Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

“Says he’s the man of her dreams. Next time you see her, ask her to show you a picture. I think you’ll love him.”

I stay a bit longer, and we both dance around the subjects my mother really wants to discuss and stick to the more mundane ones; her next hair appointment, bingo night, etc. And when I leave, as we hug, she says, “I’ll stop by soon.”

Guess there’s no avoiding it, eventually my mother will meet Connor. God, help me. And Connor.

When I get home, the garage is closed, and I see no sign of Connor. For some reason, I feel restless. Being around my mother always puts me in a mental tizzy. Add to that I still haven’t heard from Wendy, and I’m worried that I may have damaged our friendship irrevocably. Connor cut the grass a few days ago, but it looks like it’s starting to get a little shaggy, so I decide to change into some old cutoff jeans shorts, a tank top, and pull my hair in a messy knot on my head, and gear up for a little exercise.

Colorado experiences hot days, but, fortunately, there’s no humidity. But even without humidity, sweat blankets my skin as I pull out the old push mower and wheel it to my starting point. After a few pulls, the machine roars to life and I begin walking straight lines. Connor takes a lot more pride in this task, mowing at angles and making the lawn look like a golf course. Me, if I can get it cut without completely screwing it up, I’m happy. When I finish the front lawn, I move to the back and continue my boring straight lines. About halfway through, the mower starts sputtering and shuts off, having run out of gas.

“Son of a biscuit,” I groan. Hearing the sound of someone chuckle, I whip around and find Connor is leaned over the bottom railing of the stairs to his apartment, watching me. He has a lazy smile on his face, and I try not to stare, but he looks so damn delectable. The easy smile against the hard body and tattoos, there is something positively divine about it. Suddenly it feels a lot hotter out here.

“Didn’t hear you pull in,” I note as I walk toward him.

“I know. I would’ve cut it, ya know?”

“Yeah, but I kind of wanted something to keep me busy. A little exercise never hurt.”

“Well, let me put fuel in it at least.” He walks in the garage and comes back out with the gas can. After he fills the lawn mower, he stands and smiles at me. “There you go.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“So, I know we said dinner tonight. I was thinking, wanna head into town for a bite?”

I had planned on making meatloaf, but the day is hot and heading out for a cold beer sounds amazing. “Um, yes, but it’s my treat,” I remind him. “I owe you for the childcare this past weekend.”

“You don’t owe me, but fine,” he folds. “Any chance you’d ride on the bike with me?”

My brows rise. “I’ve never been on one.”

This time, his brows rise and another beautiful grin spreads across his face. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirm.

“Well, I understand if you don’t want to. We can drive.”

I look over at his bike in the driveway and feeling shame deep inside, I realize I want to ride the bike. But the only reason I want to, maybe, is because I want to feel what it’s like to sit that close to him and wrap my arms around his body. Damn, I’m a head case. “No, I’d like to ride the bike,” I finally say.

“Okay, then.” He nods. “Leave around 6:00?

“It’s a date,” I slip out, then shake my head. What did I just say? “I mean . . . not a date. It’s a . . . dinner or whatever.” Shut up, Demi. Stop the madness.

Connor chuckles and walks past me. “See you at 6:00.”

We meet in the driveway at 6:00 pm on the dot. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a black tank top. Connor is wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.

“Well aren’t we adorable, matching and shit,” he jokes as he puts on his helmet.

I laugh. “Should I change clothes?”

“Hell no. You look hot.” Rounding the bike he approaches me with another helmet and I pray my arms, neck and cheeks haven’t taken on the shade of a beet after his compliment. He slips the helmet on my head and begins tightening it around my chin. “You’re adorable when you blush, you know?” he murmurs. There went that.

“It’s hot out here,” I reply lamely.

“It’s not that hot,” he replies with a grin.

“You know Colorado has no helmet laws,” I point out, hoping to change the subject.

“And anyone who rides without one is a fucking idiot,” he mumbles.

“True,” I agree.

After he finishes with the strap, he taps my nose with his index finger. He turns and climbs on his bike, hitting the kickstand. The muscles in his arms flex as he mans the bike and I decide I really like motorcycles. After a moment, the Harley roars to life, and he steadies it to one side, looking at me. “Use this little step and climb on.”

With a deep breath, I follow his instructions and climb on, scooting myself forward so that my body is flush with his. His hands reach around, grabbing mine and pulling them around his firm mid-section. “Hold on tightly to me, okay?”

“Okay,” I shout over the engine. He walks the bike back, turning it around and then slowly takes it down the driveway letting the weight create a momentum that makes us roll.

At the bottom, he turns his head and smiles. “I think you’re going to love this.” Then, he opens the throttle on the bike, and we take off. I didn’t realize my strength until this moment. I don’t think I’ve ever held anyone or anything so tightly in my life. I’m pretty sure I’m about to crack one of his ribs. The wind and the sound of the engine are loud, but they feel good. What I’m struggling with is the feeling of no control. I have no way to stop this bike myself. At any moment, we could veer off the road and go flying into the trees. When we come upon the first stop sign, Connor pats my hand, before resting his upon it and squeezing gently.

“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words hit me. I believe him. And just like that, my hold weakens a little, and I inhale deeply through my nose. Well, that was a mistake. He smells like hot, dirty, sex. Why, oh why does he have to be so . . . everything? I mean, couldn’t he have been like some thugged out misfit with missing teeth? No, of course not. He just had to be the incredibly hot, kind, good and bad combo with tattoos.

By the time we make it to the restaurant, I’ve calmed down a bit. When I climb off the bike, I can’t help first rubbing my cheeks, then my ass. They’re both numb.

Connor laughs as he pulls off his helmet. “You’re just not use to it yet. We’ll have to ride more often.”

He helps me undo the strap of my helmet, and I run my fingers through my tangled hair. Note to self: Tie hair back next time on the back of a bike. We walk into the Sandbox, a cool little place that serves the best wings and has some form of live music every night. They also have six pool tables in the back. I’ve only been here twice, with Lexi, but I love the atmosphere. I wonder if she’ll meander in tonight.

“You want to grab a table and eat or would you rather play some pool first and have a drink?”

I am a little hungry, but a game of pool sounds fun. “You rack ’em,” I tell him. “You’re about to get your ass kicked.”

He snorts out a laugh, his eyes wide with mirth. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?” We’ve just reached the pool table, and he’s already signaling for our server to bring us balls so we can set up.

I cross my arms. “A bet?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Just a friendly bet between neighbors.

“What’d you have in mind?”

He reaches around and scratches the back of his neck, his bicep bulging as he does. Has he been working out since he’s been home? But where? “You owe me five dinners if I win?”

I laugh. “Joke’s on you. I’m a terrible cook.”

“Not in my book,” he argues as our waitress approaches with the balls. He orders a whiskey neat, and I decide I better stick with beer.

“So what do I get if I win?” I ask after our server has scurried off to fill our order.

“What do you want?”

I twist my mouth as I think about this. I’m definitely going to win. I’m awesome at pool. I better make it something good. “You have to cook me five dinners.”

He gives me a ‘Really’ look.

“That’s right, Mr. Stevens. Five dinners. One really should be duck with plum sauce.”

Smiling he counters, “Does it count if I take you out for dinner?”

“Is alcohol included?”

“Yes,” he answers as he chalks his pool stick.

“I’ll accept those terms.”

“Alright, your cockiness. You have to win first,” he jests.

“It’s in the bag,” I reply confidentially, chalking my pool stick.

“I like a woman with a little competitiveness in her.”

We play four games. I win them all. Connor is really good, though, and he came close to beating me a few times.

“Damn. Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asks as we place our pool sticks on the rack on the wall. “I think I’ll have to start calling you dead-eye.”

“High school. Dated a guy whose father owned a pool hall. It closed down a few years back.”

“I’m impressed.” Then he frowns in thought. “I think I was just hustled.”

“Definitely not,” I feign offense. “I told you I was good. And I fully intend to collect my reward,” I warn, pointing a firm finger at him. “And you have to cook at least some of the meals.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Done,” I agree as we both chuckle. The bar has started to get busier since we arrived and the band performing this evening is doing their sound check.

“Shall we eat?” I ask.

“I’m starving. There’s a booth over there.” He points. As we’re making our way to the table, I hear, “Demi?”

Lexi rushes over and hugs me. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks as she pulls away. She’s dressed in jeans and a flowy white top, her makeup done to perfection. I usually only see the aftermath of a night of partying and hard drinking, so it’s nice to see her fresh.

“Connor and I came for dinner. What are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to meet a co-worker of mine for drinks, but she flaked on me. Called me right before I walked in.”

“Well come and sit with us. We just finished some pool, and we’re about to grab a bite.”

The evening starts off well. We eat and laugh, but then things seem to go downhill from there. At least for me anyway. Lexi starts ordering various shots and shooters for us. Connor takes two, then refuses anymore deciding to stick to water for the rest of the night. Me, I’m an idiot and get drunk in 0.4 seconds. I’m having a great time, but my happiness is only amplified seeing my sister so happy. I realize Blake’s death has hindered me socially, rightfully so. I mean, I lost my husband, of course I haven’t been up to going out and having a good time, but what I didn’t realize is how much Lexi has missed nights like this together. So when she drags me out on the dance floor, I let loose and try to enjoy myself and the time with my sister. Not long after we’ve started dancing, I notice Connor isn’t at our table. Scanning the room, I find him standing near the bar talking to a skinny blonde that looks like she’s twenty-five. When his gaze flicks from her to me, I jerk my gaze away and try to pretend seeing him near her doesn’t make me feel . . . something. Jealous? Really?

“You’re way hotter than her,” Lexi yells in my ear.

Of course, I play dumb. “Who?”

And as if she just read my mind, she scoffs, “God you suck at playing dumb.” I roll my eyes hating sometimes how well she knows me. “He keeps looking at you like every five seconds, ya know?”

“Who?”

She stops dancing and her look says, are you still trying to play dumb?

“Dude. You guys are totally attracted to each other. It’s really fucking obvious.”

I keep moving in rhythm with the song as I argue with her. “We’re just friends, Lex.

That’s it.”

“Yeah, friends that like to eye-fuck the fuck out of each other.”

“Whatever,” I fold. I’m too drunk to argue with her.

“He’s looking at you right now,” she says. And when I look over to where he’s standing, sure enough, Connor Stevens dark eyes are watching me even as he seems to be saying something to the blonde. My cheeks heat as I once again pull my gaze away.

“I know you don’t think my opinions hold much water, but I like him Demi. And . . . I don’t think it’s such a bad thing that you like him.” I’m a little stunned by her proclamation, but before I can respond, a slow song comes on and Lexi leaves me on the dance floor, running over to Connor. She whispers something in his ear, giving the blonde he’s been speaking with a smile that doesn’t quite look real, then she scurries off to the restroom. I turn away and begin to sway with the song, but can’t help looking back. Apparently, alcohol kills my self-control. My stomach twists when I see Connor walking toward me. Is he going to ask me to dance? Maybe he’s ready to go. Or maybe he wants to leave with the pretty blonde, and he’s coming to say goodbye to me. Oh, God, he’s dissing me.

“May I have this dance?” he asks as he approaches, an easy smile on his face.

“Did my sister tell you to?” I respond, trying my best not to slur.

“Tell me to what?”

“Dance with her drunk sister?”

“She told me to keep an eye on you. Make sure nobody messed with you. I thought you could use a partner,” he replies. When he holds out his hand, I take it, and he pulls me in, holding me close.

“You should be dancing with the hot blonde at the bar,” I mention.

A sober me would proceed to babble away, attempting to kill any idea of this dance being anything, but friendly. I’m not sober. I’m blitzed. And instead of talking, I step into his space and lay my head against his chest. He stills for a moment. I gather he’s surprised by how I just pressed myself against him, but it only takes a second for him to wrap his arms around me.

I danced with Vick a few nights ago, and it was wonderful, but it was nothing like this. The comfort I feel at this moment is something I haven’t felt in a long time. I know it’s all in my head, the attraction between Connor and me, but I let myself relax in his arms, closing my eyes I let him lead us. After a moment, his hand comes up and rests on the back of my head and to my complete shock, he kisses my temple. I breathe in deeply and exhale, letting all the worry melt away.

When the song ends, we stop moving, and I gaze up at him. The people surrounding us seemingly disappearing. His eyes are dark, and his expression is stoic; I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’d give anything to know. I have no idea what I’m thinking. All I know is I’m planted in this spot; I can’t move. When he brushes some hair from my face, I tilt my head toward his touch, seeking more. His hand freezes, holding its place against my cheek before he pulls it away and inhales deeply, his large chest rising with the effort.

“Would you like to head home?” he asks, not meeting my gaze.

I blink a few times as the moment dissipates. Looking to the floor, I clear my throat and answer, “Yes. That’s probably a good idea.” I don’t know what just transpired between us. Was it just me? Did I imagine all . . . that? Whatever it was. Either way, the high I’ve been riding all night dwindles away, and I’m left feeling disappointed. All I want to do is go home and crawl in bed.

Connor takes my hand and leads me off of the dance floor like I’m a child. We grab my small purse, and I scan the bar for our server as I dig through it looking for my debit card.

“It’s already taken care of,” Connor voices and I twist my mouth in annoyance.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” I point out.

With a sideways smirk, he replies, “Count it toward the meals I owe you.”

We say goodbye to Lexi, who swears she’s grabbing a cab and heading home. It’s dark out, but the night is warm, and I rest my head against Connor’s back the entire ride. Once we’ve pulled in the driveway and put the helmets away, we walk inside. Jeff hasn’t finished the plumbing and Connor wants to shower before he goes to bed. After an awkward moment, I hug him.

“Thanks for a fun night. I liked riding the bike.”

“I’ll have to take you out again sometime.”

“Well . . . night.”

“Night, Demi.”

Once I’m upstairs, I change into my night clothes and realize I’m still really drunk as the room seems to be spinning a bit. I’m going to hate myself in the morning if I don’t take some ibuprofen and drink a glass of water. Stumbling back downstairs, not bothering to turn on the kitchen light, I open my cabinet where I keep my pain relief medication, then go to the cabinet where I keep my glasses. As I’m pulling a glass down, I hear, “Oh shit.”

The glass falls from my hand as I whip around, and in the limited light from the moon shining through the kitchen window, I find Connor, naked, rushing back toward the bathroom until he hears the glass crash against the floor and turns back, using both hands to cover his manhood.

Damn.

He really needs both hands?

Stupidly, I move just as he yells, “No, no, no.”

But it’s too late. I step on the broken glass at my feet and slice my toe open.

“Mother freaker!” I hiss as I raise my foot and hop a little.

“Stay still, babe,” Connor orders. I lean against the counter and even grab a dishrag from the counter to get my gushing bloody toe under control. Connor turns from me and throws his clothes on the floor, keeping his jeans and stepping into them quickly. Funny how the pain of slicing open my toe seems to have disappeared as I stare at his ass. I feel like I’m like a horny teenage boy that just saw a girl’s nipple for the first time. What the hell is wrong with me? When he spins back around, his jeans are up, but unbuttoned, revealing that glorious V and the little bit of blonde hair that leads . . . down.

For the love of everything good and holy. Couldn’t he just be ugly? Why, why couldn’t he have been super ugly?

“Stay right there,” he says. “Put that towel over it, babe.”

Snapping to, I find my toe still bleeding all over the place and the dishtowel in my hand. I was too busy staring at him and forgot what I was doing. As I wrap my foot, Connor grabs the broom off the porch and starts sweeping the glass in a pile to the side. Then he drops the broom, letting it smack the ground and comes to me. He lifts me by my waist as if I weigh nothing and places me on the counter. “Let me look at it.” I move my hands and can’t help but hiss a little as he pulls the towel away. “Damn, Demi. This may need stitches,” he tsks.

“No, no stitches,” I insist. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom closet upstairs. Will you get it? We can just butterfly it.”

After he covers my toe, he heads upstairs and returns with the kit already rummaging through it. When he pulls out the peroxide, I shake my head. “Oh, hell no. That’s going to sting.”

“It won’t feel as bad as an infection,” he argues as he twists the cap off of the bottle. “Can you put your foot over the sink?”

Twisting around, I manage to get in the right position and prepare myself for the burn as I pull the now blood-stained dishtowel away. I’m expecting him to give me a countdown or something, but nope. He just pours it right on the cut, and I yelp a little.

“No warning, Connor?”

He chuckles a little as he leans down and blows softly on my toe. His lips have that perfect round shape, and I forget the sting when his gaze moves up and meets mine as he continues to soothe my cut. Why is my mouth so damn dry right now? “I didn’t want you to overthink it.”

“Thanks,” I say, dryly, earning a laugh from him. He walks over to the freezer and pulls out the small bottle of Jack Daniels I keep. I don’t drink it often, but every once in a while I enjoy it.

“Do you mind?”

“Help yourself,” I motion. “But give me a sip first.”

“Sure you haven’t had enough tonight?”

“I’m going to feel like ass tomorrow no matter what at his point. Might as well give it my all.” As I take a long swig and choke on it, he turns me and pulls a chair from the kitchen table, taking a seat and placing my foot in his lap.

“You’ll get blood on your jeans,” I point out as I try to pull my foot away, but his firm grip prevents it. Reaching up, he grabs the bottle from me as he holds my ankle with his other hand, taking a much longer swig than me.

“They’re just jeans, babe.”

He goes to work butterflying and bandaging my toe as I think about how he called me ‘babe.’ He takes his time, only breaking to take swigs from the Jack Daniels, and when he finishes he pats my leg.

“All better.” I eye my toe now wrapped in gauze and groan in embarrassment.

“Thank you so much. I feel like such an idiot.”

“It was my fault. I didn’t mean to scare you. There weren’t any towels in the bathroom, and I thought I could sneak back to my apartment in the dark without anyone seeing me. I figured you were already passed out. Sorry you had to witness the live nude show,” he laughs as he rubs his head with one hand.

“Sorry you had to witness the wet T-shirt contest the other day, courtesy of J.J.” I retort.

He leans over as he tries to control his laughter. “I think he was my new best friend that day.”

I kick him with my good foot. “I might as well have lifted my shirt up and just showed them to you. I’ve probably scarred poor J.J. for life.”

“Scarred isn’t the word I’d use,” Connor chuckles. “More like set an extremely high standard.”

“Yeah right,” I laugh.

Connor leans back in his chair, a breathtaking grin on his face. “I’m sorry that he embarrassed you, but I didn’t really see anything.”

My lips purse as I give him a look that tells him I’m thinking, you’re full of shit. He bellows out a laugh again. “Okay,” he raises his hands in surrender, “I saw everything. But I’d say we’re even now, right? I mean, you just got the full monty a bit ago. You’ll probably have nightmares about it.”

“Oh yeah,” I reply sardonically. “It was awful seeing you naked. I mean, I’m scarred for life after seeing a hot, naked man.” He laughs harder.

“I think you are really drunk.” He gently lets my leg fall from his lap and stands, moving the chair he’s been sitting in back under the table. When he faces me again, I notice he has some dried blood on his chest. I grab another dishtowel from the drawer under my leg and wet it under the faucet.

“Come here. You have some blood on you.” He steps toward me and without thinking, I spread my legs to allow him to get closer. He hesitates, but I reach and grab the waist of his pants and pull him toward me. His jeans are still undone, and I can’t hold back the gasp that escapes me as my fingers brush the soft hair on his lower abdomen. I’ve touched his stomach before, but not this . . . low. I didn’t mean to, but I decide to play it cool, hoping he didn’t catch my reaction. “I won’t bite,” I giggle, my buzz still hindering my ability to think clearly.

I busy myself cleaning his chest, and when the blood is gone, I look up to find him staring at me. Damn. I suck at reading people. Does that stern, deep look mean something? Is he asking me a question without words? Or am I trying to see something that just isn’t there? My hand still rests on his chest as we watch each other, his heart pounding beneath my palm. Then, he leans down, but stops and I wonder if he’s waiting for me; does he want me to meet him halfway? I’m not so drunk that there’s not a part of me that says I shouldn’t. But I’ve had just enough alcohol to ignore it. Just enough to make me think, to hell with it.

Enough to meet him halfway.

I stretch my neck up and press my mouth to his.

And then—there’s fire; the sweet burn that somehow flies down and through your body, navigating its way through every vein, every nerve you possess. There’s not one millimeter of me that doesn’t feel the exquisite sear of heat. His fingers thread in my hair, holding me steady as his tongue dips in my mouth. I wrap my legs around him and hold the belt loops of his jeans, pulling him to me, wanting nothing more than for him to be as close to me as possible. His hands move down to my waist, grabbing my hips and he yanks me to him, slamming me closer, so close I feel his erection straining inside his jeans. My hips grind against him, as my back arches, and I bite his lower lip. He growls, and presses his mouth harder to mine, the scruff of his day-old beard rubbing against my face.

I moan, and his grip on my hips tightens before he moves them under my shirt. My belly tightens as his fingers brush my bare flesh. We’re a tangled mess of heat and passion, and I know without a doubt, I’d let Connor have me tonight. I want him to take me; to make me high on desire. I’m just about to tell him this, tell him to take me, when the sound of a loud engine pulling in the driveway stops me.

It stops both of us.

Connor’s mouth freezes against mine as he listens and when the engine cuts off he pulls away from me.

“You expecting someone?”

I’m breathless when I answer, “No.”

“Stay right here. Let me see who it is.” He rushes out the kitchen door onto the back porch, leaving me on the counter, my mind a whirl as the reality of what just happened hits me.

I just kissed Connor.

Connor just kissed me.

I just practically dry humped Connor.

He let me.

He liked it.

I really liked it.

Shit.

I slide off the counter and peek out the kitchen window. Connor is barely visible; his back is to me. But a thin set of arms are wrapped around his neck. I can’t see her face, but I know exactly who it is.

Roxy.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Heat blankets my face as my stomach knots. I’m an idiot. He’s dating her, and I’m dating Vick. What we just did was so wrong on so many levels.

Blake.

Oh my God.

Blake.

How could we?

I just betrayed my poor dead husband by making out with his cousin.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Connor turns slightly and jabs his thumb toward my house, but I still can’t fully make out Roxy. When he spins around panic sets in. I can’t stand for him to come in here and tell me he has to go. I can’t face what just happened. So I do the only thing I can do in the brief time I have before he enters. I yank out a chair from the kitchen table and plop down laying my head on the table.

When he enters, I feign sleep. I even make the tiniest snoring sound for added effect. He’s quiet once he enters, but after a moment he gently brushes the hair from my face and whispers, “Hey babe. Wake up.”

When I don’t respond, he shakes me slightly.

“Damn,” he whispers.

I’m hoping he’ll just leave me, but I should know better. That’s not Connor’s style. The big muscular, tattooed man is a gentleman. After a moment, he’s collected me in his arms and is carrying me toward my bedroom. It takes great effort on my part to pretend I’m dead asleep and hang limply. He takes me into the master bedroom, and I want to protest, but I’m supposed to be passed out. I’ve forfeited my input. He lays me on the bed and pulls the blanket at the bottom of the bed over me. Then, so sweetly my heart aches, he kisses my temple softly and whispers, “Goodnight, babe.”

I clench my eyes closed as I listen to him exit.

Why does it hurt? It shouldn’t. What just happened was nuts. I shouldn’t feel this . . . sad. Why do I feel sad?

I bury my head in my pillow and groan.

I know exactly why I’m sad.

I’m sad because Connor will be spending the night with Roxy and not with me.