She mewed a small sound and gripped at his shoulders. His breaths came rapidly, and his dick prayed that soon it would follow suit. Whatever. Next time he’d go slow. This time was all about basic need and desire.
Until she broke the seal of their kiss. “I’m worried I won’t do a good job.”
“Less worry. More action.” He turned her so that her hands splayed on the seat of his bike. He shoved at her skirt, spreading her legs in the process. His erection throbbed for release. For her.
She stopped his exploration, straightening and grabbing his hands in hers. “I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.”
“How long we talkin’?” He asked around leaving a hickey on her neck.
“Just awhile. I…I don’t want to mess up.” The way her eyes got big and her face pale hit him straight in the gut. She was not a groupie looking for a good time. Not a hookup on his bike and never call again chick. This was Velma. His Velma. The thought hit him right in the stomach.
His pulse. His breath. Even his dick hiccupped.
“Fuck me,” he said on a breath.
“Okay,” she replied.
Everything inside him had stopped. He couldn’t use her as a distraction. She deserved more than that.
“Did I do something wrong already…” Her words trailed off, just like his punch of lust.
He paused, stepping back and pushing her skirt back down over her ass. He wasn’t about to pop the cherry on their relationship over a muffler. “We’re not doin’ this.”
Not here. Not like this.
Without glancing to her, because he didn’t trust himself to be a gentleman for very long, he moved to snag her shirt. He tossed it to her, unsure about anything in life at the moment.
“I’ve gotta check the house. Lock up. Then I’ll take you home.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Instead, he stalked through the doorway to check the dead bolts on the doors.
Clearly, he had to treat her with more respect than he’d been known for. He wasn’t staying in town. She searched for forever and wedding rings. He searched for an easy lay. No, he couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t do that to her.
He finished up inside and returned to the garage. The big overhead door was open, and Velma was gone. He jogged outside, glanced up the street, and cursed as the bus pulled away from the corner stop.
A gentleman. That’s what he’d been. And he’d done the right thing. But doing the right thing had never felt so wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
The last two hours had been the longest of his life.
“Velma, pick up your phone.” Brek hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle outside Jase’s shop. “Please.”
He clicked off his cell. The cowbell clanked against the glass when he slipped inside.
Like always, loud eighties music blared from the overhead speakers. He stepped around a precarious display of ceramic angels and miniature crystal flowerpots.
Jase emerged from the back room lugging a tub of white roses and singing along to Van Halen.
“Hey.” He nodded to Brek and danced like an idiot to the walk-in display refrigerator.
Brek leaned a hip against the white marble-top counter. Doing the right thing had drained any hope of happiness.
Jase emerged from the cooler, brushing his palms on his green apron. “Uh-oh. I know that face. That’s the face of you and Velma after another spat. Do you two do anything but play tongue twister and fight?”
“Do me a favor, would you?” Brek asked, rubbing at the creases in his forehead. “Don’t be a jackass.”
“Spill it.” Jase gestured to the stools surrounding the worktable in the retail space. Brek always thought it was a stupid place for an arranging station, but Jase insisted customers liked to watch him while he put the flowers in vases, so whatever.
Brek checked his phone again. Nothing. He had sent Velma five texts and called her three times. Once from the driveway as the bus pulled away, once from the garage right before he left, and then again when he pulled up to Jase’s. He’d gone straight to their apartment. She wasn’t there.
Doing the right thing had never left him feeling like such a failure. Brek gave Jase the breakdown of Velma’s one-eighty, her willingness to do the dirty with him, and his sudden surge of conscience.
“She was really ready to put out for you?” Jase’s expression remained unconvinced.
Brek glared at him. “Yeah.”
“So, to be clear, you had Velma—willing—bent over your bike, ready for you to take her, and you decided that’s the moment you’ve got scruples?”
That about summed up the situation. “Pretty much.”
Jase leaned forward, elbows on the stainless-steel table. “You do realize you’re the dude who once took me to a beauty pageant where the girls all went down on each other for the talent competition?”
Not one of his finer moments, but yes. Brek had received an invite to the local motorcycle club’s annual beauty pageant. He had dragged Jase along. Neither had expected the evening to take that turn. Neither of them had minded much, either. Which was reason number one thousand and twenty-six why Velma deserved better than being bent over his bike in a dirty garage. And a dirty garage was all he had to offer. A woman like her needed more.
“That was a fan-freaking-tastic night.” Jase put his knuckles out to fist-bump Brek.
Brek made a face at Jase’s outstretched knuckles.
“You wanna know what I think?” Jase rubbed his eyebrow.
Not particularly. “No.”
“Good. I’ll tell you.” Jase leaned in further. “Since you’re here instead of out there tracking down Velma, I think she scares you. Because you know when you get in deep with chicks like her, you don’t come out on the other side.”
He should’ve talked to Dean. “That so?”
“Woman like her? You set up house, buy some doilies, and hand over your balls. Like Dean.” Jase smiled bigger than a chick in a room full of lilies. “He’s happy as a clam with Claire’s wire strippers holding tight to his nuts. You, my friend, are scared that’s the direction you’re headed.”
Brek shook his head. “Aspen pushes out this kid, and I’m out of here. That’s my problem. Not because I’ll want to stay, but because no matter what, I’m leavin’.”
“Ahhhh…so it’s about you not wanting to hurt her? This is an interesting development.” Jase rubbed his hands together. “And the plot thickens.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to hurt her.” Brek’s heart already felt like it was in a combat zone when she was nearby. He couldn’t do the same damage to hers.
“But by walking away with her already hot and bothered and ready to go, you hurt her anyway.” Jase pointed out.
Shit. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’m not Freud.” Jase wiped a clump of dirt from the tabletop. “Thank fuck for that. But, in my estimation, you both want to do this thing. So, you lay out some guidelines, toss her on the bed, and show her the ways of the sexually inclined.”
“That, right there, is why you’re a fuckin’ florist and not a therapist.” Brek stood and walked to the window of the cooler. Jase’s idea wasn’t bad. They would set more rules, understand where the other was coming from, and move forward. Communication and all that shit.
“The alternative is to get used to your right hand.” Jase followed him. “We both know that’s not gonna happen. Now, lilies are my go-to for please let me in your pants. I think in this situation we’re going to have to layer them with a handful of hydrangeas because you got her all hot and bothered, then walked away. Nothing says sorry I was an asshole quite like hydrangeas.”
Brek pointed to some small blue flowers. “What about those?”
“Ahh…those are agapanthus blooms,” Jase slid open the door and stepped inside. “The most expensive flower we carry. These are the I’m sorry I slept with my secretary flowers.”
“Now you’re just makin’ shit up.”
“Making shit up is my gift,” J
ase replied, grabbing a handful of the stems. “Will you be paying with cash or credit?”
“Cash.” Brek pulled his wallet from his back pocket and counted out some bills. Time to talk to Velma.
Jase wrapped the flowers.
Brek tucked them into his jacket and headed back to the apartment. He’d wait for her there.
He turned his key in the door and pushed it open.
No Velma. The apartment was silent. He did the only thing he could think of to find her.
He dialed her sister.
Claire picked up on the first ring. “I’m not happy with you.”
“I messed up.”
“No kidding.” Claire was in a huff. He couldn’t blame her.
“Do you know where she is?” He filled one of Velma’s vases with water and set the flowers in it.
“She’s on a date,” Claire replied.
His stomach did a nosedive.
“Some matchmaking thing your mom put together,” Claire continued.
Brek cursed under his breath. “She say where this thing’s happening?”
“If I tell you are you going to muck it up again?”
“No.”
“Pinky swear promise?”
“Claire.” He practically growled at her.
“Elway’s,” Claire said, matter-of-fact. “Don’t hurt her or I’ll send Dean to hunt you down.”
“Fair enough.” He wouldn’t hurt her. Not again.
He tapped the phone off and hustled to the hallway. With no time to wait for the elevator, he jogged down the steps two at a time. He had to get to Velma before she made an even bigger mistake with someone who cared a hell of a lot less about her than he did.
Of all the men Velma expected to meet at the matchmaker mixer, Wayne Marsh was not one of them. And yet, Brek’s mom, Pam, had matched Velma and Wayne for the first thirty-minute date of the night.
Wayne and Velma had grown up together. He was the literal boy next door.
Velma’s throat constricted. She had hurried out of the garage after her humiliation with Brek. No way could she face him after what happened. Nope. Avoidance was key. She’d ignored his calls. His texts. What was left to say?
Wayne sauntered toward her, winding behind tables and chairs and other attendees. All six feet two inches of police officer handsome. Darn it. Why couldn’t he make her all tingly like Brek? All those little feelings that made her uncomfortable, happy, and adventurously naughty hit her in the belly, only with the one man she had embarrassed herself with and could never, ever see again.
“Velma, dear. This is Wayne. According to your questionnaires, you two are incredibly compatible.” Pam squeezed Velma’s arm in reassurance. “Really, it’s very rare to find two people as compatible as the both of you.”
His eyes twinkled as he got closer. Honest to goodness, they twinkled. Like a freaking cartoon hero. “Velvet.”
Ugh. No. Not Velvet.
“Hi, Wayne.” She made every effort not to wring her hands or suck on her lip. She failed and glanced to Pam. “We, ah, actually know each other. We grew up together.”
Pam clapped her hands in delight and waved to someone across the room. “Wonderful. I can feel the chemistry already. You two are in the far booth. Thirty minutes and then I’ll introduce you to your next partner. Talk about the things you both enjoy doing and relax. Remember, this is fun!”
Wayne wasn’t bad. He was goodness personified. He should probably get his own sunshine halo and the key to the city. It wouldn’t ever cross his mind to have sex on a motorcycle. Wayne would have rose petals and champagne. Probably strawberries. Dipped in chocolate.
He stood there, eyes sparkling, an ear-to-ear grin. Nothing like Brek. Which was a good thing. A great thing. Especially since she wasn’t presently talking to her roommate.
“Should we go sit?” Wayne cleared his throat and gestured to a corner booth set for two.
“Yeah. Yes. Yup.” Velma ran a hand over the skirt of her teal dress. He held out his palm, clearly waiting for her to grasp it. But she couldn’t touch him. Not when she had thrown herself at Brek earlier in the day. Brek, who had changed his mind about her…because she was boring, boring Velma.
Brek had to get out of her head.
She took Wayne’s cool hand and…nothing. Absolutely nothing. His thumb stroked the fleshy part between her thumb and pointer finger and, well, still nothing. The familiar cologne he wore was a comforting balm on an otherwise rough day, but that was it.
“This is my first time,” Velma said, the blood promptly draining from her face to pool in embarrassment within her chest. “I mean, here. My first time at one of these things.”
“I came last month.” They skirted the tables and Wayne helped her as she stepped up into her side of the booth. Aside from the lack of tingles at his touch, he could make an exceptional date.
“How did it go?” she asked before choking on a gulp of water. She pounded a fist to her chest and smiled.
“I’m back this month. That tells the story, I suppose.” He chuckled at himself. “So…”
“So.” She sipped a bit more, avoiding the ice cubes. “We should have wine. Let’s have wine. I think we should.”
Snatching the wine menu beside the salt and pepper, she flipped through the laminated pages. She glanced up when he remained silent.
His eyes caught the low light from the sconce on the wall beside their table. “All right.”
He hailed a waiter. Velma ordered the house white. He ordered a Coors, from a bottle. Like Brek always ordered. Ugh. Brek.
“I have to admit, I’m surprised you’re here tonight.” Wayne leaned against the back of the booth. His long arm sprawled along the edge.
“Me, too,” Velma said under her breath. She fiddled with the fake leather cover of her menu.
“I guess it’s my lucky day, then.” Wayne dropped his arm and poured his newly arrived beer into a frosted glass. “I’ve had the steak. It’s good. But probably just time for appetizers tonight before they move us along.”
Oh. Right.
She refused to look at the label of his bottle. As far as she was concerned, Coors was now the beer of Wayne. Not that other guy. The one who always drank straight from the bottle. No frosted glass for him because it probably broke biker code.
Velma toyed with the stem of her wineglass. Her phone buzzed in her purse. Her fingers itched to check and see if Brek was calling again. She already had several voice mails from him. She couldn’t bring herself to answer the phone or listen to his messages. That would make it real. Every time she picked up her phone, she got all dizzy and out of breath.
Wayne leaned forward, concern evident in his expression. The low hum of the restaurant cocooned them in time and space. “Are you all right?”
“Fine.” She smiled her best smile and glugged a drink of fortified grape juice. “How’s work?”
“Busy day.” He relaxed against the bench once more, but the concern in his eyes remained.
“Caught some bad guys?” she asked over the throaty laughter from the woman in the booth behind her.
“Yeah. You could say that.” His elbows rested on the table.
She should make a column for that on her spreadsheet. Elbows on the table meant an automatic three-point deduction. As would ordering Coors in a bottle like Brek. Right now, Wayne was at a negative six. But he caught bad guys, so that added some points. She should add a column for that, too. “Did you get to put them in handcuffs?”
“As a matter of fact, I did.” He scanned his menu.
A deep breath didn’t help the discomfort of the moment. She and Wayne had always had an easy air between them. He was an amazing guy. Kind. Steady job. Polite. Her parents adored him.
But he wasn’t Brek. And that was the crux of it. If she married a guy like Wayne, she would be miserably comfortable for the rest of her life. A guy like Brek would never get married. Yet, he had managed to weasel his way into her life in the most comfortably obnoxious way.<
br />
But he didn’t want her. And Wayne was safety. Stability. Kindness. Boredom. They had that in common.
“I have tickets to see The King and I at the Buell next weekend,” Wayne said.
Oh. He definitely got extra bonus points for The King and I tickets. The Buell was hands down the best place to see Rodgers and Hammerstein.
“Interested?” Wayne asked before taking another drink of his beer and setting it carefully on the cardboard coaster with the logo of a craft beer company.
“Sure. No. Actually, could you give me a second?” Velma forced her hands to stop shaking. “I need to use the ladies’ room.”
“Something’s wrong.” Wayne’s forehead scrunched.
“Yep.” Velma slid out of the booth, snatched her purse, and hustled to the restroom before he could say anything more. She stood over the white porcelain sink and splashed cold water against the red splotches forming on her cheeks and neck. She needed a plan—a strategy to get out of the next twenty-five minutes with Wayne.
She stared at her reflection, waiting for inspiration to strike.
Nothing. Darn. Firming her resolve, she pushed her shoulders back, tucked her black clutch under her arm, and headed back into the lion’s den. With barely one foot around the corner to the main restaurant area, she walked smack into Brek.
An extremely unattractive “oomph” escaped her lips. Brek’s hands steadied her. She shoved them away.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She gritted her teeth so she didn’t say more.
“Finding you.” His intense gaze lanced her to her core.
That, right there, was why she’d chosen to avoid him. Even looking at him hurt.
He stepped to the side to let a couple of women move past. “What’re you doing?”
“Finding someone else, since you decided you’re not interested.” She huffed out a breath. “See that guy over there?” She pointed to Wayne. “His name is Wayne and he’s very interested in me.”
Going Down On One Knee (A Mile High Matched Novel Book 1) Page 14