Kate Scott is British

Love Maker - Laws of Attraction 2

1st chapter
Lucas


Do you remember the song from Queen with the legendary bass riff? Dindin-din-din-din, another one bites the dust ... This is my life right now. I'm in the Library, a tasteful little room in the basement of the Gilt Bar, where we're helping one of our crew to say goodbye. James Henderson is a friend of mine and the brother of Max, a partner in our law firm Wright, Lincoln and Henderson. In a few weeks he will get married after a more than stormy romance. I suspect something is on the way, but Jimbo is silent.
Max organized a whiskey tasting for the bachelorette party. I'm more of a ale drinker, but I like to educate myself and I'm curious to see the differences between a glass with a yellow drink and another with a yellow drink.
"Well, my friend, and when do the striptease dancers hit here?" I ask with my cheekiest grin.
Max flashes his perfect American set of teeth.
"You have a few drinks behind the armband and the stage is yours, Wright."
I jump up and wiggle my gorgeous buttocks. "Fuck, I'll do that smoothly!"
That makes the others laugh, but when I turn around and want to sit down again, my eyes fall on a black woman who is looking at me like I'm crazy. But what is much more important: this woman is wearing a catsuit!
It hugs each of her curves - and she has a lot of that - and covers every part of the body that I would normally take a closer look at. And, damn it, that's sexier than if she were naked.
The only thing I see:
1. Feet in strappy sandals and toenails painted purple. Which bodes well, since purple symbolizes royalty (thinks of the now deceased great Prince) as well as wisdom, dignity, independence, creativity, mystery and magic.
2. Well toned arms with an Asian symbol on one of them.
3. Your face. Sure, of course! Did you think she'd wear a mask like Catwoman?

The zipper of the catsuit is pulled up to the chin, but the very best is on it anyway: a face that, like Helena's, could set a thousand ships in motion.
Or stand.
Okay my boner.
It's more impressive than pretty, this face. Royal even. Big chocolate brown eyes. Cheekbones almost rivaling mine. Warm brown skin with golden undertones. A glittering nose ring that tells me that she likes to swim against the current. And her hair ... there is plenty of it, a mahogany-colored splendor with copper-colored and red highlights. I could go on, but she quickly recovered from the sight of my dance routine and is now handing out sheets of paper.
“Hi guys, I'm Trinity. Welcome to the library and to your whiskey tasting. "
Everyone is reciprocating, and I hate them all for daring to talk to her. Her voice has a natural roughness, megasexy. I'm trying to get her attention with one of my dazzling smiles, but she's already on her way to get the first round of drinks.
I watch them do it, jealous of any interaction with others. I consider myself an excellent expert on people and am very much aware of the vibes we exude. People respond well to Trinity's energy. A quick smile and arm patting for someone she walks past, a wave to someone just walking in, a familiar puff on the shoulder for one of her colleagues behind the bar.
“Others first” - that is the vibration that I feel in Trinity. What impression did I make on you? According to Chicago magazine, I'm a "Chi-Town hottie on the way up" - that wasn't the expression, but it could be - aka one of the best and most intelligent divorce lawyers in town. And still single, ladies! I quickly get the label of the nosy upstart. The pleasure-seeking British. I like to counter such allegations with a quote from Rilke and co. I am not fooled so easily.
Back in orbit, Trinity places a tray of glasses on the table, each one finger-high with whiskey.
“The first thing you should do is check the color,” she explains. “Turn your paper over to the blank side and hold the whiskey against it. You could then see pale gold, straw, amber ... "
"Piss", I throw in, because I obviously suffer from verbal diarrhea. When everyone glares at me, I improve: "Sorry, urine!"
Trinity's wonderful dark eyes narrow a little and she announces: "This is not a standard color."
"Sorry, you really can't take it anywhere!", Explains James, the future groom, even if he can hardly hold back laughing.
"How did you become a whiskey expert, Trinity?" I ask, desperate to connect with her.
“Years of training. Next, rate the clarity and viscosity ... "
So dispatched, I follow your instructions. Of course I have to add my mustard to everything. My so-called friends should tell me to shut up, but it's like a stupid hydrant has been turned on and I can't turn it off anymore.
I fill out the form as follows and add a comment - it's free!
Appearance: I stick with urine because it went down so well with it.
Scent: motor oil with hints of vanilla and cabbage. Sure, why not?
Taste: umami. I don't know if that's correct, but I love to say the word. Repeat after me, children.
Umami.

I guess that's all nonsense anyway, as one of the scent profiles is “adhesive plaster”. That can't be right, can it?
"Why the hell should we drink something that tastes like Band Aids?" Not that that particular whiskey did - I think - but now that I try it again, I can taste a medicinal note that I had before was not noticed. "Why should that speak to someone? Nobody claims that wine tastes like adhesive plaster ... "
"Adhesive plaster?" Max arches an eyebrow.
"Adhesive plaster, adhesive plaster ..." I swirl my glass so that the remainder spills over. “In the land of my forefathers, it's called band-aid, Maxie. Try to stay up to date. If someone said, 'Sip this twenty-seven year-old whiskey, it has a wonderful band-aid taste', every normal person would go tout de suite. Not to mention the ›forest floor‹ flavor. "
My tirade against the tyranny of whiskey flavor profiles silenced the entire group. I look up to discover that Trinity is glaring at me in a way that makes my pants move!
"Admit it, Love, that's all bullshit, isn't it?"
She looks at me for a moment and clearly finds me underexposed in every way. “No, it's actually science. Scotch, from Scotland, you know, is made from malted barley, i.e. from barley soaked in water and dried over a peat fire. Peat has chemical components called cresols, which in turn are a sub-category of phenols or carbolic acid, which can also be found in products such as Sagrotan, permanent markers or ... "
“Band Aids finds,” I say, because I actually know that.
“Band Aids,” she confirms, clearly not happy that I had the last word.
I can't behave myself, but I just can't help myself. I just love being casually on display, and combined with Trinity's confident beauty, it makes me nervous. Or let's say: silly, because nothing makes me nervous.
"Gentlemen, I'll get the next round." She emphasizes the word gentlemen to indicate that I am clearly not meant by that. "Meanwhile, drink plenty of water."
As soon as she is out of earshot, Max turns to me with his hands up.
"If you're about to try to impress them, then you screw it up."
"Do you think so?" I follow her to the bar. She demonstratively ignores me, the little beast. "I thought I could just get her around."
"Tell her the color of your last bowel movement," Grant mumbles. "She would definitely like that!"
Everyone laughs, especially since the phrase comes from the usually taciturn Grant. He is my other partner in the law firm, even if he and Max are closer because they studied together. Grant comes from Georgia, looks like an enforcer of the Russian Mafia and is slow and methodical. The perfect match for my crazy personality.
Trinity, Love, get ready to be conquered.



Trinity


Rich guys who don't want to give up their dissolute student life in fancy, overpriced suits. In the event of a zombie apocalypse, these guys would be first.
"In the event of a zombie apocalypse, there would be no one to whom we could charge completely excessive prices for fancy whiskey tastings," explains Gideon, my colleague and closest friend. Apparently I was muttering my observation out loud to myself.
"So you don't think that zombies would appreciate a fine drop?"
With a smile, he strokes his hipster beard. I'm not a fan of it, but still love the guy.
“I believe that our gourmet palates will not do us any good in the new world order. It means kill or be killed, Trin. But you look like Lara Croft in yours anyway "- he points to me in all my catsuit splendor -" whatever you're wearing there. I'll just hide behind you looking for protection! "
With that he elicits a laugh from me, although this is currently in short supply for me. Thirty-four years old, but I don't seem to be getting off the ground: neither in terms of career nor love life, yes, not even in terms of my family relationships. I have to think of my sister Emily and feel a touch of only familiar guilty conscience. She is currently in divorce with her husband, a real disgust. I try to support her, but there is a little devil sitting on my shoulder and I want to keep it all I told you! scream.
For the second round of the bachelor party, I put small samples in whiskey glasses. Right now, whiskey tasting is very hip in certain circles, and I should be pleased that I'm a niche woman in a niche industry. A black woman in an extremely white, extremely masculine environment. The looks I get when I walk into a tasting room range from huh? to the point of disgust.
My sister doesn't understand my choice of profession. I might as well “pee standing up,” she says. Sure, because of my job I tend to hang out with guys - and that means less drama is popular - but on the other hand, I really like to do without the drama that my sister seems to be following!
However, I wouldn't mind a little action ...
I take a look at the bachelorette party and discover he's looking at me: Hottie Brit. Immediately I avert my gaze, but I can still hear how he pulls the corner of his mouth up smugly. He thinks he's got me hooked.
They all look terribly good, even the guy with the wrestling qualities. Somebody called him Grant, I think. I already know the two brothers Max and James Henderson from the time I was standing behind the counter in the Gilt Bar. Max is a divorce lawyer, so I guess a few of the others are something like that too. When they first appeared, I noticed the talkative Briton because: How not? He has cheekbones like young Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Hair like Harry Styles later. The suit is ... well, I have no idea about suits, but this one is clearly expensive. It also shines like shark skin. Does it feel slippery when you touch his arm?
Then he opened his mouth and the first word was piss.
I didn't notice his accent until he added urine and pronounced it the British way. Hats off that he can give piss an exotic sound!
He looks younger than the rest, both in his demeanor and in the loving indulgence that others show towards him. As if he were some crazy lunatic in their care, the little brother whom you shouldn't lose your sight because you never know what he's going to do or say next. In that respect I am busy enough with my sister. I definitely don't need this dynamic with a man.
It's a shame, because that alone makes me feel very different from listening to him talk ...
The evening progresses according to the program. Whenever I stop at the bachelorette party table, Hottie Brit comes up with another Shakespearean monologue.
The last: “Leather and tar? I love it when my drink tastes like the bottom of a biker messenger's bag. "
Each time Max then forms a silent "I'm sorry" in my direction with his mouth, and it bounces off me anyway - you get a thick skin quickly when you work in bars - and even more than that Before he leaves with the troops, Max gives me a few hundred dollar bills.
"It was great fun Trinity," he says. "And I'm sorry about Lucas."
He seems to be referring to this Briton. "No problem. I'm glad you had your fun. "
He grimaces, slightly tormented. "Now it's on to the Abba night with the Bachelorettes. So the fun is only just beginning! "
I really laugh instead of just pretending to do with most customers. Max Henderson would make a nice husband, and after working in the divorce business, probably a nice ex-husband too. When the group disappears, hottie Brit - Lucas - looks back one more time, but I just turn away.
I'm not falling for your pretty cheekbones!
"I'll take a break," I explain to Gideon, who gives his okay. It's early July, and normally I'd step out into the back alley, not to have a smoke, but to get some fresh, slightly trash-laden air while I check my Insta and brace myself for the rest of my shift.
Not tonight though. Not for weeks after the incident.
While I'm inside, safely near the back office, I send a message to my nephew Chase: What's up?
I get a rolling emoji in response. Five minutes of dueling emojis later, I go back inside and my jaw almost drops when I see who's at the bar.
Hottie Brit has returned. Or was he never gone?
He has not yet discovered me, and I take the opportunity to take a look at it. He's wrapped his long fingers around a pint glass that we don't see often here. The Library is actually known for its sophisticated cocktails. His dark, too long hair is disheveled, as if it had been used to curb his excess energy. A small scar that divides one of his eyebrows makes him a little less pretty, but much more interesting.
Even when he sits still, the air around him vibrates. It's like a Broadway musical is about to begin.
With one look Gideon tells me I just have to say something and Hottie Brit is kicked out. I smile to let him know that I'm under control. Maybe HB didn't stay because of me, but I secretly know that it is. The thought makes my pulse quicken. It's been a while - a long, lonely while - that someone this attractive has interested in me.
Afterwards, I'll let myself be carried away and get myself in the mood with fantasies in which a British accent plays a role.
As soon as HB sees me, he switches off his cell phone and puts it on the bar with the display facing down. Which moves me strangely.
"Hello, again! Lucas Wright at your service! ”Strangely formal, he offers me his hand.
It amazes me so much that I actually shake his hand. Wow, does that feel good! “Trinity Jones. At your service in the truest sense of the word. "
His crooked smile makes his eyes light up, underlines his cheekbones and sends signals of pleasure to my downright neglected abdomen. His eyes are as blue as a Blue Curacao cocktail, and one with a stinging aftertaste.
He still hasn't let go of my hand. "I'm actually not a whiskey drinker, so my ..."
"... a certain reluctance to taste?"
“You like to make fun of things that you don't understand, don't you? But I'm always up for a nice pint. ”His self-irony throws me briefly, and while I'm still pondering how calculated it is, he bends over slightly. "Does that mean we can't be friends?"
My attitude towards him is anything but friendly, but not hostile either. In any case, I am uncomfortable with it, because I feel a tingling sensation in my stomach and a lurching in my chest. I attribute the former to attraction, the latter ... um, I'm not sure about that yet.
I let go of his hand. "Somebody like you must have a lot of friends!"
"You can never have enough friends, Trinity."
"Or know friendly bartenders to whom you can unload your worries."
He glances over at Gideon, who is watching us from a semi-safe distance, ready to intervene at the first sign of trouble. "Well Treebeard over there doesn't look so friendly."
Treebeard? That hits it perfectly. I can't wait to tell Gideon about it. “He's just caring. We take care of each other. "
HB holds up his hands defensively. "I was warned!" Then he waves to Gideon and gets a scowl hipster look for it. I have to grin, but turn away and grab a bar towel before Lucas can see it. After all, I can't make it too easy for him.
"So, Trinity, I want to make you an offer."
"Oh yes?"
"Yep. Even if I can imagine that you get one like this more often when you work here. ”He points around the room - slightly exuberantly. There's entertainer genes in this guy. He's also guaranteed to sing and dance.
"I've already received a few ... offers."
“I bet you will. From greasy, overreaching old pleasure pigs who are unable to make eye contact and drool over the whole bar. ”He demonstratively stares at a place half a meter below my face.
I point to my chest. "Uh, don't you have to look here?"
He grins. “I am only leading lasciviousness to its logical conclusion. The lecher is so drunk that he can no longer really lust. "
"I don't think lascivious is a verb."
"If I use the word, yes."
It doesn't make sense, but I laugh, frankly and sincerely, and catch Gideon's gaze out of the corner of my eye. The whole thing doesn't suit him. No matter! After all, I can laugh at funny, hot, nonsense Brits if I want to. That's why I'm a long way from letting him flirt his way into my bed. It's just nice to be in the sights of an attractive man for once.
"Yes, Trinity, as far as this offer is concerned ..."
"Hmm." I don't really want to hear about that yet, when I'm enjoying the hunt.
"Do you also do private tastings?"
The question acts like a bucket of cold water. HB had just done so well!
Maybe he needs inspiration. "I always want to spread the love of hard liquor."
He nods. "Excellent. I know a woman who would really, really love you. "
My brain screeches to a stop, stumbles a few steps, and slams into my skull. Ouch!
"A woman?"
"Correct. She's in a bad mood sometimes, and it's kind of weird that she's a friend's ex-wife, but we're still friends, even if I hate taking sides, especially when I'm good friends Game are. Well, in any case you are exactly her type, and I told her I would arrange something and ... "
He fell silent because I poured three-quarters of a pint of ale over his head.
"Hey!" He gets up theatrically and shakes his head like a dog coming out of the water - also theatrically - with the result that several drops land on a scowling man two bar stools to his right.
"Pervert!" I hiss.
"Huh? Why that?"
"You're just getting to know a woman, and then you offer her a ... threesome?" I think that's exactly what he suggested, but as soon as it comes out, I have doubts.
Lucas leans over the bar and grabs a towel, a trained movement that suggests that this is not the first time he has had alcohol spilled on his head. “My offer to the woman I have just met is purely of a business nature. A fellow lawyer wants to organize an after-work event for women from the legal industry, and I thought that would be a good idea! "
I freeze, horrified by every word and action from twenty seconds ago. "But you said I was your type!"
"Right. You are both blatant professionals and absolutely knowledgeable in your field. "
Without going into the compliment, I start a defense. "I thought …"
"... that I want to approach you that way? And bring another woman into play as a tactic? To arrange some dirty meeting? "
With each of his questions it becomes clearer to me that I have just made a huge ape of myself.
Oh God, how did I get the signals so wrong? But then why the banter, the smile, the looks? I could also attribute it to my state of mind in these last few months since the incident. Since then I have seen ghosts everywhere and smell disappointments.
Gideon appears about thirty seconds late and grabs HB by the shoulder. "Okay, out!"
Lucas rubs his suit with the towel. "I'll go clean up now and wait for you to calm down, Ms. Jones." He loosens Gideon's grip, gives me a very deserved evil look and heads for the toilet.
Gideon looks confused. "What was that just now?"
"You were a little late defending my honor, dude."
"After all, I was on the other side of the bar. As soon as I heard the word pervert, I switched to Spiderman mode."
"That was clear." I shrug my shoulders. “It may well be that I misunderstood something. I'm out of the game for a while. "
When Lucas still hasn't returned after a few minutes, I make my way to the toilets. Not that he ends up crying, passed out, or just sucking in a line of coke! (We experience all that here.) In the hallway in front of it I run into his arms. The beer sticky hair and his eau de ale should really distract from his hotness. But no trace!
I start the conversation with a "Sorry !?"
"Sounds a little too much like a question to me!"
Aha, still tuned for drama. “Uh, you set me up. If I got a penny for every You Do Private Tastings that I hear here, I wouldn't have to work here any more. "
There is that slight twitch of the corner of the mouth. I hit him with the bar towel I have with me. "You wanted me to think that!"
"What. Okay, maybe. I was just having a little fun. It should have been clear to me that a woman like you uses the weapons that are available to her. "
"Somehow I don't have the feeling as if my weapons could ever hold a candle to yours." I narrow my eyes, although I actually want to open them wide to take in all of its splendor. How unfair life is sometimes! "Are you a lawyer like Max?"
"Not like Max. Better than Max."
He actually means it seriously. We ponder it for a while until I break the silence.
"So you really wanted to find me a job?"
“I want to, or rather I wanted to, before you decided on the beer shower option. Aubrey is a lawyer friend of mine who sometimes organizes after-work networking events for our female colleagues. Wine tastings are common there, so I thought your variant could be a nice change for them. "
Why not? Plus, the whiskey women and song events I'm trying to get off the ground could get some fresh blood.
"That's nice of you. If you still want to pass my card on… ”I unzip my catsuit a bit, pull a card out of my bra and hand it to him.
"Cool." He runs his thumb over the map as if to absorb the warmth of the skin that it was so close to recently. Then he puts it in the breast pocket of his suit jacket and taps it, once, twice. I shudder at the thought of this sensual connection between us.
"Wait a minute, I'll give you mine too." He brushes the waistband of his trousers with his hand and opens - wham! - the fly.
Opens. The. Fly.
Wait a minute! He's not gonna ... No, no, no. That can not be!
Slowly, very slowly, he pulls the zipper down.
Here? No, no, no, not here!
"That's where you keep your business cards?"
"Nope." He laughs uproariously. "That was just a small return coach."
My mouth opens. Would he have continued if I hadn't ... Phew, I don't know. I think his unpredictability is cool. And that although after some unexpected twists and turns in my life I actually long for consistency. For some, I'm a kind of solid rock, so I can't afford to ... really live it up.
But damn it, I'd love to do it with Lucas Wright.
"I won't make it easy for you, Trinity."
“Oh, no?” Visions from Lucas, who doesn't make it easy for me - actually makes it very hard for me - swirl through my sex-hungry brain.
"Did you really think I'd ask you out?" He makes a sweeping motion. "In a bar? Just like that? ”The cliché of the idea seems to horrify him.
Once more taken by surprise, I swallow. He is not interested. Not at all.
So gradually I'm really losing my gut feeling.
I laugh it off. "You don't believe what I've already experienced."
“I thought so, that's why I'm not asking you out on an appointment. At least not yet. You are unsure about me, Trinity. Find me too young, too volatile, or too silly. Think I'm slick and a little boyish. Well, whatever you think, I've probably heard it a million times. Do you want to know what I'm thinking? "
"You will probably tell me."
"I think ... that we would do well to wait."
I can hardly hold back from yelling at him, just sleeping with me. I am quite confused by these buzzing signals that are missing their targets.
He bows his head and looks deep into my eyes. My heart is beating somersaults. Another tap on his breast pocket like my card was a talisman and my pulse starts racing at the thought of how close it is to his heart. Stupid, really.
But his next move isn't stupid at all. It's dangerous. Because he runs one of his long fingers along my chin. His eyes widen, his nostrils flare.
"W-what are you doing?"
"I'm not sure yet."
Kiss Me.
Do I say it? I have a habit of talking to myself and saying my most secret thoughts out loud. He hasn't pressed his lips to mine yet, so I guess I haven't. But something is happening here. He kisses me with his eyes, seduces me with his intensity, with every sharp breath he is almost struggling for.
He briefly covers my chin and then wraps his hand around my neck. I feel very different and I am overly aware of everything. His full lips. His eyebrow scar. The mischievous cobalt blue eyes. The supermodel cheekbones. A hint of rust red in his light beard shadow.
The fact that we have yet to kiss ...
And yet I feel very different. My breasts feel heavy, and it's hot and humid between my legs. What excited anticipation does to you!
"Trinity?"
"Yes?" I bask in the warm glow of my fantasies.
"I still think we should wait." The glow faded and flashed. Before I can protest, he adds: "As soon as we start, there is no stopping me."
"As soon as we start what?" I can barely get the words out. Yeah darn it!
"The ride of our lives, Trinity."
He gives me another smile that leaves me dazed. I have no idea what's going on here, but I feel fuzzy and very, very dissatisfied with my Lucas-free life.
"See you, whiskey woman."
And then he's gone.