Lover Boy (Blue Collar Bachelors Book 1)

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  If this isn’t a disaster waiting to happen, I don’t know what is.

  Chapter 11

  Leo

  I press my finger to the doorbell and glare down at my grimy fingernails. It seems I only notice how dirty my nails are when I’m standing on her doorstep. My clothes are no better. Stained with paint and smelling of varnish after a long, hard day. Suddenly, I wish I’d slipped on a clean shirt after work.

  When I’m around her, that’s the only time I even care how I look.

  It’s my first day leaving Brent with my neighbor and I’m anxious to see what state I’ll find them in. Honestly, it’s not Reese I don’t trust. I know that my boy can be a handful. That’s why I was hesitant to take her up on her offer to watch him after school. I just hope he didn’t run that beautiful girl into the ground. Let’s see if he gets an invitation to come back tomorrow.

  She pulls open the door and looks up at me from under her long, dark lashes, batting her eyes at me like I’m that suit-wearing fucker from Fifty Shades of Grey. Somehow, she doesn’t seem to see the grime and smell the chemicals and sweat on my skin.

  “Hey…” she says all breathily.

  In that moment, it hits me—she likes me. How did I not realize it before?

  I can’t plead ignorance any more. I can’t pretend that I don’t know she’s interested in me. And I actually like it. It does something inexplicable to me. In the midst of all that’s going on in my life, it’s nice to have something pure and simple. She likes me…

  I hate admitting to myself that I like her, too. I’m not in a place in my life where I can focus on being with a woman in any serious kind of way. I’m very aware of that. I just came back from the warzone and moved across the country. My divorce is working its way through the courts and my kid is still trying to figure out what to make of it. I don’t have time for a new woman.

  But her eyes on me feels good…like having the sun on my skin after far too many cold days. And when she smiles, it unlocks a strange sort of possessiveness in my chest. I don’t want her sharing that pretty smile with any other man. I want that smile all to myself. I must be losing my mind because wanting her is wrong. I’ve already established that. So why does my brain insist on pushing the issue?

  I yank myself back into the present. “Hey…”

  My gaze bumps down her face, exploring her bold features—the bright eyes, the prominent cheekbones, the bone-straight bridge of her nose—before lingering on those damn full lips. My mouth salivates for a taste of her.

  She’s wearing a simple white blouse that ends mid-thigh and gray capris. Her feet are bare, the neat little toes painted in a deep red shade. Her thick hair is pulled back gracefully with little clips and falls over her shoulders. She looks so pristine. I just want to put my filthy hands on her. Smear her skin with my dirt-stained palms. Slide my grubby fingers into her hair until it’s tangled. I want to rub my pain all over her and let her take it away.

  I immediately feel guilty for the thought.

  Chastising myself inwardly, I try to shepherd my thoughts into neutral, neighborly territory. I try. And I fail. Because she’s so fucking beautiful and distracting. Utter temptation. I find myself thinking of the way my fingers skimmed her breasts the other day. The way she’d shivered at my touch. The way her pupils had dilated. I can’t help but wonder what she must have been—

  A little boy bounds down the hall and swerves right around her. “Daddy! Daddy!” He leaps on me and climbs me like a tree.

  I blink hard, barely even recognizing my own child. My unbelieving eyes shoot to Reese. “What did you do to my son?!”

  Her eyes go wide and she winces, taking a quick step backward. “Uh…I…”

  I shake my head, feeling embarrassed by my outburst. I’m just a bit shocked right now. “I’m sorry—that was rude. I just mean, this isn’t the kid I dropped off at preschool this morning.”

  Brenton’s overlong hair is parted down the side and combed neatly. I think there might even be some hair gel in it. His face is clean. His nails are trimmed. His clothes are washed.

  He smells like fabric softener!

  Reese’s cheeks grow red. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have. It’s just, I had to give him a bath because he was covered in mud when I picked him up from school. Then he got to playing in the tub and he really wasn’t ready to get out so I decided to wash his clothes while I waited. And when he was done bathing, I wasn’t sure what to do with his hair. At first I brushed it back off of his face but then he sort of looked like Scott Disick and I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with that. So, I—”

  I stick out a hand to calm her. “Reese, it’s okay. You did good. Thank you.”

  “Really?” she squeaks out. She traps her lower lip between her teeth. I struggle not to be sidetracked by the maddeningly sexy gesture.

  I bob my head. “Really.”

  She hesitates for a moment then lets out a sigh of relief.

  I have no clue who the hell Scott Disick is. All I know is that my kid looks like he tumbled out of a Target catalogue. It’s a bit disorienting.

  Reese blushes as I look her over with fresh eyes. The girl is a modern day Mary Poppins. I just want to pin her to the wall and fuck the sweetness right out of her.

  I’m a deranged fucker.

  Setting aside my crazy imaginings, I turn my attention to my son. “Hi buddy! Were you a good boy for Reese today?”

  He twists his mouth to the side and glances at Reese over his shoulder. She tips her head back and laughs.

  I get a glimpse of her slender neck at the collar of her blouse. I imagine pulling her hair back roughly for better access to that long, sexy column. Running my mouth along the sensitive flesh, bruising her with my stubble.

  Jesus! I’m getting hard.

  She smooths down the boy’s already-smooth hair and looks at me. “He wasn’t that bad.” She winks at him and he grins. His secret is safe.

  I’m too tired and distracted by my inappropriate thoughts to interrogate them. Besides, they’ve already teamed up and I know that my questions won’t get me answers, anyway.

  “So, can I count on you to pick him up tomorrow?” I ask hopefully.

  “Of course.” Her voice is so soft, so melodic.

  A weight rolls off my shoulders. “Thanks, Reese. I really appreciate it.” I hoist the child up on my hip.

  “No problem.”

  We linger in the doorway for a beat. My eyes explore her face again and then her body. She’s watching me, too. At this point, I think we’re past pretenses. With soft, knowing smiles, we check each other out openly. Damn—the girl is cute. I push against the list of reasons why I shouldn’t be looking at her this way. As long as I don’t touch, it’s all good, right?

  When Brenton wiggles in my arms, Reese breaks the gaze and says, “Let me go get his lunchbox.” She walks down the hall and I see a hint of her wide hips despite her loose shirt. I could watch those hips sway forever.

  A moment later, she returns with Brent's bag in one hand and a small cloth bag in the other.

  “We had roasted potatoes and chicken for dinner. Thought you’d like some.”

  The smell reaches out to me even as I try to resist her offer. “Reese, I really don’t expect you to cook me dinner. You’re helping me a ton by picking Brenton up from school and watching him until I get home.”

  She speaks softly. “You’ve got to eat, Leo.” I imagine that voice saying so much more. Dirty words—right into my ear—as her body clenches beneath mine.

  "You've already been so good to us. I don't want to take advantage."

  She laughs. I love that sound. "You're not taking advantage. It’s my pleasure."

  Pleasure.

  The word slides along my limbs and settles in my crotch. What the fuck?! I grow even harder. I set Brent back down on his feet just in case my knees let out.

  “Fine,” I say. My shoulders relax as I take the food from her. “Thank you.”

  A wide grin spli
ts her face in half and her eyes gleam like precious gems as she looks at me. "What?" I ask self-consciously. Is she laughing at the paint in my hair? Do I still have cement dust on my forehead?

  "You're smiling today," she says quietly. "It’s…nice."

  My ribs tighten. I haven’t had much reason to smile in a long time. My lips spread wider now that she’s mentioned it.

  Brenton waves animatedly as he turns down the stairs. “Bye, Reese!”

  She giggles. “Bye, Brenton. See you tomorrow…” I hear the hesitation before she says, “Bye, Leo.”

  I glance back at her. She stands there with that expectant stare. “Bye, Reese.”

  Amusement spills onto my face. My mouth curves again.

  A strange realization strikes me—this smiling thing is starting to become a habit.

  Chapter 12

  Reese

  I crawl into bed and roll my eyes as yet another text from Vivian chirps on my phone. I swear to god, if I have to hear about that stupid report one more time…

  Well, tonight is the night. I’ve decided to just grit my teeth and get it done so that my sister can get off my back.

  I pull my computer into my lap and open my word processor with the best of intentions. But it isn’t long before I’m on Facebook scrolling through my feed. And one thing leads to another and I end up on Sophia’s wedding blog, reading about the floral arrangements she’s ordered to decorate the Las Vegas chapel where the ceremony will take place. Next thing I know, I’m fully immersed in a documentary about a one-legged stripper who left Sin City to officiate weddings in a small town called Intercourse, Pennslyvania.

  Two hours and a box of leftover donut holes later, I’ve made exactly zero progress on this damn sales report. At this point, all I want to do is sleep.

  Grrr!

  I climb out of bed. I’m pacing the floor in front of my window now. I should just tell her flat out that I’m not going to do it but then I’ll have to hear her lecture me on how I’m not pulling my weight. I’m so over it. I tug on my hair in frustration.

  Something out in the yard catches my attention. I step closer to the window and peer down at the silhouette hunched over on the back step of the house next door. I lean closer and realize that Leo is sitting alone in the dark, shirtless, with a cigarette burning in his hand.

  The house looms behind him in complete darkness, sheathing him in gloomy shadows that seem to be swallowing him up, just like his grief is. I should probably look away. He seems like a private man. He wants his space. His privacy. I know that. But my curiosity is so strong, so overwhelming that I press my face closer to the window and look down at him, wondering what it’s like inside of his head.

  I don’t know very much about him. We aren’t exactly friends. It’s not like we stand around and chit chat with each other when he picks up little Brenton every evening.

  But the little bit that he’s shared with me is absolutely heartbreaking. I’m so intrigued by him. So many questions swirl in my head as I watch him from this distance. I want to know the contents of his thoughts. They seem to be torturing him. Such a beautiful man who’s obviously carrying heavy burdens.

  He brings the cigarette to his lips and tilts his head back as he takes a long drag. And across the distance between my bedroom window and his back porch, he sees me.

  I stand frozen. I’ve been caught. Just like the snoopy, little neighbor that I am.

  He doesn’t look away. But neither do I. We stare at each other for a long beat.

  Okay, Reese. You can’t just stand here for the rest of the night. You have to do something. You have to move.

  With a small wave and a smile he probably can't see from this far, I back away from the window and drop down onto my mattress, feeling guilt and embarrassment mix with my curiosity. But the nagging voice at the back of my head tells me that I need to talk to him. It’s the right thing to do. I saw the utter devastation in his face when he looked at me. Even across the distance, I could feel it. I can’t just turn away. I need to go to him.

  He needs a friend tonight. That can be me.

  Still unsure of my decision, I pull on a chunky sweater and wrap it around my body, sliding the hood over my head as I take hesitant steps down the stairs. I push my feet into my rain boots at the back door and my stomach is in knots as I move across the lawn toward him.

  I can feel his energy pulsing across the space between us. His eyes are like those of a predator as I approach. Dark. Intense. Focused right on me. I’m the foolish prey, knowingly walking straight into a snare. Still, I move toward him, a lamb willingly going to the slaughter.

  “Hey…” My voice comes out high and squeaky and my breath fogs up the cold air.

  My brain is still screaming at me to retreat. To turn back. Danger! Danger! I can’t fight the magnetism I feel toward this man, so the smartest option would be flight. Retreat. Run away from him. But now, my body is lowering itself to the stoop next to him, ignoring my brain’s warnings.

  All he offers me is a nod as he brings the blazing stick of tobacco to his lips again.

  His elbows land on his knees and his head hangs toward the ground, watching the orange glow of the cigarette tip. My eyes roam over the vast expanse of his muscular back. Sitting there wordlessly, I imagine what it would be like to run my fingers over those miles and miles of smooth manpower. What it would be like to lie beneath him and watch those muscles clenching and rolling with pleasure.

  His gaze snaps to me and he stares, silently asking me what the hell I want. His lips are flat. His expression hard. But beneath the anger, there's pain. Scorching pain. The vein in his neck throbs. I want to move my hands over his tight shoulders and down his wide back, rub out the tension. I want to make him better.

  I swallow past the tension in my throat. “Aren’t you cold?” I ask in a quiet voice. I shiver just watching him.

  He drops his gaze to the ground again and one of his shoulders rises and falls nonchalantly. “I don’t really feel anything anymore.”

  The moonlight spills down onto the porch, smoothening his rough demeanor. With his cigarette clenched between his fingers, he reaches for the red party cup that sits at his bare feet. Whiskey. I can smell it. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and it's an utterly erotic sight.

  We sit in silence for a long while. It’s not an awkward silence. It’s companionable. Soothing in a strange way.

  He suddenly glances at me over his shoulder again. That mussed up hair, the overgrown stubble on his chin—he’s so handsome. Not merely a man. He's a majestic beast. A beautiful, virile creature covered with horrid wounds.

  With a hitched brow, he extends the red plastic cup my way. I'm not a big drinker but I accept the offer anyway.

  The whiskey blazes a fiery path down my chest, warming me instantly. I wince and he smirks at my reaction as he wordlessly snatches the cup back and takes a sip. He barely reacts to the sharp taste. My lips tingle at the visual of his mouth wrapped around the rim where mine was mere seconds ago.

  I wonder if he tastes me, if he likes it.

  When his eyes tilt up to mine, I realize that I'm staring. I flush, cheeks hot. Looking for a diversion, I reach for the cigarette in his hand.

  I’m not a smoker.

  His brows hitch further and he shakes his head ‘no’. "Cigarettes are bad for you," he tells me with a half-smile as he brings it to his lips.

  I giggle incredulously, my laughter echoing in the quiet of the night. "Then why are you smoking?"

  He leans back against the creaky, wooden rung behind him and blows a ring of smoke into the air. He speaks slowly, his voice laden with resentment. "Because I'm an adult with adult problems. Stuff that optimism and wishful thinking can’t solve. I need a..." His eyes fall to my mouth and linger there. "...a distraction."

  My skin tingles under his attention and a throb builds in nerves. "A distraction?" I wish my voice didn't sound so needy, almost pleading to be that bad-for-you thing that he just can’t resis
t.

  He doesn't answer. He just stares off into the cosmos, blowing another circle of chemicals into the air. When he turns his head and our eyes catch again, my cheeks blaze. My stomach coils tight under his intense blue-eyed stare.

  He taps his cigarette against the edge of the step and watches the ash fall. “I’m trying to escape,” he says hoarsely. “So don’t ask me about me. Tell me about you. What are you doing out here? What’s got you awake at this hour of the night?” His lips twitch like he might just smile but then that veil of apathy slips right back over his eyes.

  I lean back and stare up at the star-specked sky. “Trying to avoid my responsibilities.” He quirks a brow just a touch. I giggle softly and explain. “My sister wants me to write some stupid sales report. I’ve been dragging my feet for weeks.” A fleeting feeling of guilt rolls through me as I say it. “I’m bad, huh?”