studied his face in the fluorescent light from the windows of the pub he had just left. His dark green eyes looked focused, his smile genial. Nothing about his demeanor suggested intoxication. And he looked handsome. God, he looked handsome. She found herself desperately hoping that she didn't look as bleary and peevish as she felt.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he said with a vaguely amused smile. He pulled a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket.
Ramsay watched him light it, transfixed by his coarse hands. How would they feel against the softness of her neck? Would his touch be demanding or tender? She liked to think it would be the former.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
She snapped out of her reverie and giggled uneasily. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I'm just--it's, uh, my birthday, and--"
"No shit! Seriously? How old are you?" He grinned and cocked his head to the side. "Or am I not supposed to ask?"
Ramsay felt a twinge of disappointment. Seth was her sister Gaby's 25-year-old boyfriend--or, rather, her ex-boyfriend as of the week before. Much to Ramsay's delight, he had always appeared to take an interest in her life, had always appeared to listen when she spoke. He should have known how old she was.
"Oh, wait a minute!" Seth turned to blow a puff of cigarette smoke into the frosty air. "You're eighteen today, right?"
"Yeah!" She silently prayed he didn't find her tone as childishly exuberant as she did.
"Yeah," he echoed, taking another drag. "No longer jailbait."
Ramsay giggled nervously again, mostly because she had caught his eyes wandering from her face down the length of her body. His gaze somehow embarrassed, thrilled, and terrified her all at once.
"So I return to my original question," he drawled, returning his attention to her face. "What are you doing here? Do you need a ride?"
"I--oh, wait!" Ramsay's cell phone chirped tinnily in her pocket. Claire had finally gotten around to texting her back. She squinted at the glowing screen: "With Chad @ party. TTYL!" So the meathead's name was Chad. Ramsay rolled her eyes as she made a mental note never to go out with Claire again.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, yeah. My friend ditched me, that's all." She looked up through her lashes at him. "I guess I could use a ride, if--if that's okay with you."
"Sure, yeah." He grasped her gloved hand and placed it in the crook of his arm as he started walking. "I'm parked just down the street."
Ramsay watched her boots scuffle through the powdery snow on the sidewalk and silently marveled at the sinewy hardness of his arm, palpable even through the fabric of his winter coat. She wondered how it would feel to clutch and claw at his arms as he knelt above her, urging her thighs apart with his knee. The mere thought of lying beneath him nearly made her dizzy. She glanced furtively up at him. "So what were you doing before you ran into me?"
"Not much," he said, watching her face as he spoke. "Just blowing off some steam after another week of work." He paused to stamp out his cigarette on the pavement. "How's Gaby?"
Ramsay winced inwardly. So that was why Seth had offered her a ride home: he wanted to know how her sister was faring post-breakup. Maybe he even wanted to float the possibility of a reconciliation. She took a deep breath. "I guess she's doing okay," she said a little too nonchalantly.
"Good," he replied as he fished in his coat pocket for his car keys. "There's my car right there."
As they walked up to Seth's coupe, Ramsay silently waited for him to ask follow-up questions about Gaby, who, truth be told, had been a wreck ever since the breakup. She'd cried endlessly in her room for the first three days and spent hours staring maniacally at her cell phone, willing Seth to call her.
"So who is this guy?" Seth asked as he unlocked the passenger door. "What kind of dipshit ditches a girl like you on her birthday?" He held the door open for her and smiled affably. "Do you want me to kick his ass?"
"No!" she laughed, relieved . "It's not a guy. My friend Claire ditched me." She settled into the passenger seat and gathered up her skirt to avoid getting it caught in the door. As Seth closed the door and ambled over to the driver's side, she inhaled deeply, enchanted by the heady, masculine scents that pervaded the car. The blend of tobacco and freshly hewn wood was intoxicating, as was the mental image of Seth expertly cutting timber and pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow. In her fantasy, he was shirtless. She smiled to herself as he sat down beside her and put the key in the ignition.
"You want me to take you home?" he asked as they approached the first stoplight.
