Love Me Like I Love You Read online

  This is dangerous. I’m fucking addicted. I swear, it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

  As I stare down at her beautiful face, her lips parted and her gorgeous baby blues half-lidded, I know this isn’t just a good time anymore. Not for me.

  I’m not the type of man she wants. We both know that. I don’t have what it takes to keep her.

  But damn… I want to.

  Grace

  Rewinding to the beginning of this story….

  “It’s not the worst news, but I know it’s not what you wanted to hear. Honestly though, Grace, there are a number of options,” Dr. Abrahams tells me but all I can hear is the last option she gave me. The best option according to her: freezing my eggs. She smiles at me, brushing a strand of gray hair behind her ear. My own simper falters and I hate that I can’t hide the disappointment better.

  Looking past her at the wall I note that it’s plastered with what must be hundreds of pictures of newborns who Dr. Abrahams has helped other women conceive. Their little smiles and bows and cute little fingers and toes stare back at me. The photos are framed with pink and blue paper and give the room a hopeful atmosphere. I should be more thankful; the doctor just told me my eggs are still viable, after all. But she’s given me news that a woman at my age shouldn’t be getting. ‘Premenopausal’ isn’t a word I ever thought I’d hear. Let alone this soon.

  My parents always said, career first. “Figure out your life and make sure you’re stable before settling down. You have plenty of time for marriage and babies.” I suppose my father didn’t think I’d be premenopausal either.

  Barely keeping the smile on my face, I nod at whatever Dr. Abrahams said although I have no idea what came out of her mouth.

  All isn’t lost yet, but if I don’t act soon my chances of having a child will be gone. Even now, without IVF, the odds are slim. My hormones have just given up apparently.

  I’m only thirty. So… I’ve got to meet someone, and get him to propose. That’s a year and a half, optimistically. Hopefully it’s someone who wants to have kids, with extensive and expensive medical help more than likely. My mind drifts back to my health insurance and I wonder what’s covered and what’s not.

  They say that people who wait at least three years before tying the knot stay married longer, so that’s three years longer I’d have to wait. Then there's conception and gestation… and the birth, of course. My fingers run circles around each other, twiddling as I think of how this is possible. It has to be possible though, because I’ve always wanted a child. The thought of a bundled up newborn with a little button nose and sweet yawn takes over for a moment and my throat goes dry as my eyes prick. I can’t not have a child. I nearly say the words out loud but somehow I keep them down. Swallowing them and reminding myself that freezing my eggs will work. The doctor said so.

  The little plan in my head means it will be more than five years and thousands of dollars before any baby could be a reality, assuming everything goes perfectly. If the IVF works on the first try. My gaze drifts to the wall of babies, which seems to be mocking me.

  “Grace,” Dr. Abrahams says gently, reaching across her desk to touch my hand. The sudden touch is jolting, bringing me back to the present. My very single, very baby-less present. “Did you hear me? I have some pamphlets here for the fertility preservation clinics I recommend.”

  She presents a number of brightly colored brochures, waiting for me to take them and smiles.

  “Okay?” My answer comes out as a question, rather than any kind of statement. This isn’t at all what I expected from my checkup. To say I’m shocked is an understatement. “Thank you,” I quickly add and hope that she didn’t take my initial response as rude. Clearing my throat, I smile broadly. “I appreciate it,” I tell her and somehow my voice is even and echoes a happiness that’s absent from how I truly feel.

  “We have your follow-up visit scheduled,” the doctor says absently, clicking the keys on her computer and staring at the screen, “so you’re all set.” She finally looks at me with a smile.

  I can’t return it as I nod my head. A follow up in a few days to see how bad it is. How bad. Not if it’s okay. But how bad. She didn’t use that exact term but it’s what she meant. Once the blood work is done she can tell me just how bad it is.

  Just wonderful. I can hardly wait, my inner voice is deadpan and again I keep my mouth shut.

  “If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to call.”

  I manage a smile, nodding and when she stands, I do too, gripping my purse with both clammy hands.

  A nurse in hot pink scrubs whisks me out to the reception area. “Have a nice day, Miss Campbell,” she tells me, winking before she turns to call her next patient amongst the women seated there. “Mrs. Gray? Shellie Gray?”

  “Here!” A woman who looks to be in her early forties with kind wrinkles around her deep brown eyes pushes herself to her feet.

  I drift out of the woman’s way, and then the nurse closes the door behind them both. I take a deep breath, giving myself a mental shake, and head out to the parking lot. The pictures of all those babies playing in front of my eyes.

  My mind is awhirl with thoughts, most of them depressing. More and more depressing with every step I take. I climb in my white sedan and pull the seatbelt on. With the click of the ignition, the car rumbles to life and I instantly turn the radio off, leaving just the hum of the car to accompany me before pulling out of the parking lot. The downtown Atlanta traffic is just as heavy as my thoughts.

  As I sit in traffic on I-85, I stare at the Atlanta skyline. The sun is already setting against the brick buildings. The burned orange and yellow against the blue is peaceful. I sigh. The city was so fun when I was in college, and a great place to be when I was a recent graduate looking for my first serious job. No more retail and interning. No more clubs with my girlfriends and late nights that end up in horrific hangovers.

  Now I have a steady, long-term career as a graphic designer in Buckhead and more and more often, I find myself driving to the suburbs. My cramped apartment in Candler Park would be left behind for the easy, laidback lifestyle I’ve found in Vinings, just outside the city’s perimeter if I could afford the move, and the time to actually move. The thought of moving is just one more stressor to deal with. I’m pretty certain the doctor just gave me plenty to stress over.

  With my fingers tapping along the leather steering wheel, traffic finally moves at a reasonable pace.

  Come to think of it, I haven’t even been at my apartment for more than a night’s sleep or a shower in ages. I haven’t been anywhere in the city, really. The nightlife doesn’t call to me anymore. It’s all work, work, work. I basically live at work, and that’s it.

  Well that and my go to bar. Everyone deserves a drink after a long day.

  At the moment, all I want is to get lost in a cosmo or martini to finish this day off. And I know just where I want to have that drink — at the hole-in-the-wall bar my coworker Ann showed me a couple of months ago. Mac's bar has a jukebox, plenty of places to sit, and unlike the other bars in Vinings, it serves liquor as well as beer.

  Just thinking about it has me parched. Well, that and the bartender, Charlie.

  Charlie.

  The traffic finally frees up completely, and I’m quick to engage the turn signal and get off at the next exit to drive toward the bar. Maybe Charlie will be there. He usually is and when I get a drink or two in, he’s my confidant. That thought puts a smile on my face. It’s nice to have someone to talk to and as much as Ann is a good friend for gossip, that’s essentially all she does. Gossip.

  I jump out of the car in the parking lot of Mac's Tavern, and look at my reflection in the side of the car. Brilliant blue eyes lined with kohl, long waves of copper-colored hair, and a cute upturned nose greet me. If I was nitpicky, I’d say that my eyes are a little too big, that my lips are too wide.

  But I’m trying to get away from that kind of thinking. I tug my pale yellow skirt down
and undo a button on my collar. There’s no one to impress inside Mac's, so it’s time to get comfy.

  After fluffing my hair once, I lock my car and head inside. The place is an old brick building, plain and short. Stepping inside is like a breath of fresh air, when you crave a break from it all. There’s an ancient wooden bar along one side of the room, plenty of stools, chairs and tables to fill up the space with the exception of a small dance area that remains clear. It’s dimly lit, but that’s just fine by me because it aids in the pub atmosphere.

  The sound of balls knocking together on the pool table in the back and the chatter of people follow me to the bar. I prefer it to a table. You never know who you’re going to meet at the bar or what stories you’ll hear. That’s mostly what Charlie and I talk about. The regulars, their drama and anything else new in this part of town.

  It’s nice to unwind like that.

  As I make my way to the bar, I realize that I'm smiling. There’s something about this place that does that to me. There are about a dozen people sprinkled throughout the bar, mostly enjoying after-work drinks.

  I walk right over to the bar and sit down at the very end. It’s my seat. I look down the bar, but find the area behind it is empty. I wonder where the bartender is. There’s one special guy who could make today complete… if he’s working, that is.

  Then a back door swings open, revealing him. Charlie, the owner of this bar.

  He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with light brown hair cropped close to his scalp. He’s wearing a blue plaid shirt and jeans, but that doesn’t stop me from staring at his rippling muscles as he moves a stack of heavy-looking boxes behind the bar. Along with a jawline made for women to swoon over and twin brows that raise and lower with every emotion, he’s got a nose that’s just too perfect. It fits so well with his physique.

  I bite my lip and blush. I know Charlie isn’t for me, really I do. I literally just found out that my time is running out to form a real connection with someone. It’s just… well, Charlie is hot.

  The kind of hot that might keep a girl up at night, wondering just what’s under those jeans. Wondering if he’s as stacked as you hope he is…

  If the other girls hanging around and looking at him wistfully are anything to go by, Charlie’s packing some serious heat. Then again, none of those girls have managed to nail him down.

  And none of them were walking around, thinking of baby names in their spare time. Yep, I need to keep my hands to myself. My eyes, however…

  A pleasant sigh leaves me as Charlie turns and sets the boxes down, giving me a good shot of his ass. It's perfect, nice and round. I swear, I never even noticed things like that before I met Charlie.

  I chew my lip as I lean forward just a hair wondering if he does a lot of squats at the gym, or if his bubble butt is natural. Okay, maybe this is a little too much. Sitting back on the stool, I shake off my over active hormones and remind myself that he’s just a guy that is a part of this safe space I’ve made for myself to unwind.

  He turns around just as I’m nodding to myself and catches me still looking at his rear. “Hey, stranger.”

  Shit. I blush deep red, because I forgot the most stunning thing about Charlie: his eyes. They’re a kind of moss green color, something straight out of National Geographic.

  “Hey,” I manage, the single word somehow coming out as two syllables, and I break off eye contact. I realize that my crush on Charlie is all it will ever be, a crush. I need to stop being such a weirdo.

  I make eye contact again.

  “Where have you been? It’s been a whole week since I’ve seen your face around here,” he teases.

  “Oh. Just work,” I say with a shrug. “You know, the usual.”

  “Yeah?” he says, grabbing a small worn hand towel and wiping off his hands. “That’s it, huh?”

  “That’s it.”

  His voice drops as he leans against the bar. “Nothing interesting to report?”

  Somehow, he manages to make that sound filthy. God help me. There’s a charm about his raised brow and the way he looks expectantly at me. The fluttering in my chest needs to quit it.

  “Nope.” I push my hair back off my shoulders, feeling a little hotter than I should.

  “Too bad. I was looking forward to you telling me some tales.” He looks down the bar and nods to someone he knows. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Umm… something chilled with vodka but tastes fruity.”

  “You got it.” With a pat on the bar from him, I smile broadly. That’s one of the reasons I love being here.

  He moves down the bar to fulfill my order, and I nearly groan to see him go.

  Yeah, it’s safe to say that I’m holding a bit of a torch for him. I know he’s not what I want — he’s hot, but completely allergic to commitment. It’s why I’ve never approached him like that. He knows I’m on the prowl, as he says, for a husband and someone to settle away from the city with. As he’s told me before, he has no intention of settling down. Still, there’s no law against looking, is there?

  My chin fits right into place in the palm of my hand and I sigh to myself while I stare after him.

  Charlie

  Well, my day just got a whole lot better. Grace is one of my regulars, and a favorite customer. It helps that she’s hot as hell. I smirk as I fill the shaker with a shot of vodka and then a bit more and set the bottle back on ice behind the bar. Her smile’s a little weak but a drink or two and her sweet feminine laugh will come out easy enough.

  “Charlie,” Mickey calls out to me. He’s another regular and the uncle of one of my employees.

  I give him a nod, grabbing a tall glass and throwing the handle for the Guinness back to get Mickey another. He’ll be here all night, staring up at the college games on the televisions above me.

  There are plenty of regulars, some of them like family. Grace isn’t like that. I don’t know how to describe her to be honest. I just know I like it when she’s here.

  I slide him the beer, scooting it across the bar top. I’m half tempted to ask him where the hell his nephew is since he never showed up for work, but it’s not like he’d know. The bar is just outside the city and located in a small town. Bringing up business to Mickey isn’t going to help any. He’s a retired cop, and his wife passed away from cancer not too long ago. I’m not going to give him a hard time because his nephew doesn’t have a clue what work ethic is.

  “Thank you, sir,” Mickey tells me, grabbing his beer. He doesn’t even look away from the game on television. Beer, football, and a crowded place keep him sane and help him deal with it all.

  “Charlie!” Maggie calls out from behind me. She swings open the doors to the back and walks through as she throws on her apron. Thank fuck she’s here.

  “Is the kitchen all set?” she asks. She puts her arms around her back, as she ties the apron.

  “Yeah, it should be ready for you,” I tell her, grabbing the short iced down glass for Grace. I try to fight back my agitation.

  James is really looking to be fired. I’ve absolutely had it with him getting drunk after closing and not showing up the next day. He’s young and stupid. I know what that lifestyle is like, since I used to be just like him, but I’m sick and tired of putting up with his shit.

  I didn’t hire him so I could do the work of two men when one doesn’t show.

  I’m fucking exhausted, and the night’s just getting started. But that’s what this business takes. Hard work and dedication. It’s not what I thought it’d be when I opened a bar at the outskirts of town. I know part of the reason I did it was to get away.

  Part of it was to drown out the memory of the past with booze.

  That was years ago though when I was dumb and stupid. Somehow I got lucky, and this damn bar is the only good thing I’ve got going for me now. I can’t let a little shithead like James screw things up.

  “Thanks for coming in, Mags.”

  I turn to look over my shoulder, but Maggie’s already
gone. She's a hard ass and doesn’t need to be given praise, but I should give her a raise or a bonus. Good help’s hard to find in a small town where people think they can get away with this shit.

  “Citrus and peach tonight?” I ask Grace.

  I set the glass in front of her and wipe my hand off on my faded blue jeans. Her slender fingers brush against mine as she takes the glass with both her hands.

  “Sounds delicious to me,” she says with a hint of a blush to her cheeks. “I need it.” I cock my head at her, waiting for her to elaborate.

  “Things going okay?” She asks as her brows pinch, and she looks past me to the swinging double doors Mags went through. “Not that I’m trying to change the subject or anything… you just seem like something’s off.”

  I shrug and lean my hip against the bar as I pick up a rag to wipe things down. I let out a deep breath and try to shrug it off, but Grace looks at me pointedly, taking a sip and smiling before setting the glass down. I don’t know why, but it makes me smile too.

  “It’s really good,” she tells me and sways slightly. She does that, rocking gently when she decides to get comfortable.

  “A new hire didn’t show up is all,” I answer Grace without thinking.

  I’m relaxed as I do a quick scan, making sure no one’s glass is empty and I’ve taken care of everyone so far who’s come in. Rick will be here soon to help and with Mags in the back we should be good for tonight, but the last two hours have been hell doing it all on my own. The wet rag in my hand glides down the bar easily, soaking up the spilled beer. I sealed and lacquered the oak bar myself. This bar is my baby. And James doesn’t respect it, or his job.

  “Uh oh,” she answers playfully and I give her a scolding look that grants me a laugh from her. “I’d be pissed too,” she says finally.

  She smiles into her glass when I grunt a response and prepare another beer for a customer in the back.