“Well, you didn’t want to take your pants off last night. And then you stopped when I was kissing you, so I figured you. . . .”
His loud, booming laughter cuts my words off abruptly. “Wait a second,” he chuckles, placing his hand on top of mine on the table. “You think that just because I didn’t want to get nearly naked with you last night after you could have been attacked that I didn’t want to be here in some way?” His quirked eyebrow and small smile reveal just how good looking he really is.
“I . . . well . . . I mean . . . yeah, I thought you felt obligated, like I was a burden, a pain in the ass, a helpless. . . . you can stop me anytime here.” I’m rambling and he’s letting me.
“And how would that be fun?” Winking at me, he stands and continues making the coffee I had just taken out. I scan the kitchen and into the living room office combo spreading out to the side of it, and I realize he must have gotten up early to clean for me.
Gratitude spreads warmly in my chest. Seeing my home back in order and knowing that he took care of it for me makes me fall for him even more than I already am.
But, falling for him or not, I can’t let him off the hook that easily. I lean up against the counter, facing him and crossing my arms. “Okay then, hot-shot. What was all the angsty, head-in-hands brooding about last night?”
After snapping the lid to the coffee container back in place, he slides the container back into the cabinet that I’m just now realizing is also fixed. “I’m not sure,” he says softly, shaking his head. “Maybe it was just being in your room. Mostly it had to do with knowing that you needed me and I failed you. I left you alone and you were almost hurt.”
His raw honesty cuts through me.
I slide over and squeeze in between him and the counter. His grey eyes are brewing a heavy storm and all I can think is that I want to get to know this complex man even better. But there’s something there that’s also telling me not push too much right now. Whatever is bothering him, whatever hero complex he might have, he has to share it on his own terms.
“Thanks for fixing that.” I tip my head back to the cabinet. “And for taking care of the rest of the place. It really means a lot to me.”
He lets out a sigh of relief and presses a kiss to my forehead, seemingly happy that I dropped the ‘almost being hurt’ subject. “No problem. I also cleaned up the mess in the garage. I didn’t want you to have to deal with it.”
The feeling of gratitude that settled in my chest moments ago morphs into something much more, but I push it down, knowing it’s just too soon to feel those kinds of things. The coffee pot beeps and he makes himself a cup, completely at ease in my kitchen once again. After he’s poured my mug, he looks over at me. “Sugar?”
“What?”
“No, sweetness. I was asking if you want sugar.”
“Oh, yes please.” My palms get all sweaty as embarrassment heats my chest, neck and face.
“That’s a nice shade of red, Lucy,” he snickers and drops a spoonful of sugar into my mug. After topping it off with a little bit of half-and-half, he hands me the mug and sits next to me.
There are so many things running through my head, so many things I want to ask him about how he’s feeling, what he thought about last night—the date part, not the breaking and entering.
I want to ask him if he felt as at home as I did sleeping in bed with me last night, if he slept more soundly because I was next to him, just like I did because he was there.
Afraid of the answers to those questions, I opt for something much simpler. “So what’s on your agenda for today?” Since we didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning, we didn’t get out of bed until almost eleven.
“I actually have a furniture delivery coming in,” he looks down at his watch, “oh shit, in like twenty minutes. I completely forgot.” He goes to dump out his coffee, but I stop him and offer a to-go mug. Partly because he shouldn’t have to go without coffee after being up so late, but mostly because it might give him a reason to come back here.
Pathetic, right?
I walk him to the door for the second time in about twelve hours, but this goodbye is much more rushed than the one from last night. A quick peck on the cheek and an, “I’ll call you later,” and he’s out the door.
With my back pressed up against the closed and locked door, I try to calm my fluttering heart. The knock from the other side of the door scares the ever-living crap out of me. I take a look through the peephole and laugh when I see Evan on the other side.
“I just wanted to make sure that you locked it behind me.” He’s leaning his hip up against the frame, looking sexy as hell. “Oh and this too.”
His hand dives into my hair at my nape, his large and calloused fingers wrapping gently around my neck, tipping it back just enough to unleash the kiss of all kisses on my lips. When his tongue brushes up against mine, my legs buckle and I groan into his mouth.
His lips, so sensual and soft, feel more than heavenly on mine. His arms, so strong and capable, crush me to his body.
I stretch up on my toes and lace my fingers into his silky hair, the silvery silkiness softer than anything I imagined. “Evan,” I mumble breathlessly against his lips. He pulls my lower lip in between his teeth, nipping gently before licking over the same spot.
“Lucy,” he whispers as he rains down kisses across my jawline before planting a final, soft, wet kiss to that sweet spot right below my earlobe.
“Don’t forget to lock this behind me, sweetness.” He swipes his thumb across my bruised-by-his-kiss bottom lip. “I’ll call you soon. I promise.”
Chapter Thirteen
February 13, 2013
I’ve put off calling Lucy for a day or so, not wanting to appear too eager or excited. But, now, with Valentine’s Day tomorrow, I feel like I have to call; otherwise, I’ll look like a jerk. That’s the last thing I want her to think of me. Then again, I don’t want her to feel obligated about anything.
This is why I’ve avoided relationships. Too much confusion. Too much worrying about doing the right thing, about hurting someone’s feelings and sacrificing your own.
Yet despite all of those issues, there is something so down to earth about Lucy, so honest and real, that I just have this feeling in my gut that she’s different. The way her lips danced across mine, the way her soft body curled into my side, the way her eyes bore her soul—all told me she might just be worth it.
I feel like a young kid trying to pep talk myself into calling a girl I like. But “girl” is not a word I would use to describe Lucy. She is all woman—gorgeous, smart, kind, passionate and hotter than any fire I’ve ever walked into. Just thinking about her moaning through our kiss has me throbbing painfully behind the zipper of my jeans. When’s the last time a woman had that kind of effect on me? When’s the last time I let myself feel anything more than a lukewarm “ehh, you’re okay” sentiment about a woman? When’s the last time I let myself experience as much happiness as I did the night I watched Lucy sleeping in my arms?
Finally gathering more courage than I thought I would ever need, I stop pacing the kitchen and decide to go for it. Just as I’m about to dial her number, my phone skitters across the table, vibrating with an incoming call.
“Hey.” It’s Lucy. I find myself smiling already and she hasn’t even said a word.
“Hi, Ev. How are you?” Her voice sounds uneasy; a touch of nervousness shakes her words.
“Good. I’m good. Have you heard from Officer Harper?”
“Oh, yeah. He called yesterday. I guess I should have let you know.” Dishes clank in the background. “It was a few kids who broke in, two sixteen-year-old kids. They were looking for drug money apparently.”
“My God, that’s crazy. So what else did the police say?”
“Well, since they weren’t armed and because there was no intent to harm anyone, and because it was petty—just some extra cash I had hidden at my desk and my laptop, they’re just being judged as juvenile de
linquents. They’ll probably get some kind of house arrest followed by probation or something like that. I’m just glad that it should be over fairly quickly, and that I don’t have to do more than sign a few documents.” The relief in her voice is palpable.
“That’s really great.” A longer-than-intended pause makes the line go silent for a moment. “I was just about to call you.”
“You were?” Sounding all cute and innocent, her surprise might be the sweetest thing I’ve heard in a long time.
“Uh, yeah. I’d like to see you this weekend.” I figure if I don’t ask her, maybe she won’t be able to say no.
“Oh.” She sounds upset or disappointed, or some shit like that. “Um, well, that’s what I was actually calling about.” Her words and the tone of her voice do nothing to boost my confidence, so I don’t say anything and let her fill the silence that’s hanging thickly on the line.
“I have a date Thursday night.” What now? Maybe my age is finally catching up to me and I’ve gone deaf. And maybe I can’t count correctly, or I have my days wrong, but Thursday is Valentine’s Day. Not that I ever bought much into that particular “holiday,” but the idea of some other shmuck taking out my . . . well, I’m not really sure what she is, but I know that in some way she’s mine.
I can joke about it all I want, but the truth is, she has a date and it’s not with me. Why didn’t I call her yesterday?
Because you’re a scared little shit, that’s why—a fifty-two year old commitment-phobe. The ladies should just be lining up for you. Ass.
“Yeah, well then, maybe some other time.” I’m certain she can feel the chill in my words, the line freezing in frigidity.
“It’s not what you think,” she offers as an apology.
A humorless laugh flies out of my mouth. “And what exactly do I think, huh?”
“I didn’t seek this out, so don’t please don’t be upset.” With my anger receding slightly, I bite my sarcastic tongue and listen to what she has to say. It’s not like she knew how I felt. I would have had to tell her that first.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Can you say tail between my legs?
“No, I’m sorry. I tried to get out of it, but Linda, my best friend, set me up.” Now, it’s her turn to laugh humorlessly. “She has this idea that I need to be saved from my hellish life of single-hood, so she set me up on a dating website. She only just told me about the date today at work. I called you as soon as I got home. It’s just too late to bow out of it gracefully. I hope you understand.” Lucy’s wobbling and sincere voice makes me forget my pissed-off mood. She’s not to blame and I don’t want to push her away, so I play it cool, unaffected.
But I don’t want to sound like a douche either. “It’s okay. I understand.” I pause and she sighs, frustration seems to be weighing heavily for both of us. “Maybe we can get together Friday?” I ask, almost pathetically.
Lucy must hear the hurt in my words, the disappointment that I’m completely incapable of concealing. “Definitely,” she chirps, enthusiastically—overly so.
Deciding to just let it go, not wanting to add to the guilt she’s already expressed, I lie to end the call. “Listen, I’ve got another call. I’ll call you tomorrow. Bye.”
Knowing that slamming my cell down on the table like I want to will only break it, forcing me to go get a new one, helps me reign in my frustration. Though I want to curse myself for thinking, like a fool, that Lucy would be waiting around for me, since it was only a few days. Her saying she tried to back out of it, but couldn’t, doesn’t do anything to heal my wounded ego.
A glimmer of hope flickers in my chest when my phone vibrates again. It’s gone instantly when I see my brother’s goofy face smiling at me on the incoming call icon.
“Hey, Joe. What’s up?” Once I’m in the living room, I flop back on the couch. Since I don’t have a job, I spent the day painting in here. It’s still not a home, but at least it’s starting to shape up.
“Nothing, as usual.” Joe’s lack of energy isn’t surprising, but it’s still not something I like to hear.
Needing some cheering up myself, I aim to change both of our moods. “You’re in luck then. I was just about to head out and grab some dinner. Wanna join me?”
“Yeah, I guess.” Playing disinterested doesn’t suit him, but seeing as tomorrow is his first Valentine’s Day without his wife—Hallmark holiday or not—I don’t push him.
We make plans for me to come pick him up and head to a local sports bar. Beers and burgers sound like the perfect distraction for both of us.
“Here you go, boys.” The waitress winks at both of us, sliding our drinks to us and dropping a plate of nachos in the middle of the table.
“Thanks.” We both nod and dive into the food. Avoiding conversation until at least half of my beer is gone sounds like a fantastic idea right about now. Joe doesn’t look like he’s complaining about the quiet either.
“I painted today.” I dangle that gem of a conversation starter out there.
“Yeah, what color?”
“Beige.”
“Way to live on the edge there, Ev.” Joe laughs at me, chewing on the last of an overloaded nacho.
“That’s how I roll.” Mimicking something that Katie has said frequently enough for me to pick up on it makes Joe nearly spit his beer at me across the table. The mood is lightened and the waitress comes over to bring us our second round of drinks.
“Speaking of living on the edge . . .” Taking a quick sip of the cold brew, I swallow down my pride and figure I might as well ask Joe for some advice on how to handle the Lucy situation.
Or not. I mean is it really something I need to talk about? Doesn’t it break some kind of guy code to talk about women over beers while a game plays in the background?
“Today would be a nice time to finish that sentence.” An arched eyebrow accompanies his oh-so-funny statement. Joe and I have always been close. With only two years separating us, I don’t ever remember a time that we didn’t get along. Sure we were a bunch of goofballs as kids, wrestling around and play fighting with one another whenever we could, but even as teenagers we were best friends. There were times—like when Joe married his first wife and dealt with the fall-out of her mental illness, like when Brody was injured and after 9/11—that we drifted apart. But there are some bonds that can never be broken—those of brotherhood.
“Seriously, were you going somewhere with that thought, Evan? Old age finally catching up to you?” he jokes again—ass.
“Like you’re that far behind.”
“So seriously, what’s going on? It’d do me good to focus on someone else for a bit.” Joe’s admission of his own lingering sadness helps me start talking.
“You remember Lucy, right?” He nods and smiles knowingly. “Well, we went out once and I thought it went . . . well—I mean we had a good time.”
“So then what’s the issue? Run out of Viagra,” he says dryly.
“No, you dick.” I throw my wadded up napkin at him and he dodges it. After explaining what happened the night her house was broken into, which Joe listens to attentively, concern working its way across his face, I get to the main crux of the problem. “So when I called her today, she said she was seeing someone else.”
“Shit, that sucks. How serious is it?” He leans forward slightly, folding his hands together on the table in front of him.
Toying with the condensation on my beer, I consider her unwillingness to go on the date in the first place. Maybe I’m making a bigger deal out this than need be. Maybe I like her more than I’m willing to admit and that’s why her date, which she seems to think is a non-date, bothers me so much.
Lamely shrugging one shoulder, I deflect. “Not sure.”
Not sure about how serious I want it to be is more like it.
“Can I get you guys anything else?” The waitress asks as she places our burgers in front of us, smiling cheerfully.
“Nah, we’re good. Thanks,” Joe responds for us while I
get stuck in my own head, too distracted to even acknowledge my meal.
We eat in stilted silence for a few minutes before Joe reaches across the table and swats me upside the head. “Dude, what the hell was that for?” I rub my temple as he drops back into his chair, looking like he’s ready to drop some pearl of wisdom on me.
“It’s simple. You like her. She likes you. You enjoy each other’s company.” A rueful smile pulls at his lips on that last part. “Fuck the other date. If you want her, go after her. We both know that too much fucked up shit happens every day. And you understand better than anyone that none of us knows when we get our last day.”
I lean back in my chair, thinking about what Joe’s just said. He’s right. I know he’s right, but I’ve kept my distance from anything, well anyone, that could hurt me—that would hurt too much to lose—for so long that it’s become part of who I am.
Yet, the more I think about it, the more I think about Lucy and the possibilities of an us, and the more I realize what a waste my life has been. My meal tastes like chewing on sawdust suddenly. Is that how it’s always been? Has everything in my life been boring and bland, tasteless and dull, covered in beige, just because I was afraid of loss?
“Cat got your tongue?” Joe chimes in, breaking the silence once again, as he tosses his napkin down on his empty plate.
“Not exactly. I was just thinking about how right you are.”
Joe, being the ass-slash-joker that he is, pretends to go into a coughing fit, claiming that he didn’t hear me correctly.
“You heard me, jerk. I said ‘you were right.’ Don’t look so shocked. We do come from the same genes, you know. You were bound to inherit some of my intelligence.” He laughs, a full-bellied chuckle.
When he calms down enough to get all serious again, he says one last thing that rings in my ears. “Don’t let your job be the only thing in your life that you ever love.”
The waitress comes over and I move to pay, but Joe beats me to it, citing something about beauty before age or some crap like that.
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