“But.” Drew went on. “He’s a good brother, and he just wants you to be happy.”
“I want to sign with NASCAR,” I whispered quickly. It was the first time I’d said it out loud.
Drew smiled. “Then sign with NASCAR. I can’t wait to watch you smoke them all.”
I scoffed. “I think I need some more practice for that.”
“We’ll make sure you get it.”
Something warm bloomed in my stomach, but I pushed it back. “Do you think it’s a mistake? After everything that happened with Joey?”
He considered my words, then slowly shook his head. “I think it’s an opportunity. Shit’s changing over there. It’s a good time to step in. Besides, you’ll have people watching your back.” His eyes slid toward the living room.
“He was watching Joey’s back, too,” I pointed out, not wanting to totally disregard the elephant in the room.
Drew made a dismissive sound. “That was different, and you and I both know it.”
I nodded. I did know. I didn’t blame Hopper for what happened with Joey. I didn’t blame him even a little.
“Look,” Drew said, looking a little like he swallowed a marshmallow whole and he was trying not to choke. “I know shit is stirring between you and Hopper. Even a blind man would see it. Hell, you two have been staring at each other for months and months when you thought no one else was looking.”
Embarrassment crawled up the back of my neck. I thought I’d been sly about that. I didn’t think anyone noticed.
“Take it from someone who’s been there. Fighting against it only makes it harder.”
I nodded, really taking in what he was saying. I wasn’t necessarily fighting against the feelings I had for Hopper, though. They were there; the fight was already lost.
But I was trying to keep myself from getting hurt.
“You’re going to hurt either way, man. Might as well reach for something that makes the pain more bearable.”
It was like a punch to the gut, like a sack in the middle, and all the air was stolen from my lungs. He was right.
Drew came around the counter and slapped me on the back. “Enough of this talking shit. I think you’re catching what I’m throwing down.”
“Don’t say that ever again,” I told him. I shook my head sadly. So lame.
He laughed. “Seriously, though, anytime you want to talk, no judgement, no expectations, I’m here for you. Trent is, too. You’re always welcome here, Arrow, and we’ll always have your back.”
Well, shit.
Between the kiss with Hopper and this damn near Nicholas Sparks movie in Drew’s kitchen, I was feeling pretty fucking see-through.
On one hand, it was good. I knew I didn’t need Drew’s permission for any of the decisions I would make, but his understanding gave me a boost of confidence.
On the other, I felt more vulnerable than ever.
I wondered what was taking so long.
I glanced toward the kitchen for the millionth time since Arrow disappeared around the corner with Drew.
It was sort of driving me crazy.
It also drove me crazy he was on the other side of the room all this time. All I could think about was having him against me on the sled. And, of course, the way he’d reacted when I got really close.
Trent made a sound, a sort of muffled laugh. I glanced over to where he was sprawled on the couch. He was watching me like he knew what was going on inside my head. It was disconcerting.
It was one thing when Arrow read me. I liked it. But Trent? Dude needed to stay the hell out of my head.
“You know no one in this house blames you for what went down with Joey,” he said, point blank.
My head tilted. “I thought everyone blamed me.”
He smirked. “Just Lorhaven.”
“Seriously? Here I thought he was my biggest fan.” I cracked.
Trent snorted. Like for real snorted.
Where the fuck did he learn that?
“Thanks for telling me,” I said sincerely. It actually meant something to me, and I wanted him to know it. I’d been isolated a long time since Matt, but even more so since what happened with Joey.
“I had fun today,” he responded, glancing at me before turning back to the TV. “We’ll have to do it again.”
The thought of that pretty much made me want to hurl. Instead of readily agreeing, I just nodded.
“He really likes you,” Trent said after a moment, his voice lower than before.
My gaze drifted back toward the kitchen. I heard lowered voices but couldn’t make out what they said.
I glanced back at Trent. He had a strong profile and an even stronger-looking body. “I like him, too,” I admitted. Even as I did, guilt threatened to strangle me.
“Good,” Trent answered. I felt his stare, so I met it directly. “Because if you hurt him,” Trent vowed, “I’ll fucking break your neck.”
“I’ll let you,” I replied.
We went back to watching TV.
Open the gate.
It took me a second to read the text because my vision was blurry and my brain was still partly asleep. What the hell time was it?
Too fucking early to get out of bed. Hell, I was surprised I even heard my phone go off. It chimed again.
I have coffee. And food.
Ooh. Well, that was enticing. With a groan, I rolled out of bed and winced when the cold concrete hit my bare feet, but I kept going, found the remote, and hit it so the gate would swing open. Then I dove back in bed to claim a few last moments of sleep.
‘Course, sleep was long gone.
Hopper was here. I anticipated him walking through the door like a plant anticipated the rain on a cloudy day.
Outside, I heard the purr of his engine. I could tell he’d parked it beside the hangar this time, near the side door, because the large garage wasn’t open.
I yawned and rubbed a hand over my face, pushing the long strands of hair out of my eyes.
The side door opened, the metal around it groaning. Heavy footfalls echoed from out near the Camaro. Then he stepped around the heater. His icy stare came right to the bed.
He looked good dressed in an army-green jacket and the same color hat. This time he wore it the regular way, not backward, so the brim shaded his eyes.
“It’s ten in the morning,” he said, gruff, still staring. I couldn’t see the look in his eyes because of the hat. However, clearly he thought I shouldn’t still be sleeping.
I wondered what he would say if I told him my exhaustion was his fault. After I’d gotten back from Trent and Drew’s, I lay in bed and stewed for hours about the stuff Drew said, about Hopper… and about the way I reacted when he got really close.
I yawned.
He chuckled (a sound I liked) and came forward to hold out a brown paper sack and a large box of donuts. “Figured you were hungry.”
I sat up so the blankets fell around my waist and grabbed the bag out of his hand. “Starved.” I stuck my face in the bag and inhaled the scent of ham, egg, and melted cheese. “Thank you.” My voice was muffled because my face was still in the bag.
“Anytime.”
Without waiting, I yanked the sandwich out of the bag, unwrapped it, and took a huge bite. It was heaven.
He was watching me. I felt very… visible. I paused in chewing. “You want some?”
He shook his head. “I ate.” Then he held out the box of donuts and the drink carrier with two coffees perched on top.
I yanked the rolling toolbox I used as a nightstand from around the head of the bed and parked it in front of me. Hopper set down the box, then moved the coffees off the top.
“Have a seat,” I offered, gesturing to the end of the bed.
He glanced around quickly, looking for another chair, but there wasn’t one.
I took another bite of the sandwich while he debated. After a moment, he lowered himself, bringing his coffee with him.
I polished off the sandwich and went for t
he box of donuts, flinging open the lid. I snagged a blueberry cake and welcomed it into my mouth.
“You always eat like this?” he asked, amused.
“Like what?” I asked, shoving in another bite.
“Like you might never eat again.”
I shrugged and finished the donut, going in for a glazed. “I didn’t eat much last night.”
“You had five pieces of pizza.” He countered.
I glanced up. “You counted?”
His eyes averted. Suddenly, he was very interested in his coffee.
I let it go, even though secretly I was kinda pleased he was so aware of me. No one really ever paid attention to my details before. “I have a high metabolism.”
“You’re young,” he said, still not looking my way.
I lowered the donut. “Not as young as you might think.”
“I’ve got a good five years on you. Maybe a little more.”
“Think our age difference matters?” I asked honestly. I swore if he told me I was a kid, I’d nut punch him right there.
The thought totally distracted me. Thinking about touching his sack kinda turned me on.
I felt his gaze from beneath the brim of his hat. I wanted to rip it off so I could see the icy depths of his eyes. It helped me read him. His eyes were like a compass for me, pointing me in the direction I needed to go.
“No, I don’t.”
Good news. I went back to eating. When the donut was gone, I reached for my coffee, taking a sip of the strong, dark brew. I felt his eyes again, hotter than the drink. I peeked up, over the rim of the cup. He was still staring, but not at my face.
He was studying my tattoos, glancing over the sleeve and staring at my chest. The last time I was shirtless in front of him, he looked at the tattoos, too. I wondered if he hated them. Or if maybe they turned him on.
“You have any tattoos?” I asked.
“One.” He cleared his throat. “They look good on you.”
My stomach dipped. “Thanks.”
“You know,” he said after a minute and when I was halfway done with my third donut. “The NASCAR contract comes with an apartment.”
I paused in chewing. “It does?”
He nodded. “At headquarters, right there by the track.”
“It really bothers you that I live here, doesn’t it?”
His eyes met mine. “Honestly?”
I nodded.
“I fucking hate it.”
“Why?”
“You deserve better,” he growled.
I set aside my coffee. “Maybe I don’t.”
An impatient, angry sound ripped from his throat. Hopper leaned forward so he could set his coffee beside mine. Instead of pulling all the way back, his hands fell to the mattress on either side of my hips.
I felt his stare, but it was too shadowed to see.
Bravely, I reached up and pulled the hat off his head. Dark, wavy strands sprang free over his forehead.
The look in his eyes was intense. It didn’t waver. I drew back slightly. He was crowding my space, looking at me with so much intensity. I liked it, but it also made me uncomfortable.
He shook his head once. “Don’t,” he whispered.
“What?”
“Pull away.”
“I’m not,” I argued.
“You are.”
He leaned forward more, closing the small amount of distance I’d gained. My hands started to shake a little; the muscles in my back tensed. I fought it, though, because beyond the panic, beyond the nerves, there was intense desire.
He was coming for me, or at least that’s the way it felt in that moment.
“I’m not real good with closeness,” I murmured.
“Felt pretty fucking good yesterday.” He countered.
My eyes shot up.
He watched me watch him as he slowly lifted his hand and pushed his fingers through my hair. “You gonna let me kiss you right now?” he murmured.
My voice shook. “If I say no?”
He backed away, still watching me without any kind of anger or disgust on his face.
I caught his wrist. “Yes.”
The space between us became nonexistent when he dove in swiftly but connected our lips gently. He was kissing me. Kissing me. It wasn’t the first time we kissed, but that’s how it felt because he was the one who made the move.
Maybe it didn’t seem like that big of a deal, but for me it was everything.
It meant he wanted me. I was wanted.
My chest hitched as our lips caressed. He pulled back just enough to look at me with an unspoken question in his eyes.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered.
His hand curled around the back of my neck and tugged me close again. I let him take the lead, even though I felt vulnerable as fuck. I hoped he couldn’t feel the way my lips trembled. I didn’t want him to think I was weak.
The tip of his tongue stroked my lower lip, tentatively asking to be let in. It was scary to let someone in. In your heart. In your mind. In your body.
I did it anyway. My lips parted to make room for his silky tongue. He felt so good, so natural, and like something I’d never tasted before. His hand was on the back of my head now, in my hair, and small goose bumps raced down my arms and over my chest. I felt my nipples harden, and I wanted so badly to just succumb.
Desire enclosed me, so did a sense of security I wholly wanted to embrace.
Maybe that was why my body trembled, because it was fighting against my brain. My head was telling me to slow my roll, to back up and beware of danger. My skin, though, it hummed for more.
Hopper’s tongue stroked slowly over mine. Then he pulled back and sucked my lower lip into his mouth. He groaned as he sucked, the sound and gentle pressure a double assault.
When at last he released my lip, he tipped his head and went for the upper. It slid between his lips just as easily as the other, and I scooted a little closer on the mattress.
The hand in my hair slid down, his fingers dragging over my arm and down to my wrist. So far I’d barely moved, other than my lips and tongue of course. My hands hadn’t roamed his body, though I was tempted.
I wasn’t exactly rigid; kissing Hopper made me feel too languid for that.
His fingers threaded through mine; our hands linked together.
I jerked back, unlocked our lips, and glanced down to where our hands were threaded.
I stared at the difference between our skin while the very tip of my tongue darted out to get another taste of him off my lips. His hand was thicker than mine, the skin rougher. My hands weren’t exactly baby soft—I spent too much time under the hood of a car—but they did seem smoother, longer, and leaner.
The nails at the tips of his fingers were short and blunt, while some of mine were slightly jagged from being bitten.
My hands weren’t as pretty as his. I’d never tell him out loud I thought they were pretty. I guess they really weren’t, not in the eyes of the world. He had man hands, working hands. Complete with some hair on the back.
To me, though, they were pretty. Because his was holding mine.
“A?” he asked. I watched the pad of his thumb stroke the back of my hand.
I shivered.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, embarrassed yet unable to tear my eyes away from our physical connection.
“Don’t ever be sorry, not to me,” he said passionately. “Whatever you are is okay.”
I lifted my eyes, seeing truth in the depths of his.
“No one’s ever held my hand before.” It was the truth but also a challenge. He might say whatever I am was okay… until he found out what exactly the whatever was.
He reacted, though I knew he tried not to. The dark lashes that lined his eyes widened, shock filling his stare. He banked the expression almost as soon as it arrived, but even still, I watched him process, trying to understand.
“Ever?” he asked.
“Ever.” I confirmed. The back of my neck burned
with shame, but even that wasn’t enough to force me to reclaim my hand.
Such a simple thing, contact most people took for granted.
Hopper pushed up off the hand he leaned on, sitting back a little. His free hand reached for mine, and our fingers entwined.
“Think we could entwine our toes?” he asked, a playful smile turning his features bright.
“Why would we want to?” I made a face, but he got to me.
Oh, he was getting to me. Deeper than ever before.
His eyes sparkled with laughter, and I realized there was a dimple beneath the stubble on his jaw. He made a sound, the laughter in his eyes faded away, and I watched, partly stricken, as he lifted our entwined hands and kissed the back of my fingers.
After he lifted his lips, he used his unshaven chin to graze over the spot he kissed, like he was making sure to rub it in.
My heartbeat tripped and rolled beneath my ribs.
Still holding both my hands, he leaned back in. This time I met him halfway. Our lips collided again in a searing, too-short kiss.
“You taste like a donut.” He half smiled.
You taste like a second chance.
I didn’t say anything for fear my thought would tumble out. We sat there for a while, holding hands, nothing more. Eventually, he pulled one hand free and swiped his thumb over my lower lip.
It was sensory overload. It felt too good, his touch… His affection was too wanted.
I pulled back, tugging my hands free of his. He let them go, and I regretted it almost instantly. I shoved back the blankets and stood. My emoji pajama bottoms brushed the tops of my bare feet.
I needed a minute to breathe, a second to get myself together.
“I gotta piss,” I grumbled and took off for the bathroom without looking back.
I stared at myself in the tiny mirror. I still looked the same as yesterday and the day before that.
But I felt different.
More alive. More excited about life.
It was scary, and maybe just a few days ago, more specifically before Hopper appeared on the other side of that fence, I would have snuffed out that spark of life. I would have run scared.
Part of me still really, really wanted to do that. My fingers still trembled with need.
#Blur (The GearShark Series Book 4) Page 18