Never His: A Second Chance Romance (Second Chances Book 1)

by Amelia Wilde

  “If I was stalking you, I would look for you at work.” She flashes me a grin and unzips one of the bags, pulling out something sexy and black. “Here’s yours.”

  I sigh. “Brett Miller.”

  Leah’s mouth drops open. “Brett Miller?” She comes over to me and slaps me lightly on the arm. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’ve been really busy.”

  “You’re a terrible friend.”

  “I know.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Leah’s face lights up into a grin. “Is he still hot?”

  I roll my eyes, but then I can’t bring myself to be sarcastic. “Way hotter than he was. Way.”

  Leah squeals and claps her hands. “Where is he right now?”

  “I don’t know. His car wasn’t in the driveway.”

  She pouts. “Damn. I wanted to see him in person.”

  A strange burst of jealousy rises in my chest. “Hands off.”

  Leah looks at me with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. “Are you still into him?”

  “Yes!” I shout, and Leah bursts into laughter.

  “Do you need to shower?”

  “Yes,” I say, keeping my voice level, and then I snatch the dress from her hands and head for the bathroom.

  Twenty minutes later, I emerge with my hair freshly blow-dried and styled into a sleek ponytail, my skin moisturized to perfection, makeup flawless, wearing the dress Leah brought for me.

  “I cannot wear this.”

  She looks up from her place on the couch and wolf whistles. “You can, and you will.”

  Leah stands up, turns off the TV, and comes around the side of the couch toward me. “Girl, you look fine.”

  “I look like my ass is hanging out of this dress.”

  “It is so not!” she says, walking in a tight circle around me. “Your ass is completely covered. Just don’t...go up on your tip-toes or anything.”

  Her own dress is a couple of inches longer, but that’s only fair because Leah is a couple of inches taller. She looks like a total knockout with smoky eye makeup and high heels, her dark hair straightened and falling in a shining cascade down her back. And she’s wearing red. Maybe it will make the guys at whatever bar we’re going to—obviously not O’Malley’s—ignore me and pay attention to her.

  “Oh—one more thing.”

  I go back to my bedroom and get a tiny black clutch purse from my top dresser drawer. It’s barely big enough to fit my phone, my ID and credit card, and my keys, but there’s no way I’m going to take my regular purse with this dress.

  “You ready?” Leah says when I make my second appearance in the living room.

  “I am doing this against my will.”

  “Sure you are,” she says, and winks.

  Leah drives us to The Bar, which just opened a few years ago and is by far the most on-trend bar/club Lockton has to offer. My lip curls in distaste when I see it. I’d much rather be eating somewhere fancy or at O’Malley’s, where my skinny jeans would be more than enough.

  “Oh, stop,” Leah says, putting the car in park and turning off the engine. “We need a change. You need to get out of your rut. Plus, there’s half-off drinks for ladies on Friday nights.”

  “Don’t try to smooth this over by appealing to my love of a good deal.”

  “It’s a great deal, Ad,” Leah croons. “Now get out of the damn car and come dance with me.”

  There’s so much nervous energy building up in my body that dancing seems like the only thing I can do, aside from screwing Brett senseless, to relieve it. From what I remember, this place is darker and has better dance music than O’Malley’s, which is the main reason I plaster a smile on my face for Leah’s benefit and get out of the car as gracefully as I can in my too-high heels.

  She links her arm through mine, and my smile becomes genuine. If nothing else, Leah will make this a fun time out.

  “Wait just one second,” I say, pulling my phone out of my clutch purse. I wonder what Brett is up to. Maybe if he tells me, I’ll be able to put him out of my mind for the night and just focus on scoring free drinks with Leah.

  Where are you tonight? Did you have a chance to shower?

  We join the line to get in, IDs already in hand, and Leah bounces up and down on the balls of her feet. “I just want to dance,” she says, pulling her jacket around her shoulders. It’s not exactly warm out in late September, even though it’s not even close to midnight.

  My phone buzzes in my purse and I yank it out, almost spilling my cards to the ground.

  Some pretentious club with obnoxious dance music. I waited as long as I could...

  I hold up my phone and show it to Leah, who gives me a quizzical look.

  “You might get your chance to see Brett Miller in person after all.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Brett

  I’m drunk as fuck and surrounded by women, though I’ve long since lost track of how many have come and gone from Andy’s booth. He was a goofy guy in high school—not exactly a paragon of manliness—so it’s entertaining to see how many women he can pick up. Of course, this also means that he’s not in a relationship, which would be more impressive.

  The original two women that Andy brought over are somewhere on the dance floor, but they seemed to have spawned into four who are crowding me out. Their voices swirl around my drunk head, but I let the words fade away as soon as I speak.

  Being drunk is not taking my mind off Addison. It’s just making me want her more.

  When she texts me, the muscles in my shoulders relax just to see her name on the phone’s screen.

  “Stop,” I tell one of the women abruptly so I can focus long enough to read the text. It’s sexy as hell.

  Where are you tonight? Did you have a chance to shower?

  I stare at the screen, ignoring the pouting woman in the slutty dress next to me while I tap out my reply, fingers fumbling over the longer words. I never thought I’d say it, but thank Christ for autocorrect.

  Some pretentious club with obnoxious dance music. I waited as long as I could...

  She doesn’t write back, even though I sit there for another full minute waiting for the bubble to pop up at the bottom of the screen indicating that she’s sending a message.

  Damn.

  She might be pissed off that I’ve gone out.

  No, that’s not going to be it. We’re not together. There’s no reason to get pissy over something like this. Just like every other night this week, she’s probably fucking exhausted. The flicker of the TV behind her curtains is enough evidence of that, plus the slow text conversations we’ve been having that abruptly stop around ten and start up again the next morning at six-thirty when she gets up to run before she goes to work.

  “Dude!” Andy bellows across the table, startling me even though the music has only increased in volume. Jesus Christ, when are they going to—

  I shove my phone back into my pocket—awkward as fuck when you’re sitting down, and look up at him.

  “Fuck off,” I say with a grin.

  “Another drink?”

  “Fine.”

  “Get them!” He pounds his fist on the table and then bursts into laughter, the women at the table following suit, all but the one next to me, who is still pissed off about me interrupting her story.

  Two of the other women have to slide out to let me into the club proper, and when I stand up it takes me a second to get my balance. Maybe just a beer for me. I never fucked around with much drinking in the Air Force because I never knew when I’d have to fly. It feels fucking great to be able to do whatever I want, but I don’t have the stomach of steel that I had back in college. That’s for damn sure. Not that I’m about to admit that to Andy.

  “‘A pretentious club with obnoxious dance music,’ huh?”

  Her voice is like music to my damn ears, cutting through the relentless throb coming from the dance area fifteen feet from the bar.

  I turn on the spot, and there’
s an angel standing in front of me in the form of Addison Gray.

  She’s wearing something short and black that makes her legs look miles long and accentuates every curve of her lithe body, the neckline giving a fucking tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. Her blue eyes gleam in the dark of the club and her hair has been swept back from her face in a ponytail that belongs on a runway model.

  “Oh, my God.”

  “You like it that much?”

  “I like you. That much.”

  The drinks have stripped away the hard edges of my feelings, and I’m just a raw open wound in front of her. I just want her to know, want her to feel how—

  My body reacts before I have the chance to stop it. I step forward and take her in my arms, one hand on the back of her head at the base of her ponytail, and I cover her mouth with mine, exploring it so deep she has to tilt her head back.

  I can’t hear her moan but I feel it, the low vibration from deep in her chest, and she presses herself against me, the full length of her against the full length of me, and I’m absolutely lost to her.

  Addison throws her arms around my neck, locking us together, and then she goes on the offensive, her tongue pressing into my mouth, flicking and exploring with a fierceness that’s up several notches from the wild animal she could become when she was eighteen. Ten years has given her a fucking wealth of experience, obviously, and she’s bringing it all to bear in this moment, other people in the club be damned.

  Somebody nearby whistles, but Addison doesn’t respond at all. Instead, she shoves me backward, steering us through the crowd until my back is against the two feet of empty wall left in the club. I sink into it, letting it take my weight, and let her have her fucking way with me. Nothing is going to come between us. I hope she has her phone turned off tonight.

  She’s kissing me so hard that I almost feel lightheaded, like there’s not enough air in the room, and just when I think I might have to put her on her back on the floor and take her right then, she breaks away, gasping for air and grinning at me, her teeth flashing in the strobe lights.

  “So,” she says, smoothing her hair back, “am I interrupting you on the way to get a drink?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Addison

  Brett’s eyes are locked on mine when I pull back from him and I never want him to look away, as much as I’m trying to lighten how heavy that kiss was, how intense and alive the connection between us still is.

  “You could never interrupt me. Nothing could ever be more important than you.”

  A giggle bubbles up in my chest, but I swallow it down. Brett’s words are sharp and controlled, like our kiss has sobered him up.

  I rise up on my tiptoes and kiss him again, sweeter and softer this time, and then pull back. “I’ll come with you to the bar.”

  “Fuck that.” The words come out deep and low and absolutely confident.

  “What?”

  “I’m taking you home.”

  “But—”

  He takes both of my hands in his. “Be honest with me, Addi. Can you wait another goddamn second? Because I can’t.”

  It takes my breath away, how much he wants me, how much I want to yank up my skirt and fuck him against the wall right here, right now. That’s how much my body is on fire for him.

  “No,” I breathe out, and then he’s latched onto my hand and is tugging me through the crowd.

  I spot Leah at the bar, three men around her. “Wait...just a second,” I say, and I think Brett would have growled if we hadn’t been in a club.

  I push past the men, Leah’s eyes meeting mine with a grin. “Purse,” I say. When I saw Brett making his way to the bar when we first came in, I’d shoved it into her hands and darted away. She’s my best friend. She’ll understand.

  “Did you see him?”

  I cock my head over my shoulder in his direction, and Leah hands me my purse while she shifts her weight to the side to get a look at Brett. “Whoa.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you leaving with him?”

  I give her a look, expecting her to follow it up with a directive to take a cab or some other obvious nonsense. Instead, Leah clutches at my arm.

  “You text me in the morning and tell me everything. Every. Single. Detail.”

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” I smirk, kissing her on the cheek and then whirling away, back toward Brett. He’s standing in the middle of the crowd, arms folded over his chest, ignoring the other women who pause to touch his arm, say hello, whisper questions into his ears.

  “Okay,” I say. “I’m ready to go.”

  As soon as the cab pulls up to the curb, Brett yanks the door open and lets me get in, throwing himself in after me. It’s like we’re in the middle of a high speed chase, only we’re not running from anybody.

  The driver asks for the address and he opens his mouth halfway, cutting me a glance that he matches with a grin. I give mine instead. He must have had a few drinks because he’s forgotten his new address. Or he hasn’t even learned it yet. That seems more like the Brett I remember.

  When the interior lights dim and we pull away from the curb, Brett is all over me, and there’s not a single cell in my body that wants to resist. I stop him, though, my hand on the side of his face because the cab driver is somebody who was a couple grades behind us in school, and the poor guy is clearly uncomfortable. As much as I want to let myself surrender to the sheer joy of making out with Brett hardcore in the back of this cab, I’m still too aware of everybody around us to let go completely. It’s a different story in a crowded bar.

  Brett seems to catch on, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket and settling for wrapping his arm around me instead, pulling me as close as possible without actually straddling him.

  The saving grace is that we’re only about two miles from my house. It seems like twenty, from the way time slows down even as my heart speeds up, but finally the cab driver pulls onto our street and stops, letting us out into the cool, bracing air.

  Brett leans back in through the passenger side window and presses two twenties into the guy’s hand. It’s a massive tip, and I’m okay with that.

  Then his arm is back around me, and together we face the houses. “Yours or mine?”

  I turn my head and whisper right into his ear. “Don’t you want to be in my bed?”

  I feel him relax against me. “More than fucking anything.”

  We head for my front door.

  Practically as soon as we’re inside my door, I grab the hem of my dress and strip it up and off, not even bothering to ask Brett to unzip it. That leaves me in a black bra and panty set that I bought months ago and never wore—and now I’m glad that Jamie was such a dick so that Brett is the first one to see it.

  I turn back around to the sound of Brett locking the front door behind us, and then reaching for the hem of his own shirt.

  “Let me help.”

  I put my hands over his and pull upward, relishing the feel of every single inch of his exposed skin. It’s like he can’t wait to kiss me again, can’t wait for me to undo his belt and tug down his jeans, and his arms go around me as soon as the fabric of his shirt has joined my dress on the floor.

  I put my arms around his neck and leap up into his reactive embrace, wrapping my legs around him. He catches me as easily as if we’d been practicing this for years.

  When he starts moving us toward the bedroom, his mouth hot on mine, I don’t stop him to get my clutch purse from the floor. Anybody calling right now can wait.

  I’m finally right where I belong, pressed up against Brett Miller, safe and sound, and absolutely head over heels for him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Brett

  Addison’s skin under the lacy bra and panty set is so soft and flawless that it almost pushes me right over the edge. I can’t wait to take them off of her. So I don’t.

  I know where her bedroom is because from the moment I enter her house I see that it has the same floorplan as mi
ne; nothing is different from my place, except that it’s reversed. My muscles tense to go in the opposite direction, but I override them and burst into Addi’s bedroom. It smells just like her bedroom did when we were teenagers, and the wave of nostalgia is so strong that it makes my heart ache.

  The bed, of course, is bigger, and she’s topped it with a soft comforter that I lay her down on, leaning in to kiss her with my hand curved around her jaw, just enough control in my grip to let her know that I am in this, so far in that I might never get out.

  She lets out soft little moans, stretching her arms out wide on the bed, and I kiss her until I can’t stand it any longer. I reach for the straps of her bra, tugging them down over her shoulders, kissing along the ridges of her collarbone. Then I snake my arm around her back and pull upward, covering her mouth with mine while I unhook her bra with one hand.

  “Skill,” she whispers, and it reminds me of ten years ago and right now, all at the same time.

  “You fucking know it.”

  Then I pull her bra off and marvel at her breasts.

  They’re round and full and absolutely fucking proportionate to the rest of her body, and her pink nipples are already pointed and hard. I kiss the side of her neck, dragging my lips along it tenderly in short strokes. I cover one of her nipples with my thumb, then roll it between my fingertips.

  Christ, it feels so fucking good. It feels so fucking right. My chest throbs with an ache I can’t name, like I’m mourning the loss of the last ten years, yet so relieved to finally be with her again that the emotion can’t be contained in my body.

  “Oh,” she whispers, and I focus my attention on her other nipple. She spreads her legs a little wider, her hands gripping the comforter, and that’s when I decide the panties have to go.

  I stand on the floor by the foot of the bed and hook my fingers in the lace-covered waistband, pulling them down until they’re around her ankles, before pausing, a wicked grin framing my face, to pull them tight so that her ankles are bound.