Jacob Michaels Is... The Omnibus Edition: A Point Worth LGBTQ Paranormal Romance Books 1 - 6

by Chase Connor

  Everything felt so right, though. I felt compelled to tiptoe up behind Lucas and wrap my arms around him and nibble at his neck. Wanting to feel him jump in pleasant surprise and chuckle sexily as my mouth worked at his flesh. I wanted to make him feel even more enamored with me and my body. Wanted him to know that I loved his body. The desire to make him realize our bodies were made for each other’s made my gut flutter.

  That is batshit crazy.

  You’ve known him for DAYS.

  You’ve worked with some of the hottest, sexiest, most desirable men on the planet and never felt this way.

  Maybe you thought they’d be good to see naked or have sex with, sure.

  But you didn’t daydream about them.

  God, Lucas sets my skin on fire.

  Stop it, brain!

  Goddamnit!

  “What do vegetarians make for breakfast at home?” I asked the most neutral question that came to mind.

  Lucas looked up from the stove as I tiptoed into the kitchen and slid onto one of the barstools across from him at the counter. The guy made cooking look absolutely luscious.

  “Well, I don’t have any meat, but I thought I’d make eggs and hash browns?” He gave a slight shrug, his eyes on mine for a moment, then my arms, then back to my eyes. “I want to do bad things with you.”

  “You know this is ridiculous, right?”

  “Yes.” The word was a satisfied exhalation.

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t ruin it.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Good.” He nodded, then his smile reappeared. “I’m going to make you eggs and hash browns. And you’re going to love it. And you’ll have a big cup of coffee. After thirty minutes, it’s back into the water, Rob.”

  “Is that what we’re going to call it?” I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “It’s the nicest thing I could think of to call it.”

  “It wasn’t a bad effort.”

  “Scale of one to ten.” He gave me an upward nod. “What do you think?”

  “Of…the water?”

  He made a humming noise in response.

  “I don’t want to answer that.”

  “Why not?” He chuckled nervously.

  “Not because it’s bad.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “I don’t want to talk about how much I like having—the water—with you. I’m not in love with you, Lucas.”

  “Yet.”

  “Maybe.”

  “How many more times before you are?”

  “What if I never am?” I asked gently, bashfully, shamefully. “What if that never happens?”

  Good Lord, this was a bluntly honest conversation.

  “I love you.”

  “No,” I replied. “You don’t.”

  “Pretty close if not.” He shrugged as he threw some butter in the skillet. “Enamored at the very least. You’re absolutely addictive. Delightful. Obsession-worthy.”

  “Any more adjectives you want to throw in there?”

  “I’ll think of some, I’m sure.”

  “I’ve never been in love, Lucas.”

  God’s honest truth. Another one fell out of my mouth. And I hadn’t been aware that it was going to happen. Again.

  “What does that have to do with me?”

  “Nothing.” I chewed at my lip. “And everything. What if I’m not capable of falling in love? With anyone? Even someone like you.”

  “What is someone like me like, Rob?” He teased as he threw some chopped onion into the skillet and nudged it around, not even bothering to watch what he was doing.

  “Intoxicating,” I said, then frowned. “I don’t like how honest you make me. I don’t do…this.”

  “You don’t tell the truth?”

  “I don’t tell it so quickly and easily.” I replied. “Especially to some guy I barely know.”

  “How’s it feel?” He asked. “Telling me the truth just because you want to? Does it feel like—”

  “It feels like I’m not in control.” I stopped him. “Like I’m thinking with my dick instead of my head.”

  “Maybe it’s a different organ.” He jabbed the spatula at my chest with a chuckle. “Maybe it’s not your dick—though that is very nice.”

  “Make my hash browns.” I swatted the spatula away with a laugh. “But I need to know something. I really, really need to know something very badly.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Will you hate me if this is all it ever is with us?” I shifted on the stool uncomfortably, feeling very exposed. “What if…it…never happens and it’s just what we have now? Will you not want to even be my friend?”

  Lucas frowned down at the skillet as he added shredded potatoes from a bag. He nudged things around for a few moments with the spatula as I sat there and stewed in my own juices, thoughts racing through my head. If I was scared to have him disappear from my life, didn’t that mean something? Sure, it was ridiculous to think that losing someone I had known less than two weeks would devastate me. Ridiculous that someone I had known for such a small amount of time and really didn’t know all that well played such an important role in my life. But I enjoyed my time with Lucas. Even before the sex. Lucas was…he was my only friend.

  Is that why you don’t want to fall in love?

  Might lose him?

  Shut. Up. Brain.

  “We’ll still be friends,” Lucas responded lowly, his eyes staying on the skillet. “Even if you don’t ever love me the way I want you to.”

  “How do you know?”

  He shrugged bitterly. “I just do.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, can we please not talk about this anymore?” He looked up at me with an easy smile. “Because I want you to eat and fuck me some more.”

  “Fuck you?” I scrunched up my face.

  “Did that not sound right?” He asked way too innocently. “I mean, we weren’t making love, so fucking is the right term, right?”

  I glared at him.

  “You don’t love me, Rob.” He smiled sweetly. “You couldn’t’ possibly have made love to me. You fucked me.”

  He wasn’t angry or even upset. He was taunting. It was so enticing. I wanted to have my way with him again. And again. And…well, lots of times.

  “Maybe I’m not in love with you.” I relented. “And maybe that’s a ‘not yet’ situation. I’ll give you that. But I’m not fucking you either. I do care about you. Okay?”

  “Okay.” He shrugged nonchalantly, flipping potatoes.

  “I mean that.”

  “Okay.”

  “Say ‘okay’ one more time,” I growled playfully. “I dare you.”

  “What are you going to do?” He sucked at his teeth. “Fuck me some more?”

  “You’re asking for it.”

  “If you play your cards right, I might beg for it.” He grinned so evilly that my stomach didn’t care about food suddenly.

  “I hate you.” I laughed.

  “No.” Lucas moved so that he could lean over the counter and kissed me on the lips quickly. “You definitely don’t hate me. Do you want salsa for your hash browns?”

  I reached up to run my fingers through his hair.

  “Vegetarians have something against cheese on potatoes?”

  “Absolutely not.” He kissed me again.

  Then he was rooting around in the fridge and I was admiring his backside as he was bent over, fulfilling another one of my wishes.

  Chapter 6

  Other than the living room, the house was dark when I parked outside of Oma’s house that night. Lucas and I had had sex in so many ways so many times I couldn’t even remember how many times that was. My head was swimming with the thoughts still swirling through my brain, and the smells and tastes still clouding my limbic system. The smile on my face was genuine and not a single bit innocent as I got out of the car. Locking the car with my key fob, I climbed the stairs to the front porch and unlocked the front door, letting myself inside as quietly as possible. It wasn’t e
ven ten o’clock yet, and Oma had the living room lights on, so it was unlikely that she was in bed. However, I didn’t want a fight to start first thing. I was too happy, too satisfied, to want to bring my mood down before bed.

  “And just where the hell have you been?” Oma was waggling her head at me from the easy chair in the living room as soon as the door was shut.

  I sighed to myself and flipped the lock.

  “I’ve texted you fifty times today if it was a million.” She seethed but didn’t rise to her feet.

  The T.V. was on but was muted, and it cast an eerie blue tint through the room and on her face.

  “At Lucas’ fucking again.” I shrugged.

  Oma frowned at me.

  “Shocker.” I raised my eyebrows.

  “Surprising, maybe. Not shocking.”

  I held my hands out in a “there ya’ have it” type of way.

  “You two playin’ house now, are ya’?”

  “Playing something.” I shrugged.

  “Mm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It doesn’t mean nothing you little shit.” She waggled her head. “Just a response so you knew I heard ya’.”

  “Charming.”

  “Oh, fuck you, Mister High-and-Mighty.”

  “Goodnight, Oma.” I turned toward the stairs.

  “Get back in here right now, you little asshole.” She boomed.

  That voice was the “Oma voice” from my childhood. I knew better than to ignore it. Not out of fear, but out of respect. It was Oma’s way of letting me know that the conversation wasn’t over. That she was my elder. That she, whether I liked it or not, was my grandmother, I was in her home, and I had to give her respect. I walked back into the living room and stood before her, arms crossing over my chest.

  “Now, you look here.” She looked up me, trying to be angry, but her expression was too soft. “I don’t care that you and Lucas are seeing each other—”

  “How kind.”

  “—but, ya’ little asshole, you could at least return a text, so I know you’re not lying in a goddamn ditch somewhere.”

  “Or eaten by a wolf on the way home to grandma’s house?” I waggled my head this time.

  “Or that.” She snapped.

  “Got it,” I said evenly. “I apologize. I will text you next time.”

  “Good.”

  We stared at each other as the T.V. cast its blue haze around the room, casting eerie, late-night shadows even with the lamps on.

  “You wanna watch some T.V. with me?”

  “What are you watching?”

  Oma looked at me for a second, then seemed to realize what was being asked of her. She glanced at the T.V. nervously and reached for the remote. She wasn’t quick enough. I spun to the T.V. and saw my face on the screen. It was one of the action movies I had made two years previously. Something about terrorists trying to blow up the Statue of Liberty. It was complete crap. I had made twenty-million-dollars. Before taxes. It was a fair wage. The movie made twenty-times that much domestically and even more internationally.

  “I’m going to assume you just wanted to see my face.” I snorted as I turned to look at her again. “Because that isn’t one of mine that I would have picked. Unless you’re trying to go to sleep.”

  “Oh, fuck you.”

  I laughed.

  Oma laughed with me.

  “It was just on cable.” She relented. “And, well, I was flipping and there you were.”

  I shuffled over and sat down, perching on the ottoman her feet were on, looking at the T.V.

  “God.” I shook my head. “I have lost a lot of weight, huh?”

  “Look like a damn twig.”

  I nodded.

  “You know they made me work out every day with a trainer for three months before I made this shit?” I gestured at the T.V. “They put me on this high protein, low-fat diet. I’ve never eaten so much salmon, chicken, and eggs in my life. I couldn’t drink alcohol or have sugar. And I worked out for three hours a day every day for the entire three months.”

  “Well, you can tell.” I sensed her waving at the T.V. from behind me. “That shirtless scene was something to behold, Robbie. Looked like you were carved outta stone.”

  I laughed.

  “I felt like shit the whole shoot.” I sighed. “I was so unhappy.”

  “Well, I’d be unhappy too if I felt like my neck was eating my head.”

  The laughter poured from my throat.

  “Who’s that wrestler fella?” She asked over my laughter, a few chuckles escaping her throat. “That guy who is always telling people they can’t see him?”

  “I was not as built as John Cena.” I gestured at the T.V.

  “Your neck was bigger than his, that’s all’s I’m saying.” She cracked. “Looked like you could drink peanut butter straight from the jar.”

  “Yeah.” I cackled. “It was ridiculous. It’s the buffest I’ve ever been.”

  “Then why did you feel like shit?”

  “I was so unhappy.” I sighed. “I was lonely and miserable and bored and stressed and…I guess everything not good, Oma.”

  “Well, ya’ can’t tell.” Her voice was soft. “Guess that’s a testament to your acting skills, huh?”

  “I suppose.” I stared at my ex-body doing my possibly ex-job on the small screen in front of us. “I wasn’t acting. I was posing.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I was doing what was expected of me.”

  “Isn’t that what actors do?”

  “I’ve never won any acting awards because I can’t act, Oma.” I sighed. “I just know how to be anyone but myself. That’s what I do when I’m making movies or T.V. shows. Or I’m playing ‘rock star’ on stage. I’m anyone but Robert Wagner.”

  “Robert the youngest.”

  “Do you think mom and dad would be proud?” I didn’t dare look back at her.

  “Oh, Robbie.” She sighed.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I swatted my hand in the air over my shoulder. “That’s stupid.”

  “Your father—even though he was a dumbass—was smart enough to be proud of you. And your mother—even though she was a triflin’ tramp—was proud of you, too. As long as they were around, anyway.”

  I laughed. “You always do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Talk crap about them.”

  “Doesn’t it make it easier to not miss them?”

  “No.” I sighed. “It makes me wish I could argue with you about your opinion of them. But I can’t. Because I don’t know them. I have nothing I can use to argue. Other than my feelings. And I don’t even know if those are real.”

  “Robbie.” I felt her scoot forward in the chair and then her hand was petting my hair. “Them feelings is real. We can have dumbass, triflin’, trampy parents and still love ‘em. I’m mean as a Pitbull with his balls in a vice, and you still love me, right? And you ran off without a word ten years ago, and I still love you. Facts don’t factor into feelings.”

  “I suppose.” I sat there and let her pat my hair.

  It was a kindness, a loving gesture, that we hadn’t shared since before I was in junior high. Though it wasn’t exactly comfortable, seeing that we hadn’t shared affection like that in so long, it was still comforting.

  “Maybe you don’t know who are ‘cause you didn’t stick around long enough to find out?”

  I just listened.

  “Ya’ ran off when you was still figuring all that out and, well, that part of your growing up got stopped right at sixteen.” She said gently, her fingers running through my hair. “Can’t really keep figuring out who you’re going to grow up to be if you’re running all over God’s damn creation and pretending to be anything but yourself, can you?”

  “I guess not.”

  “And, well,” she sighed, obviously having some internal struggle, “even if you are a goddamn shithead, I’m proud of you. And that’s just gonna have to be enough, is
n’t it?”

  That settled on the air between us. I let it linger for a few moments as I felt her fingers sliding through my hair.

  “What’s Lucas, Oma?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know what I mean,” I said at a whisper. “Andrew’s a werewolf. You’re…Oma. What’s Lucas?”

  Her fingers froze in my hair for just a split second then continued their path downwards before starting up near the crown of my head again.

  “I don’t know, Robbie.”

  “But…he’s something, isn’t he?”

  “I would say so. Yes.”

  “Have you been trying to figure him out like you were trying to figure out Andrew before the other night?”

  Oma’s hand left my head. When it didn’t return, I shifted on the ottoman so that I could turn and look at her. She looked troubled, but not concerned. Deep in a difficult thought was the only way to describe it.

  “He knows things.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “He saw you coming, Robbie.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I think he knew you was coming back to Point Worth.”

  “So…are you saying he’s psychic or clairvoyant, or…”

  She chewed at her lip.

  “He knew I was destined to be the love of his life?” It came out teasing, but it made my throat clench. “He knew I’d return and the two of us would fall in love or something? Because I’m not so sure he was one-hundred-percent right about that.”

  “It had nothing to do with the two of you.” She shook her head.

  Frowning was the only way I could respond to that.

  “He just…said some things that let me know he was expecting you back.” She said, her voice measured. “Not that he knew when, of course. He just knew it would happen.”

  My teeth chewed at my lip for a moment as the thoughts formed in my head. The right questions moving to the forefront.

  “When he saw me that first day we met?” I asked. “He wasn’t shy, was he? He was concerned.”