Surviving Love

by K. F. Breene

  The bottom dropped out of her stomach and red bled into her face, the usual reaction to meeting an outstandingly gorgeous man for the first time.

  “Oh.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry.” A giggle escaped. “I was just deciding if I should get a bottle of wine or a case of beer. Or both?”

  She shrugged, her smile growing broader as she tried to stop her eyes from roaming lower, finding two hugely broad shoulders. His burly chest and muscular legs said he was a man of strength and power.

  Another giggle bubbled up—her stupid nervous reaction to clear the rampant butterflies raging through her stomach. His concentrated, beautiful stare wouldn’t release her, though, prompting a sheen of sweat to cover her forehead.

  Another giggle tore loose.

  I sound like a schoolgirl. Good God, Cassie, get a grip!

  She cleared her throat again, her stomach feeling like it was on a roller coaster with his big body so close and his ridiculously handsome face pointed her way.

  How many throat clears were too many? Because she really wanted to do it again to stave off the nervous giggles threatening to turn into manic, evil laughter.

  “I’m sorry. I’m not usually this stupid.”

  She shook her head to clear it and ripped her eyes away from that fabulous chest and back to the rack of wine in front of her.

  “Can I help?” he asked, putting two large hands in the pockets of jeans.

  Her gaze slipped sideways, unable to help herself. A sleeve of tattoos covered his heavily muscled left arm. His white tee-shirt, stretched over those shoulders and strained with his pecs and broad back fell loose around his waist, hinting at a thin waist to compliment trim hips.

  His right arm, so close to her, flexed marginally, a thick cord of muscle dancing.

  “Ha ha ha!” She couldn’t help herself. Butterflies were running amok.

  A quizzical expression slid over his handsome face, one eyebrow raising above the other, politely asking what was so outstandingly hilarious. In a moment he’d probably scan her wrist for mental ward identification….

  “Sorry! I’m an idiot!” She fanned herself, the nervous laughter bubbling up like a clown on laughing gas. “Wine is not funny. Um. Sure? With the help? I’ve never seen so much wine in one place. Well, in a grocery store, anyway. A small grocery store, I mean.”

  “Is this for you or…” His deep voice vibrated within her pleasantly.

  Another wave of giggles erupted. This was starting to get ridiculous.

  “Right, okay.” She wiped away a tear as another chuckle got loose. “Ready to face the decisions.”

  “Mind sharing the joke?”

  Those beautiful eyes wouldn’t stop staring. It was like he was trying to worry away her defenses and fake outer layer to get a look at the real her underneath. It was disconcerting and exciting and strange all at the same time—especially since he was an incredibly hot stranger with a hot bad boy feel about him.

  “Sorry, I’m just tired. Been driving a while.”

  He continued to analyze her silently.

  “Right. Okay. No, it’s a party. I don’t know anyone.”

  His gaze scanned the floor next to her where she’d put down the flowers and chocolate. “Would you like me to get you a basket?”

  “Oh no, no that’s fine.” She tried to force her hands into her pockets to hide her shaking. Her jeans were too tight, though. Damn skinny jeans. She couldn’t recall ever acting this stupid.

  “Right, uh. Okay,” Cassie said, trying to get back some control of the situation. “So these people probably have wine, and the father may or may not be a redneck.”

  It wasn’t just the good looks, though. That was lovely, but it was the raw, animalistic nature of this guy. He was so large and powerful, but so stoic. And that intent focus; it was like he had the power to wave away all other distractions and hone in on her individually; as if the world was a nuisance and he chose not to bother with it in favor of her.

  She barely held back the laughter this time. Obviously her current life crisis was inventing scenarios with a perfect stranger. Time to get her crap and go. This had gone on long enough.

  “Stop.” Cassie focused on the wine in front of her.

  “Excuse me?” He leaned in, the smell of pine and outdoors drifting from his body and flirting with her senses.

  “Not you. Me. I need to get this stuff. I have a friend in the car. Um, okay. So, right, possibly affluent people, and possibly redneck. There are differing opinions.”

  “Ah.” His brow furrowed and his lips quirked, humor dancing in those beautiful eyes. “Often, with a wine family, getting a bottle of somewhat exotic wine is a nice way of avoiding getting a bottle of local…less quality wine.”

  “Oh, good point.” Cassie scanned the signs, and realized they were standing in the foreign section. She glanced over at him. “Using your own advice?”

  He nodded once, his lips quirking harder. She wanted to make him smile. She had no idea why, but seeing that he was stopping himself from doing so made her want to force the issue.

  Now was not a good time for her more irritating personality quirks to make an appearance, though. She already had the awkward ones sailing high.

  “So…French?” she tried, reaching toward a bottle of Bordeaux.

  He reached for a bottle of Chianti Classico Riserva. “I usually go with Italian. French can get trendy. Italian is usually just…Italian. Good, respected, and lets you fly under the radar.”

  Nodding gratefully, because that’s exactly what she was after, she reached forward for the same bottle he chose. Seeing this, he moved to hand his bottle over to her. As her fingers brushed his, an electric shock lit her up—and not the pleasant, romantic kind. The kind from too much actual electricity that snaps into the skin and gives a jolt.

  She flinched. The bottle, nearly into her hand, shook loose. Knowing it would fall, and knowing the path it would take—toward the ground, obviously—she reacted instantaneously, snatching the bottle with the same hand while the other dove forward for backup. His hand, equally quick, did the same thing. They ended up shoulder to shoulder, both clutching the bottle of wine a foot from the ground.

  His gaze found hers again. Sparkling golden-brown with a tiny smile flirting on his lush lips. They straightened up together, both still holding the bottle, his fingers overlaying hers, large and warm and slightly rough. A man that could work with his hands.

  “Sorry.” A small sigh cut off her giggles.

  “Fast reactions.” He backed off slowly, his gaze sweeping her face before he took a step away. “I don’t usually see such quick reactions in a g—“ He cut off and glanced back at the rack.

  “For a girl, huh?” she flashed him a wicked smile.

  He shook his head, smile withered away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  “Yes you did!” She twirled her pointer finger at him. “I am quick for a girl. But maybe I’m also just plain quick. Quicker than you, maybe…”

  His gaze slid her way slowly, a challenge sparkling in his gorgeous eyes. His lips quirked again. “May-be…”

  She bent to pick up her chocolates. “A pushover. How boring. I’d totally rock your world in ping-pong.”

  “Ping-pong?” His head tilted, his eyebrows furrowed again, trying to keep up with her random conversation skills. She didn’t make it easy.

  “Yeah. Ping-pong. Because it’s the sport I’m the worst at. Obviously this girl would beat you at everything else.”

  That smile flirted again. He rolled those huge shoulders and reached for a bottle of wine. “That right?”

  “Destroy you. I’ve always been good for a girl. And usually better than all but the best guy. So…”

  He turned to her, his big body dwarfing hers regardless that she was also tall for a girl. That intense, completely focused look was back, challenge burning brightly. “I’m always the best guy.” He winked and stepped around her.

  He bent to the beer aisle and picked up a cra
te of Great White, a moderately strong ale. He glanced back at her and half-raised the crate. “Since I’m a redneck.” He moved away with powerful strides.

  She glanced at the beer. Then at the wine. Then at her stuff on the ground. “He just got the last word.”

  Well, that would never do.

  She snatched up her stuff, grabbed the same brand of beer, since he hadn’t led her wrong with the wine—she hoped—and hurried after him. Except…with wine slung under one arm, and the beer in her hand, and the flowers starting to get crushed, and the chocolate…

  “Oh crap.” The bottle started to wobble out of her grip. She bent her legs, somehow thinking this would work as a balancing tactic. It didn’t. The wine squirmed like a fighting child, trying to get free. The plastic on the flowers crinkled, one squeeze from being crushed.

  I should’ve taken that offer for a basket.

  She glanced up in desperation, about to put everything on the ground in the mouth of the aisle to figure out how to carry it if she didn’t find a store worker to help. Just then, she noticed that that glorious body was back, finishing two strides and then stopping at her side.

  “Here.”

  Eyes sparkling but face still stoic, he held out a red basket. He easily balanced his wine in the other arm with the beer in his hand.

  “Not fair, your arm is four times the size of mine.” She put her stuff down and took the basket gratefully.

  He helped her load the few things into the basket as his delicious smell of man and wilderness toyed with her senses. He eyed her beer choice silently.

  “I copied you, O Lord of Rednecks.” Her face went red. “Figured you’d know best.”

  “You don’t drink beer?” He didn’t move toward the check out.

  She didn’t, either, content to stay and bask in this man’s gorgeousness and deep voice and muscles. Lots and lots of well-defined muscles. It was like a sea of glorious, cut muscle.

  “I do, but not this stuff. Too strong. I don’t have the tolerance for it. I drink Corona, or Coors Light.”

  That smile flirted again. He stepped around her into the aisle, coming back a moment later with a crate of Corona. He exchanged it for the Great White. “In that case, take Corona. It’s a crowd pleaser and middle of the road.”

  “Kind of pushy, huh?” she said with a grin, arranging the basket so the flowers didn’t get flattened.

  He hesitated, tugging her focus back up to him. His body posture had changed from his confident, rough-and-tumble bearing to just slightly rigid. “Sorry—I shouldn’t have presumed.” He reached for the Corona again.

  “Oh my God, no.” She motioned him away like a guy in an orange vest directing airplanes on the runway. “No, this is good. I asked, right? I was just joking. Go put the Great White back—I don’t need it if I have the Corona.”

  He paused again. That furrowed brow and quirked lip was back, struggling against a smile. “You harass me one minute, need help the next, give me crap, and then end with a command. How do you juggle all the personalities?”

  She froze as her mouth dropped open, that assessment hitting a little too close to home. In fact, her last boyfriend had broken up with her for that very thing--she was a tornado that wore men out. Her utter chaos of personality drove people away.

  Her heart sank as that fun-loving sparkle left the stranger’s eyes. “So you want the Corona, or…”

  “Yup. Yes, the Corona will work. Sorry.” She dropped her hands, at a loss.

  “Then I’ll just put this back.” He hefted the Great White, hesitating.

  “Oh no, that’s okay. I can, if you want. I can do it.”

  Without a word, he turned back to the aisle to put away the beer.

  Way to jam up the good time with your issues, Cassie.

  She scoffed at herself as she gathered her stuff and walked toward the checker like a grumbling old man. Where was her head lately? Up, down—she was all over the place.

  It didn’t matter, though. She wasn’t here for a love connection. She was here to help a friend through a hard week. Plus, this guy was probably that same asshole she always went for. He had all the criteria—the tattoos, the tough guy vibe, the bad boy persona, and all the glorious muscles. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the chip on his shoulder and hesitancy to smile.

  She wasn’t missing out; she was intelligently avoiding another asshole—that was all.

  Nodding decisively to herself, she ignored that delicious smell as it wafted closer, his easy gait and obvious confidence definitely screaming athlete.

  Too bad Cassie wouldn’t get to see if he was as good as he said. She might be a disaster in her love life, but she fit perfectly in any athletic setting. Guys always thought women weren’t as good—she never let their ignorance and obvious disdain bother her when she asked to play a sport, and she never held their surprise and disbelief over them when they finally changed their mind.

  Yeah, she’d totally rock him.

  She grinned slightly to herself as her bad mood lightened. She paid her bill and shot a glance his way. His beautiful gaze, watching her, stirred her stomach. “See ya. Thanks for the help.”

  “Have a good party,” he said in a deep rumble as she hefted her purchases and headed for the door.

  Out in the crisp sunshine she veered around a shiny black Harley parked on the edge of the sidewalk, the owner apparently thinking parking spots didn’t apply to him, and found Peter reading a magazine in the car. As predicted, a new outfit lay in the back seat, stretched out so it wouldn’t get wrinkled.

  “Marcus is a bad influence,” she accused, loading the groceries into the trunk.

  “What took you so long?” Peter asked out the window.

  “I ran—“

  A roll of thunder from the Harley crashed through her sentence. Two muscled arms held the handle bars as muscular legs pushed the large bike into the parking lot. Those muscles rippled and moved as the rider maneuvered the heavy bike into position to take off. The beer had been strapped to the back seat, riding bitch, and the wine must’ve been stowed in one of the saddlebags.

  His gaze met hers across the sleepy parking lot. He nodded once in goodbye, before the roar sent the bike on its way.

  “I ran into a hot guy,” Cassie finished as she watched him expertly guide his bike out onto the street. “Apparently he also rides a motorcycle and thinks rules don’t apply to him.”

  “You did?” Peter popped out of the car so fast it seemed like magic. The bike was already disappearing around a corner, though. “How hot?”

  “Jeez, can you grow up?” Cassie shut the trunk and opened the back seat door, eyeing the outfit Peter had chosen.

  “You tell me about a hot guy riding a motorcycle, and you want me to act with decorum?” Peter raised his eyebrows.

  Cassie laughed. “True. I see your point.” She pointed at the outfit. “What’d you do, go through my things?”

  “Yes. Don’t worry, though, I made sure to repack just like you had it. I’m impressed with your ability.”

  Cassie rolled her eyes. “Okay, well, take a walk and I’ll shrug into this stuff. Or, better yet, stand guard. I should probably put on a layer of makeup, too.”

  “I got out your brush.”

  “Super,” she said sarcastically.

  After an uncomfortable change, a quick donning of war paint, and a yanking of a brush through her hair, they were back on the road, headed to Ground Zero.

  “Should we check in at the hotel first?” Cassie asked.

  Peter checked his watch. “No, we’ll do it later. I said we’d get to the house about now. My mom likes everyone there before she starts dinner.”

  Cassie opened her window a crack to suck in the fragrant air. “It’s beautiful here,” she breathed, eyes scanning constantly. “So picturesque.”

  “You’ve never been up this way?” Peter asked.

  Cassie shook her head, turning left where the navigation directed. “I lived in San Francisco for a while, but I never w
ent north past Sausalito. Then I followed Sean to Krista in L.A. and here we are.”

  Peter heaved a huge sigh, something he was doing a lot lately, as they turned off the two-lane road onto a gravelly one-lane road hugged by weeds and bushes. They wound towards the top of a small hill before a lovely house with a wrap-around porch came into view. It nestled beautifully between exquisite gardening and lush green trees, the many large windows facing a valley below.

  “Wow.” Cassie slowed so she could take in the manicured rows of grapes behind the house and the flame of fall colors crisping the vegetation. “This is…”

  “Yeah, it’s nice.” Peter stared at the cars parked in the grass and brush off to the sides of the driveway close to the house. His hand found his stomach and started rubbing slowly.

  “You okay?”

  He nodded, his eyes finding something near the house. “Jace is here. Good. Two black sheep and two perfect soldiers. He usually takes a bunch of the disappointment from my parents, leaving me without as much.”

  “Jace is the oldest one, right? Why are your parents disappointed with him?” Cassie followed his gaze. Her stomach heaved uncomfortably and then filled with butterflies as she recognized a shiny black Harley right next to the porch.

  Of course he was Peter’s unavailable brother. “I just can’t win.”

  Check it out: Love and Chaos