Flashback: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World)

by Rhian Cahill

  Rylan grinned. “I may have had ulterior motives.”

  “Oh.” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “Yeah. The only pie left I know about is in there.” He pointed at her house.

  “I’m not sure you deserve another piece.”

  He turned in his seat and gave her his best winning smile. The one that he’d been told could get the favor of a nun. “Please. Pretty please.” He even batted his lashes and tipped his head down and to the side.

  This time when she laughed at him, he laughed with her.

  He’d been laying it on thick because he wanted to make her laugh. She did it from the belly. It was a little loud and a little sharp, but it was natural, and he loved that. Renee’s fake laugh had driven him nuts.

  The more time he spent away from his ex-wife, and the more he interacted with other women, the more he discovered his ex wasn’t someone he was attracted to. He was certain they wouldn’t have gotten married without the positive pregnancy test.

  “One slice as a thank you for taking me to and from Christian’s.”

  “Yes!”

  Glad to be pulled out of thinking about his ex-wife, Rylan switched off the truck and climbed out. Mazey had already retrieved her pie plates from behind her seat and was halfway across her lawn when he caught up with her.

  “Here, let me take those.”

  “I’ve got them.”

  “Then let me unlock the door.” He reached for the key ring dangling from her fingers. She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher before dropping them into his outstretched hand. Making quick work of opening the door, he ushered Mazey inside and closed it behind them.

  The house still smelled like pie, and Rylan couldn’t decide if it was the aromas saturating his system, or the sight of Mazey’s tight ass in the denim shorts she’d worn to the barbecue and those mile-long legs as she walked ahead of him to the kitchen that made his mouth water and his gut clench.

  He’d like to think they were friends. And he was a firm believer in men and women being friends without sex muddying the water, but he had to admit that might not be the case with them.

  He wanted to have sex with Mazey. Had been thinking about it for weeks, and for the first time in his life, he wasn’t sure how to proceed.

  They worked together. That complicated things. Staying away from her wasn’t an option, and he didn’t want to anyway.

  He liked her. Her. As a person. Not only as a woman he wanted to press against the nearest surface and ravage.

  Although he definitely wanted to do that. At the soonest possible opportunity.

  Except he liked her.

  Liked hanging out with her at work and outside of it.

  She hadn’t told him much about her past on a personal level, but she’d told him all about nursing in a busy ER, and he admired her for making it to the heights she had at her previous job. It was funny how he could know so much and yet so little about her at the same time.

  “Cherry or apple?”

  “Is that another trick question?” he asked with a grin. “I’ll take both.”

  Fingers wrapped around the handle of the fridge door, she said, “How about I give you a slice now and a slice to take home? Too much sugar isn’t a good thing, you know. And, while I made these from scratch with fresh fruit, they are definitely a sugar overload.”

  “Killjoy,” he muttered before raising his voice and saying, “Sure, sounds good.”

  “I heard that.” She smiled and pulled open the fridge. “Grab a plate out of the cupboard, and I’ll dish you a piece of cherry and pack the apple for you to take home.”

  “Are you having some?” He pulled open the cupboard she’d gotten a plate from earlier and picked up two plates. “I’d enjoy it so much more if you joined me. I hate eating alone.”

  If he was attempting to make his stay at her house last longer, he wasn’t going to admit it on the threat of death. And if they hadn’t just pigged out on enough barbecue to keep them full for a month, he’d suggest ordering pizza for dinner to push his departure back more.

  “Sure. I’ll have a small slice. You want ice cream with it?”

  “Holy shit. You really do have to marry me,” he joked. Except the words and the jest behind them seemed to fall flat.

  She chuckled awkwardly. “Of course. I’ve got your promise tags, after all.”

  Her gaze wouldn’t meet his, and he racked his brain to come up with something that would cut through the tension suddenly choking them both. He cleared his throat. “Ice cream would be good.”

  “Okay.”

  For the next few minutes, they remained quiet, Mazey putting two plates of pie and ice cream together while he leaned against the counter and watched.

  She moved with an efficiency he’d noticed at work, and now in her kitchen, he was reminded of it. He liked it. The way her body flowed with purpose.

  Would she be like that in bed?

  Would she bring that same level of focus to passion?

  Would he find out?

  “Here.” She shoved a plate toward him, the ice cream toppling from the top of the pie with the jerky movement. “Eat it before it melts.”

  For the first time in their acquaintance, she seemed rattled. He’d seen her covered in blood, holding a gash together while a mother screamed right in her face about not letting her child die, and Mazey hadn’t flinched. And with only a few words, he’d managed to do more than make her flinch.

  He’d made her uncomfortable.

  He hated it.

  He needed to get them back to the easy, relaxed way they’d been with each other before he’d once again thrown marriage out there.

  He couldn’t work out why he kept doing that. It clearly made her nervous, and it wasn’t like they’d even kissed, or he’d suggested dating for fuck’s sake.

  Whatever the hell was going on between them, Rylan needed to get a handle on it. The last thing he wanted to do was put up walls between them. She had enough of her own already.

  They’d known each other for two weeks. Three if he counted their “run in” meeting on the street. He shouldn’t be feeling what he was for this woman yet. He’d rushed into things with Renee—not that they’d had a choice—but that relationship was the perfect example of what not to do.

  Diving too deep too fast had led to a crash and burn he was not inclined to repeat. And he didn’t have a clue what kind of baggage Mazey carried. There was no way a woman got to her early thirties without getting some scars along the way, and it was clear to him she had more than her share.

  Silence stretched, the air thick with tension, and Rylan wanted nothing more than to make it disappear. To make all the anxiety and awkwardness go away. In the end, it was Mazey who pulled them back.

  “Alyssa is organizing a night out next week.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I haven’t seen the nightlife here in Sunnyville yet, and she needs a night out, apparently. I think she’s asking everyone who isn’t on shift next Saturday night.”

  “Sounds great.” He put down his empty plate. “I’m not much of a drinker, so I can be your designated driver.”

  “Really? You don’t want to let loose for a night and get trashed? Alyssa’s words, not mine.” She smiled.

  “I’m a little old for that.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “If you are, then I am.”

  “Ha. I’ve got seven years on you. Plus, I haven’t had more than a few beers since the crash.”

  Her back straightened. “The crash? What crash?”

  He’d told her about being in the army but hadn’t told her why he’d left. But it wasn’t a topic he talked about much, and he definitely didn’t want to talk about it now. “A couple of years ago, in the army, I downed a chopper. It was why I decided enough was enough.”

  “Obviously, you’re all right now.”

  “Yeah, minor breaks, some cuts, and bruises, that’s it. I was lucky.” Two of the guys in the chopper with him hadn’t been. It wa
s a depressing thought, and why he didn’t talk about it, so he changed the subject completely. “Okay, where’s my take-home pie?”

  “Here, let me put a slice in a container for you.” She busied herself with her task and Rylan leaned back on the counter and did what was becoming a favorite pastime, he watched her.

  He hadn’t meant to bring the mood down and figured it was best to get out of there before he made things worse. He didn’t need or want her pity, and he certainly didn’t need to be thinking about that time in his life.

  “I can’t pack ice cream with this, so you’re on your own there.”

  Mazey’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Good thing too because he’d spent enough time living in his head after the crash to last him a lifetime. “That’s okay, I’ve got some at home.”

  She turned to pass him the pie as he pushed off the counter and stepped forward, and somehow they ended up pressed against each other. The top of her head fit beneath his chin, and if he wrapped his arms around her, he could snuggle her tight against his chest.

  He’d never been a cuddler. He liked his space. He supposed it came from all those years in the army sleeping on his own. But he could do this. Could hold her close. Shit. He wanted to hold her close.

  And it had nothing to do with wanting in her pants.

  “Sorry.” She pushed away from him. “I didn’t mean . . . Here.”

  He looked down at the container she thrust between them. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her gaze darted around the room. “I’ll, um, see you at work then.”

  She was pushing him out the door. He got it. This was awkward. It was also enlightening because it told him something he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure of before.

  The attraction he felt for Mazey wasn’t a one-way street.

  Nope, the short, fast breaths she was taking, the beaded tips of her breasts, and the flush filling her face meant she found him as arousing as he found her, and that, above all else, put a smile on his face.

  He could work with that.

  Would work with that.

  They might not be ready to take their relationship to the next level, but they’d get there. He had no doubt now.

  They just weren’t going to take that step yet.

  She had walls, he had walls, they needed to work their way around them first.

  So he did the only thing he could.

  He took the offered pie and said, “Thanks for the pie,” and got out of there.

  11

  Mazey tugged on the hem of her dress. She was showing way more leg than she liked considering she was teetering on three-inch heels. And don’t get her started about the drink in her hand. Sex with a . . . on a . . . sex something-or-other.

  Sex in a glass was all she needed to know. It helped stop her from running into the bathroom to hide.

  She’d been uncomfortable from the minute Alyssa had talked her into trying on the dress.

  According to her friend, Mazey’s wardrobe filled with jeans and shorts just didn’t do it for the night she had planned for them. So when Alyssa turned up at her house a few hours ago, it was with a full contingent of outfits.

  Each one more risqué than the last.

  The little black dress she currently wore had been the tamest of the bunch. And that was saying something because the hem finished just below her crotch. She was sure her ass was hanging out at the back, and the top dipped low enough to reveal a bit more cleavage than Mazey liked.

  Not that she had much.

  Although Alyssa had fixed that with a padded pushup bra made of see-through black lace. Mazey had never had so much boob. She glanced down for another peek at said boobage. Even she was enamored with the plump swells and deep valley on her chest.

  How had Alyssa convinced her to leave the house dressed like a high-priced hooker?

  Mazey sipped her drink. Oh yeah. Alcohol.

  Lots and lots of alcohol.

  The glass in her hand was number?

  Shit. She’d lost count.

  Water. She needed water.

  “Here.” A bottle of water dropped into view from above.

  Wow. That was a neat trick. Wish, and you shall receive.

  Wait, there were fingers wrapped around the bottle.

  Glancing up, she found a very familiar forearm and tipping her head back to rest on the hard body behind her, she found an equally familiar face. All be it upside down. She grinned. “Hi.”

  “Why, Mazey Novak, are you drunk?” Rylan asked with a huge frown. No, wait. His face was upside, so that was a grin.

  Giggling around a “Yep,” she nodded and instantly wished she hadn’t. “Wow. The floor is moving. Is it an earthquake?”

  Rylan used the hand not holding the water to grip her hip and tug her back against his solid, non-moving body. “Easy there. No earthquakes here. Just a drunk female.”

  “It’s the heels,” she muttered, letting her body relax against him. “And the dress. Maybe the alcohol too.”

  Chuckling Rylan waved the bottle in front of her face. “Drink some of this. It’ll help dilute the alcohol. Not sure what it will do for the dress or shoes.”

  Alyssa bounced up next to them. “C’mon, this song is killer.” She grabbed Mazey’s hand and tried to pull her from Rylan’s grasp.

  “Maz is sitting this one out.”

  Her friend pouted before bopping off saying, “Fine, be a party pooper!”

  Rylan’s laughter vibrated along her back, and she wiggled closer. Which, of course, meant her ass wiggled closer, and the hem of her dress wiggled higher, the hand low on her hip the only thing keeping her discreetly covered.

  “Ease up there, Maz.” He leaned over her shoulder and pressed the water bottle to her lips. “Drink.”

  There was nothing to do but obey his command. Opening her mouth, she let him tip the bottle up and did as she was told.

  After she took several gulps, he said, “That’s a girl. Take some more.”

  Did he hear the suggestiveness in his tone? And what about the hand on her hip? Was he squeezing her tighter? Were his fingertips brushing her pussy?

  “I think you should give me that and take this.”

  Rylan swiftly, and without any objection from her, swapped out her glass of sex on the/in the something-or-other and replaced it with a second bottle of water. Then he held the first bottle to her lips again.

  How many hands did he have? She could swear the one on her hip hadn’t moved.

  “C’mon, take a little more for me,” he murmured in her ear.

  A full-body shiver had her wobbling on her heels.

  “I’ve got you.”

  Yeah, she’d like him to have her. No. Stop that. She wasn’t having sex with Rylan, she was having it in a glass. At least that’s how Alyssa had rationalized their drinks. Her friend had said something along the lines of, “If we aren’t having actual sex, then we’re having it in a glass.”

  Mazey grinned. She’d had plenty of sex tonight.

  “What’s that smile about?”

  “Sex.”

  “Come again?”

  Oh yeah, she would like to come. She wiggled her ass against him again, except with their height difference—and let’s be real, the sky-scraper shoes hardly put a dent in it—her ass was in line with his knees. Well, maybe not that bad, more like his hard thighs, but still nowhere near where she wanted to rub.

  “Maz.”

  She shivered again, the deep warning growl doing weird things to her insides, particularly the wet spot between her legs. “Ry, take me home.”

  His hand on her hip tightened. “Maz, I think you need to sit down for a bit.”

  He maneuvered them through the crowd and away from the dance floor with both hands on her waist. She was pretty sure he’d picked her up because it didn’t feel like her legs were working.

  “In you go.” He urged her into a booth and followed, shoving her further along the seat to make room for his big hot body. “We�
�ll just sit here for a while.”

  He was plastered to her side—or was that her plastered to his? It didn’t matter, as long as she got to feel him pressed along the length of her.

  Maybe they could lie down.

  “Whoa. Hold on there.” His arm slid around her waist and kept her upright. “Have some more water for me, Maz.”

  Laughter bubbled up her throat. “Aren’t guys supposed to get women drunk so they can take advantage of them?”

  “Not my style. And let’s get something straight, if I’m taking advantage of you, I don’t want you in a drunken haze. I want you to remember every single second of it.”

  Her gaze snagged on his mouth. He had lush lips. Lips that looked like they knew how to kiss. She sooo wanted to kiss him. Except he had two mouths. When did he grow a second one?

  “I must be drunk,” she muttered.

  “Oh yeah, well and truly trashed, I’d say. Good thing you’ve got a designated driver.”

  “I do?” Wait. Her head swiveled, her blurry gaze searching the sea of people at Davenport’s. “Where’s Alyssa?” Her words came out a little slurred, making her frown at her tongue’s inability to work properly. How was she going to kiss Rylan if her tongue wouldn’t work?

  Wait. No kissing. No sex. Unless it’s in a glass.

  “Last I saw she was wrapped around Jack.”

  “Oh.” She slumped down against the seat and Rylan’s side. “I guess she’s not coming home with me.”

  “Was that the plan?”

  She scrunched up her face trying to remember what Alyssa had said earlier.

  “I’m sure Jack will make sure she gets home safely. Meanwhile, now that you’re not so wobbly, I’ll get you out of here. Maybe some fresh air will help.”

  Mazey wasn’t an expert on getting drunk, she could count on the fingers of one hand how many times she’d indulged past her limit. If she could count right now, that is. She squinted. The hand she had curled around her water bottle seemed to have grown a few extra fingers. She held it up.

  “Why do I have so many extra fingers? Did I get them when you got your extra mouth?” she asked.

  Laughing, Rylan pulled her out of the booth. “Let’s get you outside.”