Closing the Distance (DISCREET PAPERBACK)

Lexi

This is not how I usually spend a Friday night. Actually, this isn’t how I’d choose to spend any night, but when your best
friend calls you and begs you to go out with her so she can get over her shitty ex, you put aside your personal desires and put on the sluttiest dress you
own—which is arguably not that slutty at all—and join her in a night of debauchery. 

As I toss back another shot of liquid courage, I decide to say “fuck it” and throw caution to
the wind. Maybe it’s good for me to do something out of my norm.

Blaire tosses her hands up in the air as she smiles at me. “Hell yeah. Lexi is finally
letting loose.”

I give her a wan smile as I fight the urge to cough from the burning sensation working its way through my chest into the pit of my stomach.

I can barely hear her over the pounding bass in the fancy Hollywood club she chose. I take a sip of lemon water, hoping it’ll cool the burning of the shot, and remind myself I’m doing this for her. It doesn’t matter if I’d much rather be curled up at home in the oversized beanbag I got on sale at Target with the latest romance pulled up on my tablet that I bought just to try to reduce my book buying.

Books are my happy place, and I’m much more comfortable getting lost in a book than fighting against the overly loud music blaring through this club just to have a conversation with my friend.

God, I sound like I’m eighty seven instead of twenty-seven.

Blaire tosses back her own shot and then grabs my hand and pulls me away from the bar into the throng of people. She lets her body move to the beat of the music, and I stand there trying to find my rhythm, but I’ve not had nearly enough alcohol. She squints at me when she notices my lame moves, and I offer her a shrug.

“You are too hot to dance this badly,” she shouts.

“I like to be unique!” I shout back with a smile.

She rolls her eyes, but her lips pull into a wide grin as she grabs my hands and tries to
guide me to dance like her. I’d tell her it’s useless, but I know she won’t give up. She’s stubborn like that. I’m convinced it’s the only reason she refused to let me push her away. She decided we were going to be friends, and
no matter how many times I brushed off hanging out or made excuses, she inserted herself until I finally caved. It helped that I couldn’t get away from her even if I’d wanted to since we’re the only eighth-grade English teachers in our building and team up often to talk about how to support our students. 

She’s the first real friend I’ve ever had, and most days, I’m grateful she was stubborn enough not to let me hide in my shell like I usually do.

Although, now is not one of those times. I’d still definitely rather be home reading.

We dance—and by dance, I mean, she dances and I look like I’m a robot that needs some WD-40—for another half hour before I gesture back to the bar. Not only are these heels
killing my feet, but I’m desperate for another drink if we’re going to keep dancing. I’m too sober not to be totally mortified by how bad my moves are. 

She nods her head, and we move back to the bar which is only slightly less crowded than the dance floor. In the hour we’ve been here, this place seems to have exploded with
people. 

“Isn’t this way better than sitting at home on a Friday night grading papers?”

“You grade on Fridays?” I shout and try to get the bartender’s attention.

“Don’t even pretend you don’t.”

I shake my head. “Fridays are my night off.” Saturdays on the other hand…I definitely spend too many weekend hours grading papers. But Fridays are mine to decompress from the
long week. I just prefer to decompress in fuzzy socks, yoga pants, an oversized sweater, and no bra. 

Her expression sobers. “Are you really not having fun?”

My anxiety flares, but I push it down. I may have fought against Blaire’s friendship in the
beginning, but now that I have her in my life, I don’t want to do anything that might push her away. I can sacrifice one night for her. 

“I’ll have more fun after I have another drink. Promise,” I say, squeezing her hand.

The bartender starts making his way toward us when Blaire grabs my arm tight. “Oh my God, the sexiest man I’ve ever seen is walking this way, and he’s staring at us.”

I spin around trying to see. “Are you sure?”

She roughly forces me to stay facing her. “Don’t look! Play it cool.”

She smiles, her eyes scanning down a man behind me, and there’s no way to miss the way her smile widens and she gets all flirty. Her hands fall from my arms, one going to her hip and one resting along the bar. I fight back my grin at her pose. 

“Hey ladies. My cousin and I were wondering if we could buy you drinks?”

“We’d love that,” Blaire says. 

I spin around to check out these guys that apparently have Blaire all twitterpated and nearly forget to breathe when my gaze connects with golden-brown eyes. They light up and then I manage to actually see the man attached. He’s tall—like, really tall, easily six foot four if I had to guess—and built. His black button-down
shirt is snug across his toned chest and thick biceps, but hangs loose down his torso, no doubt hiding a droolworthy set of abs. The sleeves are rolled up slightly, showing off his toned forearms covered in tattoos. His sandy-brown hair is a little unruly on top, but trimmed short along the sides. A piece falls on his forehead, and my fingers itch to brush it aside.

A tingle starts deep in my core, nearly startling me. It’s been a long time since a man made me
feel anything besides minor curiosity. No one has ever made my skin feel tight and my stomach fluttery, let alone made my lady bits waken with a fierce awareness and my nipples bead in arousal. 

This man is sex personified. 

A voice next to him catches my attention, and I barely manage to rip my gaze away to focus on
the dark-haired man beside him whose gaze is locked on Blaire. He’s the one who spoke to us. 

I glance back at brown eyes wondering what his voice sounds like and find him still staring at me. There’s an expression on his face I can’t quite name—curiosity maybe, but also a hint of trepidation, like he’s waiting for something. 

“I’m Blaire and this is my bestie, Lexi.”

The dark-haired man who looks to be about our age puts his hand out, taking Blaire’s hand but holding it seductively instead of a typical handshake. “Blaire, that’s a lovely name. I’m Devon. This is my cousin—”

“Ty,” my brown-eyed man speaks, his voice deep and sexy and making that fluttery
awareness in my belly pulse harder.  

Wait, no. He’s not mine. But his gaze is still locked on me like I’m the only woman in the room, and I can’t deny that I suddenly want him to be. 

At least for tonight. 

For the first time in my life, I consider the benefits of a one-night stand. The man standing in front of me could easily have any woman here, so I have no misconceptions that he’s likely a one-and-done kind of guy. Could I do it? Could I actually let my guard down enough to let him give me all the pleasure his eyes promise? 

Maybe tonight I don’t have to be a wingwoman. Maybe tonight I can be the one who gets the attention of a man better than she ever could’ve imagined. And if that man just
so happens to be this sexy Adonis in front of me, then sign me the hell up.