Текст книги "Taking Connor"

Автор книги: B. N. Toler

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

My toe injury caused me to forget to take my ibuprofen last night and just as I knew it would. My head is pounding and so is my toe. It is only when my kidneys feel like they’re about to burst that I force myself out of bed and fumble to the bathroom. The events of last night tumble through my head and I subconsciously kick myself. How could I let that happen? Obviously, I’ve developed an unhealthy attraction to Connor, one that is completely off limits. Add that to me being a somewhat young woman with, let’s face it, sexual needs, I made a horrible decision while under the influence. After I relieve myself, I clumsily make my way downstairs, lured by the aroma of bacon wafting in the air.

My stomach grumbles as I walk into my kitchen, rubbing my eyes as the sunlight beams through the kitchen window, when I hear, “Good morning.”

I nearly jump out of my skin when I look up to find a thin man covered, head to toe, in tattoos sitting at my kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. His dark hair is longer in the front, than in the back and he has a well-trimmed goatee. Noting what I know must be the fear of God in my eyes at the sight of him, he places his cup down carefully and stands quickly, the chair screeching loudly as it slides back, holding his hands in the air. But the sudden movement only makes me panic more.

“Connor!” I scream as loud as I can. “Connor, help!”

“My name is Dusty. I’m a friend of Connor’s,” the man explains, as he moves toward me, his hands still in the air. I rush around the table and grab the butcher knife from the block and whip around on him.

“Stay where you are,” I yell. My head is pounding, and I still hadn’t quite managed to rub the sleep from my eyes this morning, but if he gets near me, I will whip this knife around wildly until I hit something. Hopefully an artery or something that will make him bleed out fast. “Connor!”

When I hear the screen door creak open, I almost collapse in relief. Connor rushes in and stops in the doorway taking in the scene.

“She just freaked out. I tried to tell her we’re friends, but she wouldn’t listen,” the man explains defensively.

I look at Connor, wide-eyed. “You really know this guy?”

“Demi, babe,” Connor says, softly, as he approaches me. “Can you put the knife down? Please.”

I’m so amped up on adrenaline I can’t seem to make my arm move. Connor grabs me by the wrist and wrenches the knife from my hand, tossing it in the sink, before pulling me in his arms. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you would be up for a while, and I was going to surprise you with breakfast.” He kisses the top of my head and continues petting my head, attempting to calm me. “This is my friend, Dusty. He’s the one that showed up on the bike last night.” I pull my head from his chest and look at Dusty as he runs a hand through his shaggy hair and smiles.

“I’m sorry I scared you. It’s nice to finally meet you,” he offers.

I back away from Connor until my back hits the corner where the two sides of the counter meet. I place a hand on my chest as I try to calm my racing heart. “I am way too hung over to be that scared,” I grumble. Then, looking up to Dusty, I try to give a friendly smile. “It’s nice to meet you, too. I apologize for flipping out.”

“No need. I reckon if I were you, and I’d walked in to find . . . well . . . me sitting at my kitchen table, I’d about have a heart attack myself.”

“Why don’t you sit down, Demi. I’ll make you some coffee.” Connor motions for me to take a seat at the table and after a moment I force myself away from the counter.

“So, Dusty,” I begin awkwardly. I feel bad for almost chopping him into bait and hoping I’d hit an artery so he’d die quicker. “Where are you from?”

He takes his seat beside me and sips his coffee before answering. “I was born in Texas, but I hail from Tennessee these days.” Now I know where his epic Southern accent comes from.

“And how do you and Connor know one another?” I ask as Connor sits a mug in front of me. I sip it without thinking, but can’t help looking at him after I do.

“Did I get it right?” Connor asks with a smirk.

“Yeah, you did.” He made my coffee just the way I like it. He’s never made it before, and I’ve never mentioned how I like it, which means he must have watched me make it several times. I stare up at him and despite my feelings of regret from the events that transpired between us the night before, I want so badly to stand up and kiss him. Then I remember myself.

Wasn’t Roxy here last night, too? Didn’t I see her?

“Thank you,” I say, my voice husky. “So how do you two know one another?” I turn my attention back to Dusty, hoping it’s not too obvious to Connor that I did so.

Dusty gives Connor a sideways look as if asking permission to tell me. Connor sighs and moves to the counter and starts cracking eggs over a bowl. “We were cell mates, Demi.” He doesn’t turn around, and I wonder if he thinks I’ll judge Dusty—or him.

“Ohhhh.”

“I got out three years before Connor,” Dusty notes. “If it hadn’t been for him, I would’ve never made it out.”

“How so?” I ask.

“It’s not important,” Connor interrupts. “All that matters is he made it out.”

My brows rise at Connor’s quick interruption. Dusty gives me an awkward smile and shrugs one shoulder in apology. “Go ahead and ask.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You want to know why I was in, right?”

Damn, I do. I really do. Am I sitting across from a murderer or a rapist? Who is this man that Connor shared a cell with? I mean, Connor was in prison for manslaughter which is basically a murder sentence. Did Dusty kill someone too? But even though this man is sitting in my house, I still feel rude asking.

“I wasn’t going to ask,” I respond before taking a large sip from my mug.

Dusty chuckles, a look that oddly, despite his tattoos and shaggy hair, is quite handsome and endearing. “She’s every bit a lady, just like you said, Connor.”

My brows rise again for the hundredth time this morning. Connor told his friend about me and called me a lady?

Connor doesn’t turn to acknowledge his statement, but from where I sit I can see his mouth quirk up a smile. “That she is,” he agrees.

“Well, seeing as I’m sitting in your kitchen, drinking your coffee, I feel like you should know. And, seeing as how Connor is a good buddy of mine, and I hope to hang out with him more since I just moved here, and to do that, I might want to be invited back to your house, with your permission, of course, I feel I should tell you.”

His proclamation surprises me. Is it ridiculous to think him volunteering the details of his conviction is gentlemanly? “Dusty,” I say, as I lean over the table and pat his hand where it sits. His head rears slightly as if he’s surprised by the gesture. “You don’t have to share if you don’t want to. I trust Connor. I know he would have never brought you in my house had he not trusted you wholeheartedly. And since you’re his friend, I hope I can call you mine, too.”

I stand and push in my chair. Connor has turned, his eyes fixed on me, an expression of awe on his face. I return a soft smile, letting him know I meant every word. I do trust him—wholeheartedly.

“I know I must look awful,” I huff. “Do I have time to wash my face and dress before breakfast is ready?”

“Ten minutes,” Connor responds, watching me with mirth filled eyes.

“Be right back.”

As I exit the kitchen, I can’t help smiling to myself when I hear Dusty say, “One hundred percent lady.”

It took me fifteen minutes to get back to the kitchen. I decided on a quick shower instead. Then I had to rewrap my toe. The cut doesn’t look so bad today, thankfully, and I find when wearing flip flops it’s manageable. Connor has set plates on the table and is dishing eggs out when the screen door creaks open. I close my eyes. Damn.

“Demi! Where are you at you two cent hooker?” Lexi rounds the doorway and stops in her tracks. She looks like she managed a shower this morning before showing up unannounced.

“Good morning, Alexis,” I mumble.

“Hey, Lexi.” Connor juts his chin in acknowledgment. “Want some breakfast?”

Lexi gives me a bright smile as she bats her eyes obnoxiously. “Why, I’d love some, Connor. How kind of you to offer.”

I shake my head as she scurries toward the coffee pot and pulls a mug from the cabinet above while Connor sits another plate out and dishes some eggs on it. When she finishes, she takes a seat on the other side of Dusty and smiles. “Hi.”

Dusty smirks as if he’s amused by her, but it’s not hard to see he likes looking at her. My sister is a beautiful woman. “Hi, yourself. I’m Dusty.”

“Lexi,” she answers sticking her hand out, and they shake.

“Friend of Connor’s, I presume?”

“Yes. The wild little sister, I presume,” Dusty responds. Lexi looks to Connor and twists her mouth in a smirk.

“So you’ve been talking about me, Connor? I’m flattered.”

“I’m sure he meant it as more of a warning to his friend,” I chirp, grinning at Lexi, so she knows I’m kidding.

“I told him you liked to party,” Connor clarifies.

“Well, I haven’t heard a thing about you,” Lexi ignores Connor and me and remains focused on my mother’s worst nightmare sitting in front of her.

“I’m an open book, ma’am. What would you like to know?”

“Ma’am?” Lexi questions, making a weird face at me, like, who is this guy? “How old are you?”

“Thirty,” Dusty answers. “You?”

“Twenty-nine. Are you married?”

Dusty holds up his left hand, showing his ringless ring finger. “Nope.”

“Girlfriend?” Lexi continues.

Dusty lets out a little chuckle. “Nope.”

“You live around here?”

“Yep,” Dusty answers as he bites a piece of bacon. “Just moved to town.”

“Been to prison?”

“Yep,” Dusty replies, meeting her gaze for gaze.

“Would you like to have dinner with me at my mother’s house?”

I nearly choke on my eggs. “Lexi,” I hiss. Lexi laughs as she smacks my back. “Okay, maybe not at my mother’s house, but maybe just dinner?”

Dusty looks at me, and I immediately look away. I’m staying out of this. “Maybe the four of us could hang out sometime,” he finally answers.

Lexi, to my utter astonishment, looks shocked. She expected Dusty to be on her like white on rice. This may literally be the only time I’ve ever seen her speechless.

“Yeah, sometime soon,” Connor intervenes, saving us all from Dusty’s shutdown.

Lexi recovers quickly and begins babbling on about everything from how hungover she is to how she’s going out again tonight. And of course, as soon as we’re done eating, she has to rush out, late for work. At least Dusty has the good grace to offer to help with the dishes, but Connor refuses his help, asking him to go in the garage and take a look at the Harley because he thinks something is wrong with the muffler or something.

“It was nice meeting you, Demi,” Dusty says, before he leaves. When the screen door slams, I move my gaze hesitantly to Connor, who’s watching me with his arms crossed and an unsure sideways smirk on his face. It’s the first time we’ve been alone together this morning, and it’s the first opportunity the awkwardness has had a chance to fall upon us.

“How are you feeling today?” he asks.

My heart is pounding. A part of me fears he’ll try to discuss last night, and the other part fears he’ll try to ignore it like I intend to do. Does he regret it, too? Why does the thought of that break my heart? But in the end, it doesn’t matter if he does or doesn’t. It was wrong. So I take my easy cop-out. God, the kissing was amazing, his hands all over me. I’ll never forget it as long as I live, but it shouldn’t have happened. There are so many reasons it shouldn’t have happened.

“A little better,” I admit with a chuckle. “I swear I think I blacked out after I cut my toe. It must’ve been the whiskey.”

His mouth turns to a frown as he narrows his eyes slightly, staring hard at me. “So you don’t remember anything after you cut your toe?” he questions, disbelief rich in his tone.

My mouth is so dry right now. I hate lying. Especially to Connor. “No,” I assure him. “But I guess you’re the one that bandaged my toe, so thank you.”

Insert awkward silence here as we stare at one another. He doesn’t believe me. I can tell. And I’m pretty sure that’s because I’m the worst liar ever born. Lexi sucked all the deception abilities out of our gene pool and left me looking like a wounded kitten every time I try to be untruthful. My nose might as well grow like Pinocchio.

He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing, his hard stare fixed on me. “Yeah,” he finally says. “No problem.” Then, he turns from me and busies himself washing the dishes.

Hoping to kill the awkward moment, I try to change the subject. “Was Roxy with Dusty last night? Why didn’t Roxy join us for breakfast this morning?”

Connor twists his neck slightly and gives me a sideways look. “You think you saw Roxy?”

I shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “I thought she came over last night.”

He looks out the kitchen window and shakes his head, letting out a disdained snort. “I’ll finish up here, Demi.”

He didn’t answer my question. That can only mean he’s avoiding it. She must’ve been here. I was right about that.

I move beside him and grab the dishtowel, refusing to let him do the dishes by himself, but he quickly takes it from me, dripping water on the counter from his arm and hand.

“I got this,” he murmurs, not looking at me. “You should probably lay down. Blacking out like that can really take its toll on a person.”

If my face conveys half of what his words are making me feel, it reads: I’m a giant asshole. I know I’m lying about blacking out last night, and so does he. But he’s not going to call me on it, and I’m going to run with that because I’m too cowardly to face what happened between us. I wish there were a way for me to tell him that, yes, it did mean something. I want to tell him that I wanted it every bit as badly as it seemed when I was in his arms; that the way my body moved to his, the way my mouth crashed into his was real. I wasn’t drunk. Well, I was, but not too drunk to know I was making a conscious decision. I want him to know that I think about him more than I should; that he makes me feel things I haven’t in so long. But why should I? Why should I tell him these things when it just can’t be?

“Yeah,” I finally manage after clearing my throat. “Thank you for breakfast. I think I will lay down.” I don’t look at him because I can’t. I can’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. Of course, from what I can tell in my peripheral vision, he doesn’t seem to look at me either.

My cell phone chimes from my purse once I’m back upstairs, and I grab it, flopping down on my bed. It’s a text from Vick.

Can’t wait to see you tonight.

Geez. What kind of woman am I? I’ve made out with two different men in the span of forty-eight hours. Vick is a nice guy. Not to mention he’s hot and has an awesome sense of humor.

I need to stop thinking about Connor in any way other than Blake’s cousin.

I need a good distraction for this.

I need Vick.

I text him back telling him I’ll pick him up tonight. That I’d like us to go somewhere else other than Turvey’s if that’s okay with him. When he asks where, I tell him it’s a surprise.

He texts back:

I like surprises. ;)

We agree I’ll pick him up at 6:00 pm and then I call Lexi. If I’m ever going to move on in my life, I have to put myself out there. I can’t be afraid to be with a man or around one for that matter. I can’t keep being afraid to be a single woman. I’ll love and miss Blake every day for the rest of my life, but I know, as terrible as it sounds, I don’t want to be lonely for the rest of my days. And I know deep down Blake wouldn’t want that either.

The phone rings and Lexi answers, “Yes, Demi. It’s okay.”

“What?” I respond.

“To give him my number.”

“Who?”

“Dusty,” she says, with a yawn.

My brows rise in surprise. “Umm, hate to burst your bubble there Ms. Modesty, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“It’s not?”

“No, but I admire your ego,” I laugh.

“He likes me,” she mumbles dismissively. “He just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Yeah. Him turning you down for dinner screamed he was jonesing for you.”

“Wow,” she huffs. “You’re kind of being a bitch today.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “Sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days. But listen. I need your help.”

“You do?” she asks, shock evident in her tone.

“I have a date with Vick tonight, and I want to look . . . good.”

“Define good.”

“Like . . . good, Lexi. I want to look pretty,” I snap.

“Like give him an instant hard-on look good or like instant chub look good?”

“Is there really a difference?”

“Of course there is,” she exclaims like I’m an imbecile.

“Lexi,” I groan.

“Okay, instant chub it is. Let’s take things slow. No need to rush these things. I’ll be there at four.”

“Thanks, Lex,” I grumble.

We hang up, and I set the alarm on my phone to wake me in a few hours. I need my beauty sleep after the long night I had. Taking a deep breath, I try to relax. I’d hoped making this plan, putting out the vibes of trying to be a normal woman, would make me feel better, but as my subconscious lurks and begins to drag me into the depths of sleep, I know no matter how much I laugh with Vick tonight, no matter how many time he makes me feel beautiful and special, all I’ll think about all night is how it felt to kiss Connor Stevens.

“God, I’m good,” Lexi praises herself. And egotistical or not, I have to give her credit. I look damn good. The place I’m taking Vick is outside, and a short dress or revealing top wouldn’t have worked. I’m wearing a knee-length flowy skirt that will allow me to sit on the ground if need be, and a white blouse that hangs off my shoulder. Lexi tied my hair up in a ponytail adding that little bump on the crown and my makeup is flawless.

“I must say, you really are,” I agree. “Thank you, for once again, coming to help me.”

“This help isn’t free,” she warns. “I’ll accept payment in the form of explicit details about the first time you two bump uglies.”

I shake my head. “You are so . . . wrong.”

“I’m kidding,” she pauses, “I mean I want to know, but maybe only minor explicit details.”

“I’m not having sex with him tonight.”

She looks away and shrugs. “What happened with Connor last night?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, heat flushing my face. Does she know something? That’s impossible. There’s no way.

“You two were mighty cozy on the dance floor.”

“Nothing happened, Lexi,” I grumble as I toss the contents of my purse into another one that matches my outfit.

“I hope . . .” she pauses, “I hope you’re not trying to rush things with Vick in an attempt to maybe . . . I don’t know . . . stop feelings you might be having for Connor.”

Her words hit me hard because maybe that is what I’m doing, but I deny it anyway. “That’s not what I’m doing,” I assure her. “I really like Vick.”

“Whatever you say,” she huffs, pointing a not so convinced look my way. Heading toward my doorway, she calls over her shoulder, “I’ll be calling in the morning for those explicit details.”

“Wow,” he seems stunned as we stare out over the Red Rocks Amphitheatre. I was worried it might be pretty busy, but we got lucky; I only see a few other people milling about.

“I know. It’s pretty cool,” I add. “You like it?”

His brows rise. “Like it? It’s beautiful.”

“Good.” I smile and take his free hand that isn’t holding the cooler I packed. “I thought maybe you should see a bit of this great state. I point and tell him, “The amphitheatre’s rocks are named; “Creation Rock” on the north, “Ship Rock” on the south, and “Stage Rock” to the east.”

“You’ve got this place memorized, eh?”

I shrug. “It was one of the only places I remember coming with my father when he was still around. My mother would pack a picnic, and we’d all spend the day out here.”

He nods in understanding, and I realize I might have overshared with the dad thing, so I move on. “It’s been called The Garden of Angels, The Garden of Titans, and finally . . . Red Rocks.” I stick my tongue out, and Vick laughs.

“I guess Red Rocks is your least favorite?”

“Come on, Red Rocks versus The Garden of Titans?”

“I have to say I agree. Red Rocks doesn’t quite have the fierceness of The Garden of Titans. So where to?” He holds up the small cooler and shakes it gently. We take a seat at the top near the eastern wall and catch some shade. As I dole out the sandwiches and pasta salad I’ve made, Vick talks about how he’d like to come back and paint Red Rocks soon. After we finish eating, we explore, hand in hand, and share silly little tidbits about ourselves and before I know it, the sun has set, and the sky is lit with stars. We lie on the hood of my car and stare up, his hand holding mine between us. I’m laughing at a joke he’s just told me when I realize he’s silently staring at me.

When my gaze meets his, my body shakes as my laughter ebbs, and he squeezes my hand. He rolls toward me and kisses me, and I do my best to kiss him with the same gusto, but I’m failing miserably. Undeterred, his free hand slides down my arm slowly as we make out until it’s on my thigh seemingly sliding up. I don’t know where he intended his hand to go, but I jerk up and brush it away. What is wrong with me?

He sits up with me. “I’m . . . sorry. Did I do something wrong?”

I have no idea. I mean, really. He touched my thigh. Should it be that big of a deal? But he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “You like me don’t you?” he asks, his voice steady.

“No, not at all,” I try to joke, hoping to ebb the awkwardness, but it only earns me a slight smile. “Of course, I like you,” I say, seriously.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve . . . felt like this,” he admits, his gaze moving back to the sky. My heart hammers in my chest. Felt like what? I mean, I really like Vick, but is he talking about love already? No. He couldn’t be.

“I just want to make sure I’m not the guy you’re passing time with.”

Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that, and I have to blink a few times to absorb what he just said. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me, Vick,” I finally manage.

“I’m asking are we dating or is this more like . . . something casual?”

“Does sex determine that answer?” I pipe back.

“Well, I hope this doesn’t make me sound like a total asshole, because I’m not expecting it at any point, but yes. At some point, if we’re dating, I hope we can be . . . intimate together.”

I try to keep my features unreadable. He’s right, if we were to date for a certain amount of time, eventually having sex would be part of it. Why is it so hard for me to imagine? I just dry humped Connor on my kitchen counter last night, yet I can’t muster up a visual of making love to Vick. But maybe that’s because I’m still frazzled over what happened in my kitchen last night.

I can’t say to him, yes, eventually we’ll have sex. For starters, that would be awkward, and secondly, I just . . . can’t. So I answer the only way I can. “I think we’re dating. Aren’t we?” There’s no promise there. No timeline or deadline. That was a safe answer.

He smiles. “I guess I’m not being very clear here. I want to know, are we exclusive?”

“Oh,” I squeak out. “I’m not dating anyone else if that’s what you are asking.”

“So do you want to . . . I don’t know, be exclusive?”

I meet his gaze once more and smile faintly. He is a gorgeous man. “Okay,” I agree. “But Vick, I need . . .” Ugh, how do I say this? I need time before we do anything sexual? I’m just not ready? Which is total bullshit as I would have gone all the way with Connor last night. But that was a mistake.

A big drunken mistake.

“I know,” Vick pipes up, saving me. “I don’t mind waiting, Demi. Sometimes taking your time is the best way.”

My heart pings. Damn, he’s so sweet. We lay back, rolling toward each other and spend the next hour making out under the stars. When I drop him off at home, he kisses my forehead.

“Thank you. Tonight was awesome.”

“Anytime.” I smile back.

“Meet tomorrow?” he asks, hope rich in his tone.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

After I leave his house, I head straight home. The garage is locked up, and the lights in Connor’s apartment are off. I try not to let the disappointment set in. Why should I be disappointed? As I park my car and turn it off, I let my forehead thump against the steering wheel. “You have some serious issues, Demi,” I tell myself.