“Last month I was up north, hanging with some guys from the team and some from college after one of the games. Gerard was there. We were sitting around…” He pauses, trying to choose his next words carefully. “Let’s just say we were talking about our college experiences.”
The way he says it gives it away.
“You mean your college conquests.”
He shuffles around uncomfortably, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Trust me, Shep, I know you’re not a virgin. The whole fucking college knew you weren’t a virgin. No need to act shy about it now.”
“You weren’t exactly an angel yourself.”
“You’d be real damn surprised,” I mutter.
He’s right, I wasn’t an angel in college. I had my fair share of flings and fun, but I didn’t sleep around as much as people tended to say I did. In fact, most of the guys I brought home with me just ended up getting to second base and that was as far as things went.
I knew they were running back and telling their friends they were scoring homeruns, but I didn’t care, because I knew it was pissing Shep off.
Hence why I “dated” half the baseball team.
He’d get so mad every time he’d see one of his teammates with me. I loved to see the way his teeth clenched together, the nagging that could have been mine feeling that shone through his eyes.
Was it petty of me to flaunt that in front of Shep? Sure, but it was wrong of him to break my fucking heart too.
Fair is fair.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Tell me what I have to do with what happened last month.”
His knuckles turn white as he clenches the edge of the tailgate, staring out into the parking lot with rage and annoyance on his face.
“You might not remember Gerard, but he definitely remembers you. I had to sit through a rather detailed description of your…time together before he told us your name.”
He’s upset—fuming almost.
“And your asinine conversation earned him a good beating because…”
“Because it’s you, Den!” he explodes, leaping off the truck. “Because I had to hear in excruciating detail about all the things that should have been mine!”
His? HIS?!
“You have got to be kidding me, Shepard. You ruined us!”
I take a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself, not wanting to let him get the best of me yet again.
“It was you,” I repeat, quieter. “Not me. You don’t get to be mad at me for moving on with my life, especially not when you more than moved on. If you think I haven’t had to hear all about your escapades, you’re dead wrong, buddy.”
He stands there, breathing hard, chest pumping with adrenaline.
“Is that why you hit him? Because I had sex with him?”
“No. I hit him because he didn’t respect you enough to keep his fucking mouth shut about it.”
I’m taken aback by his words. “You say that like you’ve never participated in that kind of bragging before.”
“I have.” He nods. “You’re right. But I’m not that person anymore. I can’t be that person anymore. I have to be better. I’ve lost too much being that guy.”
“Lost what?”
“Never mind,” he mutters. “Point is, it wasn’t okay for Gerard to do that shit, so I taught him a lesson.”
“If you ask me—”
“I didn’t,” he interrupts.
I ignore him.
“I’d say it was just jealousy, not you wanting to teach him anything.”
“Jealousy?” He laughs sardonically. “No, Den, that was definitely not jealousy.”
“Sounds like it to me.”
Suddenly, he’s stalking toward me, not stopping until he’s shoved himself between my legs. My lips part on an involuntary gasp and his fiery hazel stare is drawn to the movement. Heat floods my core as his scent hits me, all man mixed with just a touch of cinnamon. My cheeks burn where his hand cups my jaw.
I don’t move. I can’t.
I’m entranced. Captivated.
And so fucking turned on it hurts.
“I wasn’t jealous, Den.”
“N-No?” I stammer.
“No, because I know if I wanted to—and I mean if I really fucking wanted to—I could have you, anytime, any place. You can’t say no to me, Bucky.”
“I can too.”
“Bullshit.”
“Bullshit bullshit,” I whisper.
His lips fall to mine with a gentleness I wasn’t expecting.
He pulls back, looking into my eyes, that angry fire now replaced by a yearning one.
Is this okay? they ask.
It’s not okay…yet it’s the most euphoric I’ve ever felt.
It’s not okay…yet I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted before, even though I shouldn’t.
It’s not okay…but in this moment, I don’t care. I want it too badly to care.
I press my hand to his cheek, running my fingers over the stubble already growing there.
He takes it as the yes it is, and this time his lips aren’t gentle. They’re hard and demanding and filled with so much unvoiced want.
Want that’s been bottled up for years and years.
Want that’s been hidden behind facades and insults and lies to make ourselves feel better about what we really want.
Shepard Clark doesn’t hate me. He never hated me.
And I never hated him either.
Our tongues twist together as I wrap my legs around his waist.
Through my thin leggings, I can feel his cock brushing against my wet pussy, and I wish there were nothing between us, wish he would lift us up into the bed of his truck and have his way with me.
Without warning, he picks me up, carries me around the passenger side, and pulls the back door open. He tosses me inside like I weigh nothing, and I scoot until I’m on the other side of the cab, shoving my overpriced dress onto the floor. He climbs in after me, not stopping until I’m lying underneath him.
“That’s a lot better,” he mutters before his mouth finds mine again.
His dick presses back against my center and the friction nearly sends me over the edge.
It’s also enough to knock me out of the haze I’m in.
What the hell am I doing?
I can’t do this, not with Shep, and certainly not in the back of his truck.
I push at him and he instantly pulls away, but that doesn’t stop him from rocking his hips against me one more time.
“We have to stop.”
He rests his head against my chest, his breaths labored and erratic, matching my own. “I know, but I really don’t want to. My dick will probably fall off if we stop now.”
I laugh at his dramatics. “Guess you’ll just have to be dickless.”
“I don’t think you’d like me near as much then.”
“I don’t even like you now, Shep.”
That’s not a lie, and we both know it.
I don’t like Shep, but I don’t hate him either.
We’re walking this thin line, the same one we’ve always walked, and right now it’s too much. I don’t know what to do with it, but I know for sure I don’t want to do something I’ll regret later…like letting him fuck me in the back seat of his truck.
He pulls back, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face. “You’re right. Our first time can’t be in the back of a truck.”
“You say that like I was going to sleep with you.”
He leans over to press a hard kiss to my lips, and I let him, our tongues quickly becoming a tangled web.
Before it can escalate—well, any more than it already has—Shep pulls away, grinning like he knows something no one else does.
“What’d I say about games, Den?”
I shove him away and he laughs.
“So while you were plotting your whole evening so you could drive Shelia, did you think about the fact that I drove us to th
e gala? From your apartment?”
Shit. I totally forgot about that.
“Yes,” I lie. “I was going to Uber from your place to mine.”
“You were going to call a car at this hour? And what—get murdered?”
He throws my words from last week back at me with a grin.
Can’t believe I just kissed this asshole.
Actually, yes, I totally can.
He’s hot and I’m horny. Anything will do right about now, even Shep…especially Shep.
Oh my god, shut up, Denny!
“I’m using this exact moment as justification during my murder trial.”
“That sounded a lot like, ‘You’re right, Shep, that’s just insane. Can I please stay the night? I promise not to molest you at two AM…or maybe I don’t.’”
“Huh. That sounded nothing like that, especially the last part.”
“Our lines are definitely getting crossed then,” he says seriously.
“I’m not going home with you, Shep.”
“What if I promise not to get frisky with you at two AM?”
“Or three…or four…or five, for that matter.”
“Well, shit.” He sighs. “There goes my whole plan for the night.”
“Creep.”
“You love it.” He pokes my cheek. “But, seriously, Den, stay the night. We can sleep in separate bedrooms. It won’t be weird at all. It’s late, and by the time we get back, it’ll be after midnight. I’m sure you’re tired. Stay.”
He’s right. I am tired. Sure, he claims we don’t live too far from each other and I probably wouldn’t get murdered on the ride home, but I don’t want to risk it.
There’s just the unpleasant matter of staying in Shep’s domain for an entire night.
That part might be tricky.
“We’re friends, right? This is something friends would do.”
“Would friends also make out in the back of a truck like horny teenagers?”
“Totally.” No hesitation from him.
“Shep…”
“Just say yes,” he insists.
I want to say no. I should say no. It’s on the tip of my tongue…
“Yes.”
I’M GOING to regret this in the morning, I know it already.
“You coming?”
I glance up at the looming building, unsure I want to walk inside.
When Shep said we live close to one another, he wasn’t kidding.
He just forgot to mention that while I live in the nice part of town, he lives in the fancy as fuck part.
“I’m coming.”
“Oh, you will be.”
He chuckles then grunts when I whack him with my patched-up duffle bag.
“Good lord.” He rubs at his shoulder. “What do you have in that raggedy-ass thing I’m pretty certain once belonged to a homeless person?”
“It did not!” I look down at my bag, which has seen better days. “It’s just well loved.”
“That’s one way of putting it.” He snatches it from my hands and leads us into the building, nodding at the security guard in the front lobby. “Evening, Jim.”
“Mr. Clark, you’re back late. Lookin’ mighty sharp too. A date?”
“Gala.”
“Oh goodness. Those things are always so stuffy.”
“We raised a hundred thousand for charity, so it wasn’t all bad.”
“We did?” I say, surprised.
Shep ducks his head, refusing to meet my eyes. “It’ll go to a baseball camp for kids with diabetes.” He waves a hand. “It’s no big deal. We donate all the time.”
“We?”
He nods shyly, which is weird because shy isn’t a word I’d use to describe Shep. “Me and a couple of other guys. I don’t usually attend the events, but I always donate to them.”
“I…I didn’t know that.”
He shrugs. “You didn’t ask. Now move it. I have things to do.”
“What in the world could you possibly have to do at almost midnight thirty?”
“Take care of Steve.”
“Who’s Steve? A neighbor?”
He guides me inside the elevator, ignoring my questions. “Good night, Jim.”
“See ya later, Mr. Clark.”
The elevator doors close, and the fact that we’re alone suddenly hits me.
Panic begins to claw at my throat.
I’m going to Shep’s apartment. I’m staying the night with him—willingly.
Am I insane?
The doors open and we step out of the elevator, turning left, not stopping until we reach the end of the hall.
I can’t help but smile when I see the number on the door.
“23?”
He smirks, pushing the key into the lock. “I asked for it special.”
It’s been his jersey number for years. He used to say it was his lucky number because everything good in his life happened on the 23rd.
He was born on the 23rd.
His parents were married on the 23rd.
Rose met Jack on the 23rd.
He was 23 when he was drafted to the MLB.
He texted me on the 23rd.
23 is his version of fate.
“Take your shoes off, please.”
He disappears down the hall as I walk into the entryway, surprised Shep is one of those no shoes in the house kind of people, and toe off my slip-ons.
His apartment is just as I pictured it. Dark gray hardwood floors cover the majority of the space, nicely contrasted with light gray paint on the walls. The furniture is all black, sleek, and modern.
It’s clean, welcoming.
There’s a scratching along the floors, a skittering that can only belong to one thing.
“Steve!” Shep shouts just as the puppy comes barreling around the corner, sliding right on top of my feet.
“You have a pug!” I stare down at the smiling dog, laughing as his tongue flops out of his mouth. “I’ve always wanted a pug!”
Shep already knows this.
Am I the reason he got one?
“Bucky, meet Steve Rogers Clark.”
My eyes snap to Shep. “You named your dog Steve?”
He lifts a shoulder. “What? A guy can’t name his dog after America’s first Avenger?”
“Uh huh,” I say, unconvinced that’s why he did it. “Can I hold him?”
“Best I take him out to the balcony real quick so he can pee. I have one of those fake grass pads out there to train him.” Shep scoops the puppy up. “Make yourself at home. I’ll be right back.”
He carries the pup outside, leaving me standing there. I notice then he’s taken my bag somewhere, so I go in search, beyond ready to head to bed.
There are only three doors off the hallway, so I try the first one—bathroom.
I try the second—guest room, but no bag in sight.
Which means…
No. No, he did not.
I push open the door, and yes, just as I expected, Shep has put my bag on his bed—his very big bed, I might add. Other than the small tables on either side and the all-leather headboard, it’s the only thing in the room.
Like hell I’m staying in here with him.
Although…it is very inviting.
I walk farther into the room, stepping up to the bed and pushing down on the mattress.
Oh fuck.
It feels heavenly.
Without thinking, I flop down beside my bag, sinking into the comforter and never wanting to leave.
“I’m moving in.”
“I mean, if you really want to, you can, but you’re gonna have to chip in for your portion of the rent. I accept sex, sex, and lots of fucking sex as payment.”
I groan, pushing myself up to my elbows to find Shep standing in the doorway, holding Steve, and watching me with an amused smile.
Long gone is his suit jacket, and he stands there in a crisp white shirt, sleeves rolled up to elbows.
He looks lickable.
I hate that
I think he looks lickable, but Shep and no clothes is all I can think about since he kissed me.
Shep kissed me. And I let him do it.
What was I thinking? I can’t let him kiss me.
But…it wouldn’t feel so right if it was something so wrong…right?
“Comfortable, Den?”
“I love your bed.”
“I do too, but since I’m still feeling really goddamn charitable, I’ll let you take the bed and I’ll take the guest room.”
“Deal.”
His brows lift. “No arguments? That’s a new one from you.”
“I only have one condition.”
He chuckles. “Of course you do. Name it.”
“Steve stays with me.”
“You’re stealing my pug from me? Who am I going to snuggle with?”
“Use your imagination, Shep. Hand him over.”
With reluctance, he nods. “Fine. Let me say good night first.” He nuzzles the dog, letting him lick kisses all over his face. “I’m so sorry I’m leaving you with this crazy lady, Steve, but dad’s gotta do it, okay? I’ll make it up to you later with an extra long W-A-L-K and a bonus T-R-E-A-T.” Another nuzzle. “Good night, bub.”
He sets the pug down on the bed beside me, and Steve immediately trots up and rests on a pillow.
When I look questioningly at Shep, he shrugs. “What? That’s his pillow.”
I laugh, but it falls short when Shep fits himself between my legs, which are hanging off the edge of the bed.
Perfect fit.
Ugh.
He leans down, caging me in with his arms on either side of my head, holding his weight off me.
The thump thump thump of my heart is so loud it can probably be heard from miles away.
“W-What?” I whisper.
He pushes himself down farther, his nose connecting with the exposed base of my throat.
I bite down on my lip at the contact, doing everything I can to stifle the moan trying so desperately to leave my mouth.
Slowly, in the most painful manner you can imagine, he runs his nose up the column of my neck, not stopping until he’s right under my ear.
There, he places the gentlest of kisses.
“Good night, Bucky,” he murmurs in my ear.
Then he’s gone, leaving me with a mess of pent-up frustration and a new realization.
No matter how much I know I should, there is no way I’m going to be able to walk away from him.
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