The Truth About Lennon

by K. L. Grayson

  Cooper isn’t a bad guy, and that’s the problem. He’s a good guy, probably the type of guy Lennon deserves, but I’ll be damned if I’m giving her up that easily.

  Wait, what?

  The thought causes me to stumble three feet from my car, but the stupid fucking organ in my chest doesn’t allow me to stop and think about it.

  Five minutes later, I’m walking through the door at Dirty Dicks. My eyes find Mikey first, and I follow his gaze to the back of the bar. Lennon is standing with her right foot slightly in front of her left, arm perched and ready to throw a dart, when my cousin Coop steps up behind her.

  My blood boils as he rests his left hand on her hip and covers her right hand with his and guides her dart straight to the bullseye. Throwing her hands in the air, Lennon spins around and launches herself at Cooper.

  This quickly accelerates my boiling blood into a raging inferno. I take two steps forward before Mikey shoots an arm out, stopping me.

  “Don’t go over there acting all macho.”

  “Back the fuck up, Mikey.”

  He shoves a beer at my chest. “How about you drink this, calm down, and tell me why Lennon is here with Coop instead of you.”

  I take a long pull from the bottle. “Mind your own business.”

  His face twists with disappointment. “You fucked it up,” he mumbles. “How did you manage to fuck that up? The girl is perfect for you. Even I saw that. In fact, I saw it the second I pulled over on the highway and found you cuddled up between her legs.”

  “I wasn’t cuddled up between her legs.”

  “Call it what you want. Doesn’t change the fact that she’s perfect for you.”

  “You don’t even know her,” I argue.

  He shrugs. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know she’s a good person. And she clearly has feelings for you. Anyone could see that from a mile away, but oddly enough, she has her arms wrapped around Cooper.”

  “I kissed her.”

  “Ah.” Mikey nods and then shakes his head. “How did you screw that up?”

  “Same way I screw everything up. Same way I screwed up Nova’s life.” Downing the rest of my beer, I set it on the bar, instantly regretting my loose lips.

  “Come on, Noah.” Mikey’s voice is low, and it pisses me off. “You didn’t screw up Nova’s life. Or Kim’s. She made her own choices. You were just doing what was best for your daughter.”

  I’m a dick. That’s the only way to explain why I turn to Mikey and say, “Should we paint our toenails now and have a pillow fight?”

  I’m a lucky son of a bitch because Mikey knows me. He knows where my anger and insecurities lie.

  “Only if you paint mine first,” he says in his most feminine voice.

  I crack a smile.

  “Now,” he says, “go get your girl.”

  I head to the back of the bar just as Lennon turns around to throw another dart. She hasn’t seen me yet, which is a good thing. This time, Coop hangs back. Good choice considering I’ll rip his arm off if he touches her again. Lennon lines up her dart, tosses, and once again hits a bullseye.

  “Good aim,” I say.

  Lennon’s body goes still, and she spins around. Her dilated eyes land on mine, and all of the breath rushes from my lungs. She looks sexy as hell—hair tucked behind her ears, cheeks flushed, and don’t even get me started on her body. She’s wearing blue jeans with a hole in the knee, a low-cut black top that offers me a peek of that fantastic fucking cleavage, and black heels. I’m not a high-heel man, myself, more of a boot or chuck man, but I’ll be damned if she didn’t just change my mind.

  Something she seems to be inadvertently good at.

  “Noah,” she breathes, her eyes darting to Cooper.

  She’s nervous.

  Good. She should be.

  “Noah!” Cooper exclaims, pulling me in for a hug. We slap each other’s backs a few times. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “Around,” I say, my eyes locked on Lennon’s.

  She swallows hard before asking, “Do you two know each other?”

  “Sweet Lennon,” Mikey says, joining the crowd. “What did I tell you about Heaven?”

  “Right,” she sighs. “Small town.”

  “Noah’s my cousin,” Cooper says proudly, shaking Mikey’s hand.

  Lennon’s face pales. “Your cousin.” She looks down at her shoes as though they hold the answers to everything. “Of course he’s your cousin.”

  Her eyes lock on the woman to her left—this one I’m unfamiliar with—and Lennon purses her lips. They seem to be having some sort of silent conversation, and after a few seconds, Lennon clears her throat. “I, uh… I need to get home.”

  Cooper jumps before I have the chance. “I’ll take you.”

  “No,” she says quickly, causing hope to rise in my chest. “No need. I—”

  I take a step forward. “Lennon lives next to me; I’ll take her home.”

  “No,” she says again. “That’s really not necessary.”

  “You’ve been drinking.”

  Her shoulders deflate, and I know I’ve won.

  “I’ll take you home,” I say again.

  Without a word, she walks straight out of the bar and makes a right. Snagging her elbow, I tug her to the left, causing her to stumble conveniently into my arms. She rights herself, takes another step, and stumbles again.

  Her heels are sexy and all, and I would kill to have them wrapped around my waist, but they suck on this gravel parking lot. Plus, she’s definitely had a few drinks. The question is, how many? Because we can’t have the conversation we need to have if she’s drunk. Which means it’ll have to wait until morning.

  “Come on,” I say, hoisting her into my arms.

  “Your ankle!” She slaps at my chest, but I hold her that much tighter.

  “My ankle is fine.”

  “No, it’s not, you’re…” Her words trail off, and she stops writhing in my arms. “You know what? Screw it. Hurt your ankle more; see if I care.” She crosses her arms over her chest, fluffing her tits, and my cock jerks.

  It’s going to be really fucking hard waiting until tomorrow.

  “You’re mad at me,” I say, stating the obvious.

  “Why on Earth would I be mad at you?” There’s no mistaking the sarcasm—and the tiniest hint of a slur—dripping from her voice.

  “I’m sorry.” It’s not much, but it’s a start.

  “You’re sorry? Sorry for what? For kissing me like you wanted to fuck me after telling me there will be absolutely no fucking? And then running out of the office like a little bitch?”

  Ouch. “Lennon, I—”

  “What was wrong with that kiss? Huh? Because I sure as hell enjoyed it. I thought it was pretty damn perfect. You made my toes tingle, Noah! Do you know how many men have made my toes tingle? One. Christian Grey.”

  “Christian Grey? The rich dude who’s into all that bondage shit?”

  “Focus, Noah,” she yells.

  “I made your toes tingle?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” she huffs, dropping her head to my shoulder.

  Lennon doesn’t say another word, and she doesn’t move a muscle when I load her up in my Chevelle. By the time we pull into my driveway, she’s passed out.

  Even asleep she’s beautiful. Too beautiful. Dropping my head against the head rest, I run my hands over my face and stare at her. How is it that this tiny little spitfire of a woman has managed to infiltrate my mind and my life? I put up walls, damn it! High fucking walls to prevent something like this from happening.

  It’s always been easy for me to walk away from a woman. So why can’t I seem to walk away from this woman?

  Lennon shifts around in the front seat, swallowing several times. I glance between her house and mine. My plan had been to take her home and tuck her into bed, but as it is, I’m worried about leaving her by herself. So, I do what any other respectable southern gentleman would do.

  As
smoothly and quietly as possible, I lift Lennon from my car, walk her inside my house, tuck her into my bed—after pulling off her heels—and I curl up on the couch for what I’m sure will be a restless night’s sleep.

  The sun slices through the curtain, jabbing me in the eye, and I moan, rolling over in bed. Only it’s not my bed.

  Oh shit, not my bed!

  Hand clenched over my chest, I quickly sit up, my eyes scanning the room.

  A large mahogany dresser sits against the wall. Other than that, and the bed I’m in, the room is fairly empty. Two laundry baskets sit in the corner, along with an oval mirror, and I see a frame on the floor, propped against the wall—almost as though someone meant to hang it up, but never got around to it.

  Sliding out of bed, I tiptoe across the room and pick up the frame so I can see what it holds.

  Nova.

  My heart slows inside my chest. As much as I don’t want to be at Noah’s house, it’s really a good thing. It could’ve been worse. I could’ve ended up at Cooper’s, and I was determined not to let that happen.

  I spent five minutes with Cooper last night and knew we would never work. And not because he wasn’t good looking, or sweet and charming, but because he wasn’t Noah. Noah gives me butterflies. Every time I see him or hear his voice—hell, every time I think about him—a whole swarm takes flight inside my stomach.

  That’s something I’m really going to have to work on, too, considering he and I can never happen.

  Taking a deep breath, I run my finger over the glass, reminding myself why Noah is trying to keep his distance. I resolve to walk out of this house.

  Thankfully, the room has an en suite bathroom, so I take a few minutes to straighten myself up before stepping out into the hall. The house is eerily quiet as I tiptoe toward the front door, heels in hand.

  If I’m lucky, I can make it out of here without being seen or heard. And if I’m really lucky, Noah is already at work. It is Thursday after all, and a quick glance at my watch tells me it’s nearly ten a.m. Noah probably gets up at the ass crack of dawn and has at least four hours of work in before I even crawl out of bed.

  Another reason why we wouldn’t work out.

  I sigh a breath of relief when I make it to the front door without encountering Noah.

  “Stop.”

  Shit.

  “I really need to get going,” I say, my hand still on the knob. “Busy schedule today.”

  Lies. All lies. All I’ve got is a date with Ben and Jerry, and my Kindle, where I’ll cry and fuss over Noah for a few hours before reminding myself that I am a strong, independent woman who doesn’t need a man. Then I’ll pick myself up, dust myself off, and do what I came here to do: Enjoy the peace and quiet—just me and my sewing machine as I work on more of my designs.

  Yes. That’s exactly what I need.

  Noah’s hand lands softly on my shoulder, and I drop my chin to my chest. I should’ve known he wasn’t going to let me get away that easily.

  “Five minutes,” he says, spinning me around.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Would you at least look at me?” he asks.

  “You’re asking for an awful lot here, mister,” I say, peeking up under spiked lashes—a reminder that I look like I’ve been run over by a train. Feeling self-conscious, I tug a hand through my hair. Or at least I try; Noah snags my wrist.

  “You look beautiful.”

  Son of a bitch, he’s making this whole staying mad thing hard. And he’s confusing the hell out of me. He’s an ass, he’s sweet, he kisses me, he’s an ass again, he’s sweet again. He’s playing a serious game of ping pong with my heart, and I’m not sure how much I can take.

  “Look, Noah.” I take a deep breath, trying to find my words. “You don’t have to feel bad for what happened Monday. I pushed you too far. You told me you didn’t want anything more, and I didn’t respect that.”

  “That’s what I want to talk—”

  “Please,” I beg, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “Please don’t make this harder or more awkward than it already is. I threw myself at you, and you don’t want me, so just let me walk away. Okay?”

  “I can’t.” Noah pins me against the door. “And you’re wrong. I do want you, more than I should.” Dipping his head, his lips skim across mine, teasing me. “You’re a drug, and I can’t get enough of you.”

  And then his mouth slams against mine, warm and unyielding. Our tongues duel for power, pushing, pulling, tasting, and somehow, it puts our first kiss to shame. This kiss is so much more. This time our bodies are on fire, writhing against each other, and I get it. I get what he was saying about being a drug, because this is an addiction.

  He is addicting.

  “I don’t want you to walk away,” he says between kisses.

  A moan pulls from my throat, and Noah’s tongue plunges deep, garnering control—control of my mouth, control of my body, and if I’m not careful, he’ll gain control of my heart. This kiss is all-consuming and soul-shattering, and I want more.

  So much more.

  “Please,” I beg, though for what, I’m not real sure.

  Noah’s hot mouth pulls from mine, his lips trailing along my throat as my head falls back against the door with a soft thud. Pushing his body against mine, he brings us flush from chest to thigh, his erection pressing firmly against my belly. I thrust my hips forward, pleading for some sort of friction. Ripping his mouth from my neck, he rests his forehead against mine, our chests heaving.

  “We need to talk,” he says, breathlessly.

  “Whatever you’re going to say, will it lead to more of this? Because I really like this.”

  “Kissing or rubbing?”

  “Both,” I breathe, nodding my head. “Definitely both.”

  “If you let me talk, it could probably lead to a lot more than kissing and rubbing.”

  Oh man. “Shutting up now.”

  Noah grins and presses his lips against mine again. This time softly, more gently, and promising so much more than kissing and rubbing. He steps back, and I whimper because let’s face it, his body feels fantastic pressed against mine, and I’m not ready for that to be over.

  “You promised more.”

  He leads me to the couch and tugs me down next to him. “And you promised to let me talk.”

  “Oh, fine,” I tease. “But can you make it snappy?”

  The smile on Noah’s face is nothing short of panty-melting. His cheeks flush, something I’m sure doesn’t happen often, and he glances down before looking back up.

  “I like you,” he says. “That’s no secret.”

  My eyes lock onto his cock, which is rock solid and practically throbbing through his jeans.

  Noah clears his throat. “Okay, I like you a lot. And I’m sorry I pushed you away the other day. I just wasn’t prepared for your kiss to affect me the way it did.”

  “And how was that?”

  “I wanted more.” He draws in a ragged breath, running a hand through his hair. “I never want more, Lennon. Usually once I get a taste, I’m done.”

  “Well, I’m happy to inform you I’m not your average fling.”

  He smiles ruefully and nods. “Yeah, I’ve already figured that out, babe. With you, I wanted more. I wanted to keep kissing you. I felt desperate to keep kissing you. I don’t like feeling desperate.”

  My heart leaps in my chest, and a smile stretches across my face. His words make me happy. Too happy.

  “This isn’t funny,” he says.

  I shake my head because no, it isn’t funny, but I can’t wipe the goofy smile from my face.

  “I’m being serious. I want you bad, probably more than I’ve ever wanted another woman, and that’s frightening because the last time I felt this way about a woman…I ended up a single parent.”

  I scoot closer to him, reaching for his hand. “Will you tell me about her?”

  His eyes flick to mine, a look of worry flashing across his face.

&nbs
p; “You don’t have to, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  Noah’s eyes shut, his head leaning back on the couch. Several moments pass without a word, and right about the time I open my mouth to tell him to forget about it, he starts talking.

  “Kim was my high school sweetheart. I was fifteen, and she was sixteen when we started dating. No one thought it would last because we were so young, but it did. Lasted all the way through high school and into college.”

  Pausing, Noah takes a few deep breaths, his face pinched in pain. My stomach knots with nerves, wondering where this is going.

  “We went to different colleges a couple of hours away from each other. I wasn’t sure if our relationship was going to survive, but it did. I think my love for her grew during that time. We each had new groups of friends, but I never cheated on her, not once. And to my knowledge, she stayed faithful as well.”

  “Wow,” I breathe. “That must’ve been hard. When did you have time to see her?”

  Noah looks up at me. “We drove to each other on the weekends. It wasn’t ideal, but it worked. One weekend during our junior year in college, I went to visit her, and she told me she was pregnant. I wanted to be upset, because we were too young, but I couldn’t find it in me. I was happy, despite the challenges I knew we’d face. Kim was not. She was devastated and angry. She spent that entire weekend screaming at me for ruining her life. I should’ve known something was up, because Kim wasn’t a yeller. Even when she was mad, she somehow always kept her composure.”

  There are so many questions I want to ask, but none of them seem appropriate so I keep quiet.

  Standing, Noah paces across the room, stopping in front of a picture of Nova. He picks it up, stares at it for a few seconds, and sets it back down.

  “I didn’t see Kim for four months after that. She refused to visit me, refused to let me visit her. I drove up to her school, but she was always conveniently gone. I was desperate to see her, to know she was okay, that the baby was okay.” He sighs, shaking his head. “Honestly, I didn’t think she’d have an abortion, but with the way she was acting, I couldn’t be sure. So I skipped classes one Tuesday and drove up there. I parked outside her apartment and waited for her to come home.”