by Megyn Ward
Nope.
Per usual, my brain, which is a complete asshole, said, sleep? You don’t need sleep. What you need to do is relive every interaction you’ve ever had with Henley.
And work on your boards.
And recite poetry to yourself. In Gaelic.
And every law encyclopedia you ever read, you should recite those too.
And then think about Henley some more.
Even though I knew about thirty seconds after I lay down that sleep wasn’t going to happen and despite the fact that Cap’n is going to be here in about five minutes, I keep laying here, staring at the ridiculously dainty handkerchief I found stuffed into the pocket of my jeans. I took it from her a few days ago when she took it out of her purse to clean smudges of grease off her hands after I touched her. Its pale pink edged with delicate, handmade lace. Something a lady would carry.
Ladies don’t fuck.
Jesus.
Where are Mrs. McGintey’s crochet hooks when I need one?
As usual, Tess rescues me from myself by sending up a flurry of noise, banging against the roll-up with the toe of her boot.
Because she’s gonna start yelling if I don’t let her in, I stuff the handkerchief under my pillow and push myself up until I’ll standing. Find my pants and put them on. Snag a random shirt from the pile of clean clothes I tossed in my chair a few days ago on my way out the door.
She keeps kicking, even though she knows it’s a safe bet I’m not sleeping because even though I’m not sleeping, there’s a good chance I’m so lost inside my own goddamned head that I might as well be dead.
I want you to kiss me.
Nope.
Not doing it.
Not going there.
Hahaha… Like you have a choice, fuckface. Thought you were supposed to be smart.
Taking the stairs, two at a time, I jerk the garage door up on its track just as Tess starts to kick hard enough to put her boot through it.
“I’m going to sew your key to your goddamned—”
Tess is standing on the other side of it and she’s not alone. She’s got Shadrach perched on her shoulder and she’s making a racket, yowling and purring, her front paws kneading against Tess’s shoulder blade, long dark tail twitching and swishing. Gaze and lamentations aimed at the man standing behind her.
Declan.
Behind him, I can see the company van Cap’n uses to shuttle his guys back to their jobsites after they drop off their trucks. My cousin is nowhere to be seen.
“Thanks,” Tess says, shooting past me, heading for the back door that leads to the alley behind the garage. I can hear her army of strays caterwauling for her, waiting to be fed.
When he tries to follow her in, I block his way. “Well, don’t you look pretty?” I say, the corner of my mouth kicked up in something too nasty to be considered a smile. He’s got a black eye. His ear is bruised and swollen. It should pacify me, seeing him all banged up, but it doesn’t. I can feel my grip tighten around the shirt I’m still holding in my hand. The only thing keeping me from taking a swing at him is the fact that Tess hates it when we fight. Because nine times out of ten, it’s about her.
“Not half as pretty as you do, princess.” His gaze skates past me, lands on Tess. I can hear her behind me, shaking a container of dry food and talking to her minions. I hate the way his face softens when he looks at her. I hate that he thinks he has a right to look at her at all.
I shift into his line of vision, blocking him from seeing her. “What the hell are you doing here?” Two things Cap’n promised me when I said yes to servicing his work trucks. Enough money to fund my restoration habit and that my brother wouldn’t be involved in any way.
“It’s the first Monday in October.” He looks at me like I’m the asshole for asking, his gaze drawn to the ink on my neck. My chest. My arm. Not that he hasn’t seen them a thousand times, but my guess is seeing them is different now that Henley’s back. He knows what they are. Why I have them. That they’re hers.
“I know what day it is, dickbag.” I lift my shirt and pull it on, covering my tattoos because If I have to take one more second of him looking at me and feeling sorry for me, I’m going to jam my thumb in his goddamned eye. “I also know you’re not supposed to be here.”
“It’s my money paying you, same as it is Patrick’s.” He crosses his arms over his chest, swollen jaw ticking with tension.
“You can take his money and yours and shove it up your ass.”
Suddenly, his jaw goes slack, and he shakes his head. “He had something going on, so he asked me to take care of it.”
Well, that’s a fucking lie. Cap’n didn’t send him here. Dec most likely snagged the keys and hijacked the van before he could stop him. Why and why now is anyone’s guess but if I had to take one, it’d be a safe bet that his reason is currently feeding her army of strays behind me.
I open my mouth to call him on it but before I can, Tess steps between us.
“Can we not do this today, boys?” she says, her wide hazel gaze narrowed on my face. “Because I’ve got a long fucking day ahead of me and I’d rather not start it off by knocking your heads together like coconuts.”
“He started it.”
Tess whips around to glare at Declan. “Are you serious?” She plants her hands on her hips and glares at him. “Did you really just say that?”
Declan looks like someone just bitch-slapped him, eyes wide. Mouth slack. Nostrils flared. He always looks like that when Tess speaks to him directly. Like he’s rooted in one spot, and about to rabbit, all at the same time. Like he’s got a million things to say but doesn’t speak the language.
He opens his mouth to say something, or at least try to, but he’s cut off by the honk as one of his work truck pull up.
Tess turns her attention back to me. “Let’s just get on with it, okay?”
Because I know Declan’s watching and because I know he hates it, I give Tess a wink. “Did you just say you want to get it on with me?”
Like I knew she would, Tess makes gagging noises and plants her hand on my chest, pushing me out of the way so my brother’s employee can pull his truck into the open bay. “I’d rather get it on with Mrs. McGintey—and her dog.”
I grin at her, giving her the full-dimpled Gilroy while my brother looks like he’s about to blow a gasket. Since I really am an asshole and because Tess needs a laugh, I lift her hand off my chest and press my lips to the inside of her wrist. “I’d be sad if I really thought you meant that.”
Like I hoped, she laughs, curling her finger around my earlobe to give it a sharp tug. She knows what I’m doing—and why—and is telling me to cut it out. “You know what makes me sad?” She pulls her hand out of mine to snag my coveralls off the work bench. “Knowing that the shit coming out of your mouth actually works on the majority of the female species.” She tosses them at me, hitting me square in the chest.
“It’s not what’s coming out of my mouth that gets ‘em hot, Tessie.” Still grinning, I rip open the Velcro strip that holds my coveralls closed. “It’s my—”
“Can you guys shut up and get to work?” Declan says loudly, his words punctuated by the heavy slam of a truck door. Shooting a look over the top of her head, I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing when Tess turns on her boot heel and glares at him.
“Oh.” She cocks her head. “Did you finally say something?”
His eyebrows slam down over his hard, blue glare while his massive chest inflates before it slowly shrinks. Tess is the only one who can talk to him like that with repercussion. “I think you shou—”
“Nobody asked you to think, sweetheart.” She tips her head in the opposite direction, jerking her chin at toward my office window and the makeshift coffee station I have set up on an old microwave cart. “Now, why don’t you make yourself useful and go make me some coffee—I take it black in case you forgot.”
1
Four
Henley
I wake up to a text mess
age from Jeremy.
Jeremy: Hi sweetie.
Thinking of you.
Call me.
Telling myself I’ll call him later, I get up and shower. Dress from work. Stand in the kitchen and wait for the coffee maker to spit an acceptable amount of coffee into the pot before I pour it into my travel cup. Gather my purse. Lock my front door. Call the elevator. Tell the concierge I’m more than capable of retrieving my own car from the parking garage. Drive to the library. Say good morning to Margo. Wedge myself into my impossibly small, windowless office that I suspect was a closet before I got here and check my email, before spending the morning in the children’s section of the library hosting toddler story time and arts and crafts.
I do all of these things while my stomach flips and works itself around the hard knot of anxiety that dug itself into my gut. I tell myself it’s first day jitters. I’m just nervous because even though it’s not a real job, it’s the closest I’ve ever come, and I want to make a good impression. That’s what I tell myself. I completely ignore the fact that my stomach started its non-stop gymnastics routine as soon as he said.
I want to spend the night.
Yes or no.
Yes.
That’s the answer that was on the tip of my tongue. What I wanted to say.
Yes.
But as soon as I thought it, I knew I’d never say it out loud. Couldn’t. I couldn’t jeopardize everything Jeremy and I worked so hard for, and for what? So I can live out my stupid school girl fantasy of waking up next to Conner Gilroy. So I can open my eyes and see his face, perfect and peaceful, inches from mine. So he can kiss me awake. Slide his fingers through my hair. Tell me he loves me.
Quit behaving like a child, Henley.
My mother’s voice rings through my head, admonishing me for indulging in such a ridiculous notion.
I got what I wanted.
For the next ten weeks, Conner Gilroy and I are going to enjoy each other’s company and once my internship is over, I’m going back to New York. Jeremy and I will announce our engagement. I’ll move into his apartment in Manhattan and find a job as a librarian.
A year from now, it’ll be like none of this ever happened. I’ll move on with my life and so will he. Conner will be back to drinking like a fish and fucking every woman he can before my train even pulls out of the station.
I’d bet on it.
Really?
Do you really believe that?
My phone chimes, signaling another text. Probably Jeremy again. He’s starting to worry, like before. Thinks that my unwillingness to gossip about what’s happening with Conner is a sign that being here is going to change my mind about our plan.
Prepared to spend the next thirty minutes talking him off a ledge, I check my phone.
It’s not Jeremy.
Conner: What time do
you get off work?
I stare at the screen, my mind completely blank. My gut somersaulting like I have a troop of circus tumblers camped out in my stomach.
Conner: Hello?
Conner: Look, if you don’t
want to see your dad,
that’s cool with me, Daisy.
My dad.
Right.
He’s not looking for a hook-up, idiot. He’s trying to keep his promise to your brother.
After the way I treated him last night, I’m surprised he reached out at all.
Me: Sorry. Busy. Yes,
I do. 5pm?
Conner: I’ll be there.
Meet me in the parking
lot.
Me: Okay.
I stare at my phone, feeling like my response was inadequate somehow. Like I need to say more.
Me: Thank you
He doesn’t text back.
2
Five
Conner
Declan was gone by eight o’clock, leaving without so much as a see you later. With him gone, Tess and I managed to push our way through more than half of the trucks before noon, neither one of us wanting to drag it out any longer than necessary. Regardless, if Tess doesn’t eat every couple of hours, she gets shitty, so I sent her to grab some food, so I won’t want to string her up by the end of the day.
Tossing my phone onto my desk I sit back in my chair and stare at my computer screen.
Thank you.
What the fuck does that mean?
Thank you for offering to pick me up and going with me to look for my drunk dad.
Thank you for fucking me.
Thank you for making me come so hard I lost feeling in my lower extremities.
I have no idea, so instead of trying to figure it out, I let it go.
And she’s not busy either.
It’s her lunch break. She’s sitting at her desk, picking her way through a Caesar chicken salad and playing Mahjong Titans on her computer.
Okay, so I might’ve hacked into the library’s surveillance system.
And installed spyware on her computer camera.
Don’t judge me.
It’s a well-established fact that I’m a stalker. I’m also a manipulative bastard, a condescending asshole and an unrepentant manwhore.
And a pathetic shitsack.
Let’s not forget that one.
Truth is, I don’t know why I did it. I told myself it was because I promised Ryan I’d look out for her and even though I’m the human equivalent of a dumpster fire, I keep my promises. That’s what I told myself when I hacked the library mainframe at 5AM but lying to myself is one of my favorite things to do, so who really knows for sure.
Like I said, introspection isn’t really something I like to indulge in.
Besides, it’s not like I’ve spent hours sitting here, watching her. I might be a pathetic shitsack, but I haven’t tipped into full-blown Declan territory.
Not yet anyway.
I can see her staring at her phone, trying to figure out what I want. Why I’m bothering her. It makes me angry because she started this whole fucking thing, not me. I’m not the one who waltzed in on designer heels, dripping in diamonds, and with the crook of a finger, started unraveling her goddamned life.
I was fine.
I was fucking fine.
Living my life.
Okay, so things weren’t all unicorns and lollipops, but I had it handled.
I had Tess. My family. My books. A few down and dirty tricks to keep myself sane. I didn’t need anything else. I’d learned to function without her.
And she destroyed it all in the time it took her to say three simple words.
That’s my book.
I mean, I could’ve survived the sex.
Before her, it was little more than a biological function. Like eating or breathing. Something I had to do keep myself level. Feel normal.
Last night was something else entirely. Making her come is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Even now, I can still feel her pussy, slick and tight, around my cock. Her wrists trapped between my fingers. Her nipples, hot and swollen on my tongue. The desperate pump of her hips against mine, her need for release making her shameless.
For me.
Watching her come undone is addictive. Knowing it’s me. That I’m the one. Taking her. Having her.
That I’m the only one who has.
Yeah, that’s something else entirely. Woke up a part of me I forgot existed.
The part of me that needs her. Can’t survive without her. Would do anything to keep her.
Trust me, I understand just how messed up this whole thing is. But as messed up as it is, I could’ve survived it. It would’ve been hard, and I probably would’ve died never having fucked another living thing ever again, but I would’ve lived.
But I didn’t just fuck her.
I asked her to kiss me.
Because I’m a self-destructive asshole who obviously gets off on hurting himself.
I know that sounds weird.
That kissing her is more damaging than fucking her but nothing about me makes much sense, a
nd I stopped trying to figure myself out a long time ago.
The first girl I ever kissed was named Penny Wilson. Ryan and I snuck into her basement during a slumber party. We were playing Spin the Bottle. I didn’t want to kiss her, but I did because I was thirteen and I was supposed to want to. That’s what a normal, heterosexual guy my age would do. If a pretty girl was willing to kiss him, he’d kiss her. He’d want to.
So I did.
And I felt absolutely nothing.
I’d known for a while that there was something wrong with me. That I don’t feel things the way I should. That I’m broken.
Kissing Penny Wilson just proved it.
But I kept doing it. Made myself do it because that’s what was normal and if I couldn’t be normal, then I sure as fuck was going to act like I was.
Before I knew it, I was seventeen and had plowed my way through more girls than I want to remember. I earned a reputation for being a slut when all I was trying to do was feel normal. Feel something.
Something real.
Looking at Henley over the top of her broken down backpack, watching her rip her calculus notes from her notebook to give to me, was the first time I ever felt for someone who didn’t have my blood pumping through their veins.
I liked her.
Cared about what happened to her.
Wanted to make her happy.
Take care of her, even if she didn’t want me to.
Henley was the first girl I ever wanted to kiss.
Walking her home at night, I’d think about it. What it would be like to kiss her under the street light outside her building.
I’d lay awake at night and wonder.
What she’d look like, right before I did it.
What it would feel like.
What she would taste like.
How it would feel when she kissed me back.
I wanted to know.
I wanted to kiss her.
But I didn’t.
Couldn’t.
I told myself it was because I didn’t want to scare her, but really, I’m the one who was scared. I was scared shitless because what if kissing her felt wrong. What if I kissed her and I stopped wanting.