Rushing In (The Blackhawk Boys #2)

by Lexi Ryan

  Until tonight, I didn’t realize Grace’s father was more interested in me babysitting Grace than in the roof I could put over her head. She’s an adult. By any conventional judgment, she shouldn’t need supervision.

  Even if we didn’t have our unfortunate meet-up last night, meeting her this morning would have been a punch in the gut. Long, silky black hair, striking green eyes, and the kind of curves that, in any other circumstance, would guarantee her a starring role in my fantasies for the next month.

  When I agreed to this, I didn’t imagine I’d be painfully attracted to the girl who was going to be living with me all summer.

  She takes another bite. I never would have thought chewing cereal could be sexy, but I suspect this girl could eat slugs and make it look hot. She chews and meets my eyes as she swallows, darting her tongue out to clean a drop of milk from her bottom lip. My gut goes tight and my dick goes hard.

  I don’t think this is what Mom had in mind when she said she thought I’d like Grace.

  I need to stop thinking of her as the sexpot who pressed her mouth against mine and drew her knees up around my waist. I need to start thinking of her as my sister. “Tell me something about yourself.”

  She puts down her spoon and narrows her eyes. “Come again?”

  I lean forward, pressing into the back of the chair I’m straddling to get closer to her. I smell a hint of lavender again, and I wonder if it’s from her laundry detergent or her shampoo. “Let’s start over. A clean slate.”

  “You think you can pretend last night never happened?”

  “I’ve already forgotten it.” I extend a hand. “My name’s Christopher, and I understand our parents are getting married. It’s nice to meet you.”

  She swallows again, though she hasn’t taken another bite since she swallowed the last. She eyes me cautiously before replying. “What are you trying to do?”

  “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together, right? So I want to get to know you. Tell me something.”

  She shifts in her seat, and something flashes across her face. Is that fear? But as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again and she lifts her chin and holds my gaze. “I hate exercise, and the milk on this cereal is the healthiest thing I’ve eaten all day.”

  I grunt. She’s baiting me—trying to prove we’re nothing alike so I won’t bother trying to get to know her—and I’m not taking it. Because maybe if I get to know her, this primal attraction will simmer down. Maybe I’ll start to think of her as my sister instead of a woman I’d really like to get naked ASAP. “Favorite TV show?”

  “You’re serious?”

  “You’re not one of those intellectual artsy types who thinks she’s too good to watch TV, are you? Because the TV is on a lot at my apartment.”

  She narrows her eyes. “Big Bang Theory.”

  “Mine’s SportsCenter, thanks for asking.”

  “Typical,” she mumbles.

  I ignore her and continue. “What’s your major?”

  She swallows again before answering, and I think that might be a tell—maybe a sign that I’ve hit on a subject she actually cares about. “Writing.”

  God, that suits her. She has that carefree-artist air about her. “You’re a writer?”

  “I want to be.” She shrugs. “Maybe.”

  “Creative writing or technical?”

  She draws back in horror, as if I just asked her if she’d like to smell my shit now or later. “Does anyone want to be a technical writer?”

  “I’m majoring in communications,” I tell her, despite the fact that she’s shown zero interest in me since we shut down last night’s conversational lane about masturbation and porn preferences. I’m just not sure we should start our new relationship as stepsiblings knowing more about what gets the other off than we do about the stuff you’d tell the old ladies at church. “If the whole football thing doesn’t work out, I’d like to go into sports journalism. It’s writing too, and I like to think I’m okay at it, though I suck at the creative stuff.”

  “Good for you.”

  Okay, so clearly she’s not interested in sharing her hopes and dreams with me. That’s fine. I shift gears, determined to get us onto the same page. She’s stubborn, but I’m undaunted. “Do you have any plans for your time in Blackhawk Valley?”

  She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and cocks her head to the side. “Do all these questions mean you’ve forgiven me for not telling you my name last night?”

  “It didn’t happen, remember?” It would be a hell of a lot easier to swallow that lie if she’d quit abusing that bottom lip with her teeth. The nervous habit reminds me of how it felt between my teeth and makes me want to taste the sugary cereal from her mouth. Clenching my hands, I glance away from temptation incarnate. “Clean slate.”

  She takes a breath. “Okay. It never happened.”

  I exhale, relieved that she seems to be on board. I don’t want Mom giving up this trip, and even though I might not understand why, I do know that to make that happen, Grace needs to come to Blackhawk Valley with me. “It’ll be fine,” I say, more for myself than her. “I’ll introduce you to my friends.” And she’ll be headed back to New York for school in no time.

  “You don’t need to introduce me to your friends. I’m capable of making my own.”

  “You’re living with me. Whether you like it or not, that means you’ll be spending time with my friends.”

  “And are these friends a bunch of football players?”

  “Is that a problem?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t have the best track record with football players.”

  “An ex-boyfriend?”

  “Not exactly.”

  Between the terse response and the way she won’t meet my eyes, I know she won’t say more on the subject, so I tuck it away with the other hints she’s given me to think about later.

  It’s much smarter to focus on her aversion to football players than the way she felt in my arms. She’s all smooth, pale skin and soft curves. Honestly, the tattooed, badass kind of girl isn’t usually my type. Sweet girls like Olivia are my type. But there’s something about Grace. Something about her wicked mouth and her eyes and that big smile that takes up half her face. She doesn’t fit any prescribed standard of beauty. She just is.

  “Why are you looking at me like that, Montgomery?”

  I shake my head, as unable as I am unwilling to explain the complicated emotions I’ve fought since I came down the stairs this morning and found out my walking fantasy was about to become a very big, very permanent part of my life. “Do you think they’re happy together?” I ask.

  The question that’s nagging me is whether or not her dad is good enough for my mom, but that’s not a fair question to ask Ed’s daughter, so I go about it this way.

  Mom has never dated. It seemed important to her to wait until after I was out of the house before she started seeing anyone. But then she met Edward last fall, and everything from there seemed to happen so fast.

  “I do,” Grace says. She releases a puff of air that’s almost a laugh. “Honestly, I don’t know what your mom sees in my dad,” she adds, and gives what might be the first real smile I’ve seen from her all day long. “I don’t know your mom very well, but she’s special.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m glad for my dad. Glad they found each other. Selfishly, I’m glad he has someone to distract him from constantly worrying about me. Before your mom, he worried like it was his full-time job.”

  “And why does he worry so much?”

  She lifts her green eyes to meet mine and holds my gaze before turning away suddenly. “Just overprotective, I guess.” She shifts her gaze back to the table. “But maybe I’ve given him more than enough reason to worry.”

  “How so?”

  She shrugs, and I can tell by her guarded expression that she won’t say more about it tonight, but I file it away for later. There’s obviously more to Grace Lee than anyone is telling me. Why else would
her father want his grown daughter to stay with me while he’s out of the country?

  I stand up and stretch, yawning. “I need some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “The first of many,” she says, grimacing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Chris

  I’ve never seen my mother look so happy.

  The ceremony was short. Mom and Edward wrote their own vows, and when Mom spoke hers, her voice was so soft I could only make out her words because I was standing so close.

  The reception is packed with friends and family. We ate dinner and watched the happy couple cut the cake and dance their first dance, and now it’s turned into a veritable party. The alcohol is flowing, and on the dance floor, people are showing their moves—or lack thereof.

  “Dash.” I look up to see my new stepfather taking the seat across from me.

  “Call me Chris,” I tell him, not that it’s helped before. I’m sure it’s hard for him to think of me as anything but Dash, since that’s the name Mom uses.

  “Chris,” he says affectionately. “I just wanted to thank you for talking to Grace last night. I don’t know what you said, but she made it clear to your mom this morning that she’s looking forward to her time in Blackhawk Valley this summer. Whether it’s true or not, your mom’s convinced, and I get my honeymoon with my bride.”

  “I don’t think I talked her into anything,” I say honestly. “She wants you two to have your trip, and she knows staying with me makes that possible.”

  He releases a heavy breath and gives me a crooked smile. “I’m relieved, selfishly. I don’t think I’ve ever been as excited to travel as I am for this trip with your mom. She lights up when she talks about Europe.”

  “Thank you for taking her.” I clear my throat. I don’t know this guy well enough to feel comfortable getting too sappy, but my mom’s happiness is everything to me. “I’m grateful that she found you. You make her happy.”

  He sighs. “She makes me happy, too.” He turns sideways in his chair and scans the party until he finds her, then he smiles. “We’re so damn lucky.” When he turns back to me, his smile is gone. “Thank you again for taking Grace in this summer. She’s a good kid deep down. She just needs some positive influences in her life. It’s not just her that I worry about. It’s the kids around here who seem to drag her into trouble with them.”

  “What kind of trouble?” I ask.

  He taps his fist on the table as his gaze settles on his daughter, and it’s as if he didn’t hear my question. “With you, I know she’ll be around the right kind of people.” When he swings his gaze back to mine, his eyes are weary and intense. “Promise me you’ll look out for her as if she were your own sister?”

  I’m sure Grace won’t give two shits about what I have to say. She’s a grown woman and makes her own choices—for better or worse. Just because she’s staying in Blackhawk Valley doesn’t mean she’s going to change her ways. “I’ll do my best.”

  Edward stands. “I’m going to find my bride and make her dance with this old man. Why don’t you dance with Grace?” He nods to the bar, where Grace is laughing with a guy who has a face full of piercings. “Someone needs to get her away from that bartender.” He shakes his head. “She’s drawn to trouble, that one.”

  I do as I’m asked, and if there’s any part of me that’s uncomfortable with her dad talking about her like she’s a little girl, it’s silenced by the part of me that’s been unable to take my eyes off her all night. She looks amazing in that dress. It’s black and fitted and shows off her curves in a way that makes my hands itch to touch her.

  She’s laughing about something, but her smile falls away as I approach. “You want a beer?” she asks, already turning to the bartender.

  I hold up a hand when he looks at me expectantly. “I’m good.” Tucking my hands in my pockets, I rock back on my heels and study Grace. I miss the way she looked at me at Willow’s house—like she wanted to devour me whole. Now, she regards me with something that vacillates between irritation and extreme caution. “Actually, I hoped you’d dance with me.”

  She cocks a brow. “Seriously?”

  We’re at a wedding. People dance at weddings. Is it that hard to believe I’d want to dance with her? “Seriously.”

  “I’m sure your decision to ask me has nothing to do with the fact that you just talked to my father.”

  And now I look like an asshole. “I—”

  Grabbing my arm, she tugs me toward the dance floor. “Come on, then. We have to make the groom happy on his big day.” She gives a wave to the bartender. “See you around, Tommy.”

  “How do you know that guy?” I ask.

  She shrugs. Once we hit the dance floor, she drops my arm and studies me cautiously.

  “Come on, Grace.” Stepping forward, I settle my hands on her hips and pull her closer. “I’m not that bad.”

  Her chest meets mine and her breath leaves her in a rush. Our eyes meet, and I’m nearly paralyzed by the tangle of emotions clouding my brain until she looks away.

  “Who’s the guy at the bar?” I ask, more to distract myself from the soft curve of her hips under my hands than because I really care.

  “My dealer,” she deadpans.

  Edward might not care for the tattooed, heavily pierced type, but in my experience, the amount of ink on a person’s body and the number of holes in their skin is a really shitty indicator for whether or not they’re trouble. “You’re hilarious,” I mutter, and maybe I pull her a little closer. Because I can. Because she’s soft and warm and right here. It’s so hard to focus on learning what I need to know. It’s impossible to imagine myself as her protective big brother, but if I’m going to make good on my promise to Edward, I have to try.

  I want to know exactly what kind of trouble this girl was in. Drunk and disorderly? Drugs? Something else? I guess I could ask Edward directly, but even though I need way more information than I have, I don’t feel right getting the information from anyone but Grace. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

  She frowns. “What?”

  “Drugs?” I draw in a breath when her confusion turns into a glare. “Can you blame me for asking? No one’s telling me shit about what’s going on with you, only that it’s my job to keep you out of trouble.”

  She takes two steps back, and my hands drop to my sides. “That’s what he said? He wants you to keep me out of trouble?”

  I just fucked this up. Everything I do with her, I fuck up. “Your dad cares about you,” I say, trying to pull my foot from my mouth. “He knows you better than anyone, right? So if he thinks you need someone to keep an eye on you . . .”

  She laughs, but it’s a hard, dry sound. “He thinks I need a babysitter.”

  “Grace.” I take a step toward her but stop when she holds up a hand.

  “Listen,” she says, still facing me and walking backward off the dance floor. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll come stay with you because that’s what I have to do. But I’ll stay out of your hair. I wouldn’t dream of misbehaving for my babysitter.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Grace

  Me: Blackhawk Valley is no New York City.

  I text Willow as we drive through town, more to distract myself from looking at Chris than because I think she needs to know.

  Willow: Oh no! Did I almost miss Captain Obvious trivia hour?

  I bite back a laugh and slide my phone back into my purse just as Chris parks in front of a four-story brick building.

  I’m not some city snob. I grew up in the suburbs, after all. But the drive from the airport was almost surreal. So many cornfields and then, closer to Blackhawk Valley, rolling green horse pastures that went on for miles. It’s not the kind of place you’d expect a twenty-one-year-old guy to live voluntarily.

  When I applied for colleges, I looked for the biggest cities. I wanted excitement and lights, true. But I also wanted to fade into the crowd. Everything is so wide open here, if this were my homet
own I’d feel like I was living under a magnifying glass.

  Chris drops my heaviest suitcase and adjusts his duffel bag on his shoulder as he holds the door for me. I step into his apartment, set down my two other bags, and look around with wide eyes. When you brace yourself to move in with a couple of college boys, you don’t expect their apartment to be clean and tidy. Chris is obviously not a partier—not Mr. Perfect’s style—but I still wouldn’t have been surprised to see a row of empty beer bottles on the counter or empty liquor bottles propped like trophies along the tops of the cabinets. But the apartment doesn’t look like it belongs to college guys. It’s neat and clean, if sparse.

  Ahead of me is the living room with a faded blue couch and matching recliner in front of a TV. On the coffee table there’s an empty coffee mug and a couple of console remotes. Behind the couch an island separates the living space from the modest galley kitchen on the wall opposite the TV. Beyond the kitchen is a small four-seater table.

  “Mason,” Chris calls. “We’re home.”

  In the dark hallway on the other side of this main living space, a door opens, then a black guy steps into the living room. “You must be Grace,” he says. “I’m your temporary roommate, Mason.”

  He’s so beautiful that I smile.

  I take his offered hand. It’s big, and rough, and matches the rest of him. My brain might dislike football players in that whole guilty-by-association sense, but my eyes definitely aren’t on the same page. Mason’s hair is cut in a short crop, and his eyes are a shade of green that about knocks me on my ass. “And you must be Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome.”

  Mason looks to Chris. “I like her.”

  Chris groans. “Of course you do.”

  When Mason releases my hand, I grin and hold his gaze. “Chris didn’t tell me his roommate was so hot.”

  “Grace,” Chris says, a warning in his tone.

  “What?” I wrinkle my nose and ask Mason, “Does that make you uncomfortable?”