"So you have the next week off, basically?"
"Yeah, I guess so," I said. "Technically I'm on call, but yeah."
"Maybe we can spend a little of it together?" Callan said, the hope in his voice making my heart leap. I wanted that—more than anything—but having time with him, without the distraction of work would make it all more real.
I nodded, my mind whirling.
"Not quite the enthusiasm I'd hoped for," Callan said, setting his bourbon on the table. "What's going on up there?" He lifted a hand to touch my temple and smoothed the hair away from my face. "Have I been reading things wrong?"
I sighed and then forced my eyes to Callan's, which were deep and smoldering as ever. "No, you haven't," I assured him, though such honest talk about feelings was hard for me. My family was all about shoving things down and ignoring them—the good, the bad, the ribbon-festooned and glittery. "I guess I'm just feeling like I've gotten kind of involved in something here, with you, and maybe thinking it wasn't very smart since I'm going to have to leave soon."
"Not for a couple weeks still," Callan pointed out, his brow lowering as a little wrinkle appeared between his eyes.
"True," I agreed. "But still."
Callan nodded. "So you're thinking it might be better not to get any deeper."
That was exactly what I was thinking. But with Callan's hand weaving its way through my hair, massaging the round of my skull, and those deep glittering eyes on mine in the firelight, it was hard to remember why.
"We don't gain anything in the world without risk," Callan said softly. "And sometimes," he added, stretching out his leg and wincing as he straightened his ankle, "sometimes we lose everything. But even the few moments when we have it all—those are worth the fall."
I knew he was talking about soccer, but he was talking about us too. Would it be worth the risk? Hadn't I already taken the risk without really ever deciding? "I just don't see where it will go," I whispered, knowing my defenses were weak, and that I was only fighting because I felt like I was supposed to resist.
But it was already much too late for that.
The electric cord that bound us together pulled and tightened between us, crackling and popping with tension, and when Callan leaned his head in, my body responded, leaving my mind a step behind. My lips met his, and I felt something inside me give as our tongues met. My rigidity turned to softness, my hesitation to relaxed acceptance. This was happening. And as our tongues tangled, seeking and teasing, I felt heat rushing through my core, pooling low in my belly.
I sighed, breaking the kiss for long enough to lean back into the plush rug, pulling Callan Whitewood down over me. And I gave myself over to sensation and emotion, leaving my rational mind standing in the dark distance, shouting things I couldn't quite make out in the rush of making love with the man in my arms.
16
Bathroom Business
Callan
Eventually, we worked our way upstairs, but not before I’d explored every inch of her soft golden skin in the light of the fire, kissing and licking, rewarded by her soft moans and gasps. We’d wound up wrapped in each other's limbs, her seated on my lap, her legs and arms holding me tightly as we’d exploded together in a burst of shimmering sparks.
April was like an unpredictable firecracker—the kind they didn't sell in California. Once lit, she burned slow and uncertain, but when she went off, it was thrilling and more exciting than anything I’d ever seen or felt. I liked the slow burn, the anticipation of the reward. With my ex, I’d never had that feeling. She responded to me exactly as she'd thought she should, like she read a book or just took her cues from movies showing men and women making love. I didn't like to think she'd been faking it all along, but she'd had none of the surprised gasps, the almost pained little moans April let out that set my skin blazing.
Maybe it had never been real.
Maybe nothing in my life had.
Soccer had been though, I thought wistfully as I held a hot cup of coffee between my palms the next morning and stood in front of the big windows looking out over the back porch. My ankle twinged, reminding me how real it had been. When I closed my eyes, I could still hear the crowd screaming at a low roar as I took the field, could hear Trace Johnson's bellow from the other end of the pitch whenever I scored. I could still feel my teammates clapping me on the back, the impact of them throwing their bodies at me in celebration. I missed it. All of it.
"Silver bell for your thoughts?" April picked up one of the decorations on the little wall shelf behind me and offered it to me with a smile. She wore a pair of my flannel pajama bottoms and a hoodie I’d pulled from the closet for her with the Sharks logo on the front. It was a strange combination of past and present, and it made my heart ache for some reason.
"Sorry," I said, turning and bringing my mind back to the present. "I was just thinking how the weather has changed." A cold wind was whipping down the hill behind the house, pulling tiny whitecaps from the surface of the Potomac and sending naked branches arching and swaying overhead. Winter had arrived.
"I'm not buying it," April said, the corners of her mouth lifting as she looked up at me. "But I'll take it." She bumped her shoulder gently into my side, careful not to spill the coffee we each held, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulders.
"I'm glad you stayed," I said, my voice growing rougher as my mind flashed through images of April by the fire, and later, in my bed.
"Me too," she said, and it felt like an admission. April was struggling, I knew. I sensed she had some inner monologue going on, telling her that getting involved with me was a bad idea. I couldn't promise her it wasn't, but I wished I could silence that little voice, for now at least. I wanted to revel in this thing we’d found. I didn't want to worry about the future. But maybe that was unfair. A guy who'd had no future for the past year probably worried a little less about that kind of thing than a girl in the midst of saving her career.
"Annabelle's going to wonder what happened to me," April said. "I should let her know I'm okay."
"Probably should," I agreed.
April went back to the front room to find her phone, and returned a few minutes later, setting it on the table nearby after sending a text.
"What's your plan for the weekend?" I asked her, angling my head back toward the kitchen where a timer was signaling that the cinnamon rolls we’d put in the oven were done.
"I don't know, really," she said. "Get my notes finalized and sent off to Los Angeles for Monday. But not much else, I guess. How about you?"
I gave her a grin over my shoulder as I went to get the rolls. "I don't do a ton of planning ahead these days," I said. "Probably see my nieces, hang out with Cormac. Do something festive. You in?"
April looked startled, her eyebrows shooting up into her messy gorgeous hair. "Um."
"Just say yes," I suggested, sliding a spatula under a gooey roll and putting it onto a plate.
"I don't want to intrude. I'm sure your brother wonders why I'm here all the time."
I pressed my lips into a wry line, thinking about what my brother had probably already deduced. "I'm pretty sure Cormac has figured out why you're here."
"Great." April crossed her arms and leaned a hip into the counter.
"Say yes," I prodded, carrying both plates to the small round table.
When April didn't answer, I put the plates down and then turned back to her, spinning her by the shoulders and sliding my arms around her waist. "Don't overthink," I suggested. "I don't know what this is either. What I do know is that since you forced your way in here, scaling my gate and breaking into my house, I've been happier than I think I've been in years."
April's brow wrinkled adorably at that. "Really?" Her voice was a hesitant whisper.
"Really." I bent my head and kissed her then. I might have no idea what we were doing, but I was going to let it play out. I had nothing to lose, after all, and this felt good and right. Nothing in my life had felt good in such a long time, I didn't ca
re what it meant or how long it lasted. I was just going to close my eyes and hold on.
April's body relaxed in my arms and she pressed herself to me, her softness meeting my muscle and creating a reassuring warmth between us that told me I’d convinced her. At least for now. "Okay," she said quietly.
‘Festive’ that day ended up meaning spending most of the day in bed with intermittent runs to the kitchen for food. I did actually answer my phone when Cormac called though, and invited him and the girls for dinner. "April will be here too," I said, smiling at April, who was texting with someone on her own phone at my side. I thought it was her friend Lynn, but it might have been Annabelle. Either way, I’d glanced over, seen the words "underwear," "sexy," and "five times" and figured I was better off minding my own business.
"There," I said, putting my phone onto the nightstand and then rolling to position my head on April's soft stomach so I could look up at her. "I did something productive."
"I'm staying for dinner?" April asked, raising a brow at me over her phone.
"Didn't I already convince you to stay and stop overthinking?" I pressed my hand to the side of her thigh, sliding it slowly up her side to her hip. "Maybe you need more convincing?" My body was languid and loose, and for once, my ankle wasn't screaming at me. It turned out that all I needed to feel better was to have sex with April five or six times a day.
April put her own phone aside and let her hands fall into my hair. The gentle tug and rustle of her fingers made my eyes slip shut in pleasure. "I feel kind of useless and lazy though," she said. "We've been in bed all day."
"Most people would kill for the luxury," I said. I was thinking of the luxury not just of being in bed, but of having April there with me, having her soft moans in my ear, her pliant body in my arms.
"But most people," April said, "people like me, for instance, have jobs to do."
For some reason, April's words stung a little bit, but I did my best not to react. I left my head where it was and tried to focus on the movement of her fingers on my scalp, on the warm satisfaction tingling through my body. There were plenty of days ahead where I could go on feeling worthless. I didn't want to do that today. I gathered my motivation and sat up. "We have a job to do," I said, turning my head to smile at her.
"We do?" Her brows lowered over blue eyes and she frowned.
"We're making dinner for Cormac and the girls. We have an hour and a half."
April's face took on a comical look of horror. "Is that all? But I have to shower! And I don't have any clothes!"
I frowned. "Showering is not a problem. I have showers here."
"How novel," April quipped sarcastically. "A house with a shower."
"But you'll have to wear your clothes from yesterday," I said. "Unless you really favor soccer jerseys and shorts." My eyes wandered to the window beyond the bed. Shorts and a jersey didn't seem like the right thing for the current cold weather. "Or warmups."
April sighed. "I'll be okay. If your brother already thinks we're sleeping together, I don't need to advertise it by showing up at dinner in your clothes." She slid her hand into mine atop the comforter. "But after dinner, I need to go back to the hotel."
The thought of saying goodbye to April tonight had my heart protesting already, but I wasn't completely sure whether it was because I wanted her to stay or because I just didn't want to be alone. Having her here had been such a good change from my previous lonely existence. But if I wasn't appreciating April for April—but only as a warm body keeping me company—well, I owed it to her to find out.
She stepped from the bed and shot me a glance over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom. "See you downstairs."
The door closed and the shower began to run, and after a few minutes, I pushed myself out of the warm cocoon of the bed, and pressed my feet into the cold hardwood floor. My ankle protested immediately, shooting a pang of agony up my leg. I had thought staying off my feet all day would have helped, but evidently not. It was only painless when I was actually in the middle of sex. I sighed, pulled on some jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt, and went down to the kitchen to see about dinner.
I wasn't a fantastic chef, but I had always enjoyed being in the kitchen. I liked baking better than cooking—there were rules, after all, and if you followed those, everything worked out pretty well. Cooking was more like the Wild West, and the lack of clearly defined boundaries made me feel a little unsettled, like anything could happen. Maybe it was all the years on the soccer pitch, but I liked knowing where the lines were, knowing how to win.
Before long, I had music blasting through the kitchen, the walls of windows glowing with the light from overhead and the warmth from the oven and stove. I moved around, ignoring my ankle and enjoying the stark landscape outside the glass contrasted to the warm coziness within. I could hear April's feet above on the floorboards, and the knowledge that she was here created another kind of warmth inside me. As I made spaghetti sauce, my mind turned through images of the day like a nostalgic teenager might flip through photos on her phone. April, her hair cascading over us both as she sat astride me, leaning down for a kiss. April beneath me, those blue eyes glittering as she laughed. Less formed flashes of her skin, her scent, her sounds wafted through my mind, accompanied by the smell of the pumpkin pie I was making for dessert.
It wasn't just having someone here, I decided, trying to replace April mentally with Becky and feeling a cold frigidity settle inside me at the imagining. It was April. Even thinking of her name sent a little zip of pleasure through my chest. Something about her in particular made me want her to stay.
The woman in my mind appeared in the kitchen as I sat on a tall stool, stirring the sauce and singing along with “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer,” which had just begun playing on Pandora. "Oh god, Rudolph? Really?" she moaned.
"If we're going to Christmas you up, we might as well start big," I said. "Besides, this can be our song."
She strode over to peer past my shoulder at the sauce simmering in the pot. "This can definitely not be our song." She hesitated for a moment. "Do we need a song?"
I lifted a shoulder. That same teenaged girl inside me was swooning, telling me that yes, we needed a song, but that it should be romantic. I handed the girl in my head a scrunchy and a hydro flask and told her to beat it. What was happening to me? "No, of course not." I stood, pushing the stool away, suddenly needing to feel a little more manly.
"Does it hurt your ankle to stand for too long?" April said, watching me stand in front of the stove.
"Everything hurts my ankle," I said honestly. "Except being in bed with you. Today it didn't hurt almost all day, and that's a first."
"You had some distractions," April said, smiling. "I can stir. Or … ?"
"Make a salad?" I suggested at her implied question.
"Sure." April went to the refrigerator and found the ingredients easily enough. Soon, the gate buzzer sounded through the house, and I hurried off to let my brother and nieces in.
"Thanks for the invite," Cormac said, stepping in behind two squealing girls dressed in tutus for no explicable reason. "I was going a little nuts with the whole weekend ahead of me, to be honest."
I laughed as the girls leapt around the tree, talking excitedly to one another in a language I hoped maybe they could understand. "No problem. Come in. Drink?"
"Yeah." I glanced over my shoulder to see my brother rubbing a hand up and then down his face, looking worn out and a little defeated, and my heart ached for him. I didn't know how to help, not really, but I knew I shouldn't leave Cormac alone. Moving here had been the right thing. My brother needed help. And support.
"Hey April," Cormac said, following me into the kitchen, where April stood dutifully at the stove, stirring the pot of sauce, her salad in a bowl on the counter.
She stepped away, coming to give Cormac a quick hug. "Hi," she said, and I noticed the way her eyes scanned his face, the worry that crept into her expression as she let him go and went back toward t
he stove. "How are you? The girls?"
Cormac laughed, but it was a tired and hopeless sound as he slouched into a chair and accepted the tumbler I pressed into his hand. "We are hanging in there," he said. "What are we drinking?" He lifted the glass, inspecting the caramel brown liquid inside.
"Bourbon," I said. "But it's not as good as HalfCat's."
"Oh, yeah? What’d you think?” Cormac asked before taking a sip.
I told my brother about our visit and the three of them laughed at my recounting of Mr. FluffyNuts and the crazy rules of the counties over which the bar sat.
"Daddy!" A shriek erupted from the front of the house, sending all three of us to our feet and through the doorway to the parlor.
I stopped in the parlor, Cormac glancing around frantically at my side. We spotted Taylor standing outside the powder room door, looking worried. "What's going on?"
"Maddie's in there," Taylor said, pointing at the door. I tried to imagine what kind of shriek-worthy emergencies could happen in tiny bathrooms but came up short.
A muffled sobbing sound came from inside the bathroom. Cormac stepped closer as April and I hovered just beyond. It seemed to me like bathroom problems were probably dad issues. "Honey?" Cormac called through the door. "You okay?"
"No!" A shriek came back in reply. "I want Mommy!" This last part devolved into miserable crying.
Taylor stepped closer to her father, looking up at him, and his hand cupped the back of her neck protectively as he glanced over at me. Cormac’s face was bereft, his eyes exhausted and his mouth drawn. "I know honey, we all miss her. Can I help with … this?"
"No!" Maddie was nearly hysterical inside the bathroom now, and her hiccupping sobs could be heard clearly through the door.
"What happened just before she went in there?" Cormac asked Taylor, squatting low to look her in the eye.
Taylor's eyes went wide and her mouth opened to begin her denial of fault. "I didn't do anything."
Shaking the Sleigh Page 16