Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate)

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Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate) Page 5

by Grayson, K. L.


  My jaw nearly hits the floor. She’s a fucking doctor? What in the hell would a doctor see in me? I’m not at all ashamed of what I do for a living, and I’m certainly not living paycheck to paycheck, but still… “You’re a doctor? How did I not know this?”

  Wrapping her lips around her thumb, Brittany sucks the sticky flesh into her mouth. My eyes follow the movement, and my blood starts pumping to places that have no need for it at the moment. Now if we weren’t in the middle of a crowded stadium…

  I shift in my seat as Brittany slowly drags her thumb out of her mouth. “Did you like that?” she asks, sounding coy. The little minx.

  “Hell yes, I like it. Now answer my question.”

  “I forgot what it was.” Her eyes drift to my mouth and I bend my head to capture her gaze.

  “I didn’t know you were a doctor.”

  She smiles. “You never asked. Plus, this is only our first date so there are lots of things about me you don’t know.”

  “Tell me something.”

  “Okay,” she says, pushing up from her seat. Looking around, I notice everyone around us is also standing, so I follow suit. “I get a little crazy at Cardinals games.”

  “Like how crazy?” I ask.

  Brittany turns her attention to the field, where the players are starting to take their positions, and starts clapping along with everyone else. “Crazy enough that I feel like I should apologize now for my behavior.” She winks, not taking her eyes off the field.

  “Come on, you can’t be that bad.”

  Holy shit, she can be that bad.

  It’s the bottom of the fourth inning and the crowd roars, heckling the umpire. Brittany jumps from her chair and pushes her face against the screen that’s separating our seats from the field. “You’ve gotta be freakin’ kidding me!” she yells. “That’s the worst call I’ve seen all year. Did you even see that ball—?”

  Spinning around, the umpire glares at Brittany, and I slap a hand over her mouth. She continues to scream, but at least this way it’s muffled and won’t get us kicked out of the ballpark.

  I hope.

  I press my lips to her ears. “Shh. You’ve got to calm down,” I say, fighting back laughter. Turns out Brittany is a little spitfire, and I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a huge turn-on.

  Wiggling from my hold, she opens her mouth, no doubt to tell me where to shove my words, but she doesn’t get a chance. I slam my mouth against hers and push my tongue inside for a searing kiss. Then, just as fast, I pull away.

  Brittany stumbles backward, looking a bit stunned.

  “Am I forgiven?” I ask, stifling a smile when someone behind us hollers for us to get a room. Brittany nods and lowers herself into her seat. “Good, because I’d hate to—”

  “Strike three!” the umpire yells, signaling an out for Brittany’s boy, Yadi.

  Oh shit.

  “What?” In a split second, she’s pressed against the screen.

  Again.

  “Come on, Blue!” She tosses her hands up in the air. “Are you even paying attention over there? Pull your head outta your ass!”

  The bear of a man that was sitting next to Brittany joins her at the netting, mimicking her displeasure, then they high-five each other. The umpire turns around and points a finger at Brittany and her accomplice.

  “I’ve got her,” I say, wrapping an arm around her stomach. She struggles when I lift her up and settle her in my lap. At least this way I can keep a firm grip on her. Brittany continues to bounce around, trying to break free, before finally giving up.

  I realize in this moment that I won’t let her go. Not now—maybe not ever.

  “You do know we’re winning, right?” I ask.

  “That doesn’t matter.” Brittany crosses her arms over her chest. The movement causes her shirt to rise, revealing a hint of skin above the waistline of her jeans. “It’s the principle! That was clearly a ball, which would’ve been ball four, which would’ve been a walk for Yadi. With the bases loaded, Wainwright would’ve walked into home and Carpenter was up to bat. Do you know what Carpenter could’ve done with the bases loaded?”

  “No.” And to be honest, I don’t care. Right now, the only thing I care about is the creamy skin playing peekaboo above Brittany’s waistband. My arm is already wrapped around her stomach, so I slip my fingers under the hem of her shirt, praying that she doesn’t ram an elbow into my gut. When I stroke the soft skin with my thumb, she shivers but doesn’t pull away. “What could Carpenter have done?” I ask.

  Glancing over her shoulder, Brittany looks at me and furrows her brow. “Huh?”

  I chuckle and bury my face in her back. She’s so damn cute. “You asked me if I knew what Carpenter could do with the bases loaded.”

  “I did? Oh, right, I did.” She shakes her head and turns back around, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘I can’t think straight when you touch me.’

  “What was that?” I ask, wanting to make sure I heard her right. She may not like that she can’t think straight when I touch her, but I sure as hell do.

  “Nothing.” She sighs. “I didn’t say anything.”

  The next few innings go by without incident. All too soon it’s the seventh inning and everyone is, in fact, standing to stretch. Pressing my lips to Brittany’s neck, I whisper, “I’m proud of you. You went three innings without calling the umpire an asshole or a jackass.”

  “Thank you,” she says. I loosen my hold around her waist and we stand up. Puffing out her chest, Brittany raises her arms and stretches like a cat. “I feel like I deserve some sort of prize or something.”

  “A prize, huh?” Funny, because being here with Brittany, I feel like I won some sort of prize.

  She nods.

  Grabbing my beer from the cup holder, I tilt my head back and take a swig. “Name it and it’s yours.”

  She smiles like the Cheshire Cat. “Anything?”

  “Anything.” I’m secretly hoping that whatever she asks for involves the two of us getting naked.

  “Nachos,” she states firmly. Nachos?

  “I said you can have anything you want, and you choose nachos?”

  Tossing her head back, Brittany lets out a deep, throaty laugh that travels straight to my dick, stroking it several times. This woman is going to be the death of me. No woman’s laugh should be able to make a man feel that.

  “But I’m hungry,” she says, slipping her hand in mine. I follow behind her as she leads us toward the main aisle then weaves through the crowd, presumably in search of a food stand. “How can you be hungry? You had lunch, cotton candy, a jumbo hot dog, and half of my pretzel.”

  “What can I say?” She shrugs, not stopping in her quest for nachos. “I love ballpark food.”

  “Connor?” My stomach rolls, and when he doesn’t answer or look at me, I tap his arm. “Connor?”

  The crowd goes wild and it pains me to say I have absolutely no idea what just happened. Connor jumps up, fist pumping the air, and despite my ever-growing nausea, I love that he’s enjoying the game.

  I nudge him one more time. “Connor?”

  “Sorry. That was intense,” he says excitedly. Dropping onto his seat, he looks over at me, and immediately his brows dip low. “Are you okay?” he asks, pressing the back of his hand against my forehead. “You don’t look so good.”

  Closing my eyes, I swallow past the burning in my throat. “I hate ballpark food,” I grumble.

  “Shit,” he hisses, and suddenly the empty nacho tray is no longer in my hands. I open my eyes to see Connor looking around us frantically. “Are you going to get sick? Do they have barf bags around here somewhere?”

  “No.” I start to chuckle but my stomach clenches tight, so I bend over in pain instead. “Can we go home?”

  “Yes,” he says, grabbing at my purse and foam finger, which I insisted on buying earlier. “Can you walk or do I need to carry you?”

  “I can walk.” Ever so slowly, I stand up and follow Co
nnor to the aisle. As we start up the stairs, he wraps an arm around my shoulders, bearing the majority of my weight. My stomach churns with each step we take toward the stadium’s exit. When warm saliva fills my mouth, I run for the nearest trashcan and bend over as my stomach heaves. Pain rips up my throat as I lose every single thing I ate today.

  A warm hand lands on my back and begins rubbing big, slow circles. Connor uses his other hand to hold my ponytail out of the way. He doesn’t move or say a word, but he doesn’t have to. His actions today speak so much louder than words. Tears burn my eyes at his kind gesture, making me grateful that I have the throwing up to mask my sudden emotional response.

  My stomach finally settles. Straightening my back, I offer Connor a sad smile. He searches my face for a second before draping the strap of my purse over his shoulder. He pulls the foam finger from under his arm, hands it to me, and then scoops me up. “I don’t like seeing you sick,” he mumbles, taking off toward the car.

  “I can walk,” I say meekly. Dropping my head to his shoulder, I silently pray that he doesn’t put me down.

  “I know you can.” Connor tightens his hold on me. I may not feel the best, but I’m still able to appreciate his big, strong arms wrapped around me. It’s nice being taken care of for a change.

  And for the first time in a long time, I feel safe and content in the arms of a man. It’s as if I saw him in the tattoo parlor and my heart said, ‘oh, there you are.’ That’s a scary thought considering this is our first official date, so I try not to dwell on it and just enjoy the simplicity of the moment.

  “Come on, pretty girl,” Connor says, gently retrieving me from the front seat of his car. My eyes fly open as he cradles me against his chest.

  “Did I fall asleep?” I ask, stifling a yawn.

  “Yep, and just so you know, you snore.” Connor kisses the side of my head. I squirm to get down, but he doesn’t relent. “It’s okay, I found it kind of cute.”

  “I don’t snore,” I scoff, wiggling again. “Do you have a thing for holding women or what?”

  “Not women,” he says, walking toward my door. “Just you. It turns out I have a thing for holding you. Don’t ask me,” he says, shrugging. “I can’t figure it out either.”

  Damn he’s good.

  So, so good.

  The front door flies open as soon as we hit the welcome mat. Casey shakes her head, making a tsking sound. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  “You have?” Connor asks, sounding confused.

  “Yep,” she says, popping the P. “She does this every single time. The woman doesn’t know when to stop. Actually,” she says, motioning for Connor to walk inside, “I’m thinking of finding some sort of ballpark food addiction group she can join.”

  Connor sets me on my feet but keeps a hand settled on my lower back. “Ha, ha. Very funny.” Plopping down on the couch, I glare at Casey. “Now, quit making fun of the sick girl. It isn’t nice.”

  Casey purses her lips, failing miserably at trying to hide her smile. “You aren’t sick, you just ate too much. Big difference.”

  I roll my eyes and Connor laughs. “You did eat a ton.” Sticking my bottom lip out, I give him my best pouty look. He bends down and kisses my forehead. “Want me to stay for a while?” he whispers, his eyes flitting to Casey and then back to me.

  “No.” I groan. Grabbing the afghan off the back of the couch, I drape it over myself. “She’s right, this happens all the time. I’ll be miserable for a few hours, but I’ll be okay. No sense in you hanging around. Plus, it’s getting late.”

  “Are you sure? I really don’t mind,” he says, tucking the edges of the blanket around my shoulders.

  The gesture is so damn sweet it makes my teeth ache. Fisting my hand in the front of his shirt, I pull him toward me. “If I didn’t have vomit breath, I’d kiss the hell out of you right now.”

  Connor flashes me his pearly whites. “Oh yeah? Can I get a rain check?”

  “I’ll give you something better than a rain check.”

  “Oh, good Lord.” Casey huffs and walks out of the room. “Now I’m going to vomit.”

  Connor and I both laugh, keeping our gazes locked on each other. “Thank you for today,” I tell him sincerely. “It was the best first date in the history of first dates.”

  “I’m glad you had fun. Next time I’ll know to limit your consumption of food though.” Connor bends down a little bit lower. Instinctively, I pull back because I really do have rank breath. “And just so you’re prepared, the next time I’m leaning over you on a couch, it’ll be for completely different reasons.”

  If I had been standing, I would’ve fallen, because Connor’s mention of ‘next time’ made my knees go weak. And now I really want to know what those ‘different reasons’ will be. “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

  “No.” Connor grins. “But even if I was, I’d break my plans.” He kisses my forehead once more before heading out the door.

  “Where’s he going?” Casey asks, walking back into the room.

  “Home.” Rolling over, I curl in a ball, doing my best to calm the tornado swirling around inside my stomach.

  Casey stops in front of me and holds out her hand. “I thought some Tums might make you feel better.”

  “Thanks.” I take the two pink tablets from my sister and chew them up.

  Casey sits in the recliner next to the couch. “So, other than you eating way too much food and making yourself sick, how was your date?”

  “It was really great.”

  “Wow,” she says, pulling one of her legs to her chest. “Not just great, but really great.” I swallow hard and Casey quickly sits up. “Are you going to get sick?”

  “No.” Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “I already did that. In front of Connor. Not my finest moment, let me tell ya.”

  “Oh shit,” she says, laughing. Opening my eyes, I pin her with a glare. “What? It was your own fault. You’ve been doing it for years. You should know when to stop by now.”

  “I know,” I grumble. The insane amount of fullness I felt in my stomach earlier finally starts to subside, and I feel like I can actually breathe again. “I’ll try not to screw things up next time.”

  “Will there be a next time?”

  Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Yes.” Casey’s eyes widen. Even I’m surprised at how easily that word fell from my lips. The past two years haven’t been easy for me, and actually going out on a date—let alone agreeing to a second one—is huge.

  “Good.” The smile on Casey’s face is genuine. “I’m happy for you. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you. Just promise me something.”

  “What?” I ask skeptically.

  “Promise me that you’ll be honest. Whatever your feelings, good or bad, just be honest. Don’t run away from them.”

  It’s really quite scary how well she knows me.

  I blink several times, pulling my bottom lip in between my teeth. Casey cocks her head to the side, waiting for me to consent. “I promise.”

  “Good.” She pushes up from the chair. “Do you need anything? Because I think I’m going to hit the sack.”

  “No, I’m good. I’m just going to lie here until my stomach feels better, and then I’m going to go to bed too.”

  “Good night.” Casey turns toward the hall, but I stop her before she can get too far.

  “Hey, Case?”

  She spins around, covering a yawn with her hand. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For tipping him off about my love for the Cardinals. I still can’t believe he got us front row seats.”

  Casey puffs out her chest. “Well, I can’t take credit for the front row seats, but I’ll definitely take credit for clueing him in. You can pay me back by naming your firstborn child after me.”

  “Yeah, right. One of you in my life is enough.”

  “Whatever.” Twisting around, she flings her long, dark hair over her sh
oulder. “I’m fabulous and you know it.”

  Casey disappears around the corner and I close my eyes, deciding that maybe some sleep is the best thing for me right now. Only when I close my eyes, sleep doesn’t come. Instead, all I see is Connor and his big chiseled body covering my own.

  Screw it, who needs sleep anyway.

  The clock dings—again—and I silently berate my mother for giving me the damn thing. Don’t get me wrong, I love the antique clock. It was passed down from my grandmother to my mother, and then to me. But right now it’s pissing me the hell off. According to my family heirloom, it’s now two o’clock in the morning and I’ve spent the last four hours thinking. And for me, thinking isn’t good, because I tend to overthink, which is exactly what I’ve done tonight. Connor’s laugh, his smile, his touch—he’s consuming me. I’m finding myself obsessing over what it would be like to become attached to all of those things, only to have them ripped away. Honestly, I’m not sure I could handle going through something like that again. Then again, he wouldn’t do that to me…but he could.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  Flinging my legs over the edge of the couch, I rub absently at my heavy lids. Connor’s told me that he doesn’t do meaningless sex, but he never said he does long-term relationships either.

  Shit.

  My own thoughts cause my breath to hitch in my throat. What if I’m ready to give up my rogue ways at the chance for something more but Connor changed his mind? What if he saw my brand of crazy tonight and decided to cut his losses and run?

  Adrenaline pumps through veins, my body vibrating with uncertainty. The need to see him—to talk to him—is overwhelming, and before I know what’s happening, I’m heading toward the door. Thank God he lives close.

  Scurrying across the yard, I hop up the steps. His lights are off. Biting nervously at my lip, I try to decide whether or not I should just turn around.

  This is crazy.

  Running a hand through my hair, I spin around to head back home. I make it two steps and then Casey’s words slam into me like a freight train. Promise me that you’ll be honest. Whatever your feelings, good or bad, just be honest. Don’t run away from them.

 

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