by Mia Josephs
Everything in Donovan stiffened. He wasn’t the kind of guy to get upset over guys checking out girls. He’d never minded if men looked at Alyson. Was it because he felt protective of Sierra in a brother-like way? Or was she turning him into someone he didn’t know?
“I know, right?” Sierra laughed as she stepped in the shop and Donovan could see why the guy was staring. Mid-thigh sundress and heels that stretched her legs for miles.
“That’s what I told him.” The guy laughed too loudly, and two others just like him—different colored polo shirts—followed her inside.
Why had he pictured a group of girls?
“Hey, Van!” She waved with childlike enthusiasm, and he once again saw her as the thirteen-year-old girl.
Someone he really needed to protect.
“These are the guys.” She gestured to each as they stopped in front of Donovan. “Brandon, Lane, and Cole.”
He shook each of their hands before stepping back. “Hasmussen still teaching that class?”
“Yes.” The guys groaned.
He hadn’t thought to ask Sierra.
“So, I hope this all works out for both of us,” he said. “Want me to show you around?”
“I got it, Van.” Sierra half danced toward him. “It’s the stuff we set aside along the left wall, right?”
He nodded.
“And sidewalk sale? Maybe a tent?”
Donovan shifted. “You might have to—”
“Check with the city. We got it,” one of the guys said.
Donovan nodded. “And your teacher is okay with this?”
“He remembered you,” Cole said with a smirk.
Huh. “Yeah. Me and Hasmussen didn’t always get along.”
Brandon’s arms tightened. “He said you weren’t driven enough.”
What an asshole.
“And Hasmussen is teaching people how to run businesses, and I'm running a business.” Donovan shrugged.
The guys laughed.
“I’m guessing you’d rather him not know I offered you all a kickback?” Donovan asked guessing that Hasmussen would have put a fast stop to them earning money while working for a grade.
“That’d actually be great.” And damn Brandon for sounding genuine.
Donovan had no idea why he was defensive. About all of them. About the situation.
“I can lock up. You close in a couple minutes anyway, right?” Sierra asked.
He scanned the three guys. Sierra was fine. Of course she was, but he couldn’t shake the idea that he didn’t want her alone with them, and he was too amped about it to decipher whether it was selfishly for him, or for her actual safety.
“I’ve got paperwork to do. You four plan away. Let me know if you need anything.”
He took a step back and knew he’d immediately disappeared to them with the way they’d started to talk over each other. The thought of it ached in his chest. Was he not one of the young people anymore? Was he not important enough? He’d gotten used to Sierra’s attention—if that was even the right word.
He was tired and over-thinking. His brain was addled after talking to Gavin. Knowing he was about to play on one of the biggest stages he’d ever played on, made him wonder what the hell he’d been thinking when he said yes.
Donovan wandered back to the office he’d been half hiding in all day. He looked over numbers for August, and the store had done really well with the college students coming back to school, but winters were a lot slower, and he’d have to be careful with the thousands he’d pulled in.
Flipping open his notebook, he itched to have his guitar there. To play with the words he’d written and chord changes and patterns… There were about five bits of different songs, but nothing complete. He knew he had to have at least a few new things to play, even though it had been a while since he’d had a real gig.
Excited voices carried into his office from the back room and Donovan’s stomach twisted up. Why? He jumped up and stood next to his cracked office door.
“You have these loose curls.” Brandon laughed, touching the ends of Sierra’s hair.
Donovan wanted to leap across the room and shove the guy’s hand away. He glanced toward Sierra whose cheeks were turning pink. And then at Brandon who was using the opportunity of Sierra watching the ground to stare at her cleavage.
Huh. Maybe clean-cut Brandons were her type.
Donovan looked down at his worn jeans and boots. Knew he looked about four years younger than his twenty-four years, but… Brandon?
It shouldn’t matter. Sierra was a sister to him. He hadn’t even been around to check out who she was or wasn’t dating. It shouldn’t matter now. Actually, her dating someone else would fix a lot of things for him.
He shoved out of his office so fast, he nearly fell over forward.
“I’m headed to 5th street,” he said, knowing Sierra would get that he was headed to the bar. “Gonna play tonight.” He had no idea if he was going to play or not, but since Sierra had brought it up, he knew it was an easy way out.
Cole snapped his fingers. “That’s where I know you from! You’re wicked awesome on the guitar.”
Wicked awesome? Donovan gave him a short wave and tried not to look at Sierra. Kept his eyes up.
“See you at home. Late probably. Chuck’s at the bar.” His pathetic sentences were annoying even himself. “Later.”
And he shoved his way out of the stock room.
Why did he want to throw up at the thought of her going out with Brandon? Why? Sierra could take care of herself. She’d been doing fine before she moved in with him, and she’d be fine after she moved out on her own again.
He sent Chuck a text. Messed in the head today. Need to get wasted. You in?
Chuck answered immediately. I’m already there.
“Van!” Sierra called jogging toward him in her heeled shoes.
He kept his eyes on her face, not wanting to repeat whatever ogling Brandon had been doing. Donovan paused next to the front door of the empty shop. “Yeah?”
She stopped just in front of him, a few wisps of hair floating over her face, and he reached out to tuck them aside.
Her breath caught as his fingers touched the soft strands, her cheeks still pink from running across the store. Van dropped his hand. Idiot. And wisps of hair? She was Sierra. Sierra didn’t have wisps or strands or whatever. She was Hanson’s sister. She had hair. That’s it.
“You’re being really weird again.”
“Will you be okay?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
Donovan shoved his hands in his pockets before jerking them back out. Sierra wasn’t someone he needed to be uncomfortable around. “Brandon’s coming on a little strong.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Sierra asked.
Donovan cringed. “Never mind.”
Sierra’s brows twitched like she was trying to decide if she was angry or not. “I can handle Brandon. Have fun at the bar.”
There might have been a hint of annoyance in her words, and his chest tightened in response.
He leaned to step away, but his feet remained planted. “See you at home.”
He leaned away again but her hand grasped his bicep. “I don’t want any weird between us, okay?” she asked. “Call for…whatever.”
Her touch ricocheted warmth through his body. This was so very weird. So, so very weird. He wanted to tell her that he’d accepted a gig. A big one. That knowing close to thirty thousand people had watched a half-assed performance in the local bar was freaking him out. In a good way. And a bad way. That he wrote her brother only hadn’t heard back, which was probably better because he didn’t know what to tell him anyway. Donovan cleared his throat and forced a normalish smile. “Thanks again for helping with the sale.”
Sierra stood at the shop door and watched Donovan walk up the sidewalk and cross the nearly deserted street. Wednesday weeknights weren’t exactly bustling. Maybe he’d look back. Maybe he’d give her something to go on. To thi
nk about. To wonder about. Maybe… Maybe she was seeing things in his niceness that just weren’t there.
Donovan’s gaze remained in front of him. Sierra felt like she’d swallowed her heart and stomach.
Blinking back tears that added to the humiliation she felt, Sierra sucked in a breath and stepped back into the store, flipping over the closed sign and locking the door. Why did he care about Brandon? Why had he stuck around to begin with and why did he practically leap out the door in the next minute? She watched Donovan step into the bar down the street and let out a long sigh.
“Sierra?” Brandon called.
“Coming!” She re-joined her group in the back room, knowing she wouldn’t be able to focus.
It was stupid to be awake at two am, knowing she had to be at her nine am class, but instead of going to bed, Sierra slid deeper into the couch, watching an old House Hunters on Netflix. Therapy TV.
Her marketing group had basically outlined their whole project, and all that was left was to actually print off the flyers and make a few phone calls to set up two tents in the parking lot. Maybe some added Facebook promo, and a radio station nod. Simple. Done.
Van had been…weird at best. After their night out and then their movie night, and their relaxing morning, she thought they were past the weirdness. She really needed them to be if she ever wanted to have the guts to talk to Van about how she felt for real. But after how off he felt earlier that night…
When she was a kid, he’d picked her up after soccer practice more than anyone else in her house, and was always the first one to tell her how delicious something she baked was. And had she thought about him too much over the past few years? Maybe. But she hadn’t put her life on hold for him.
Finally feeling like her age shouldn’t be a barrier, made being around him and not being with him, achingly frustrating. She knew him. And they’d have so much fun as a couple. She just wasn’t quite sure how to show him that yet.
She’d spent the evening digging out old music posters to hang around Donovan’s guitars, knowing it would also give her a day or two worth of blog posts. She clutched her blanket more tightly, her eyes growing heavier.
Keys clanked against the door and she jumped to sitting, the key noise still clanking, and she sucked in a breath. Had she been holding her breath?
More scraping. Sierra stood and slowly crossed the room, peeking through the spy hole to see Donovan’s messy red hair.
So. Probably wasted.
She slid the deadbolt and turned the knob. When she opened the door, Donovan had backed away and stared wide-eyed at the door.
“You,” he slurred.
“Me.” Sierra nodded once, a little unsure of what to expect from him.
He stumbled forward a couple steps, nearly touching his nose to hers. “I thought you were a ghost. The door was moving…”
“You’re drunk,” she said, even though it was completely obvious.
Donovan gave her a crooked smile. “Yes. I don’t do this very often, but I generally make an ass out of myself when I do. You’re going to think it happens a lot more than it does, but I promise… This is not normal Donovan. This is confused Donovan.”
“I’ve been warned.” She stepped back. “Are you coming in?”
“I liver here,” he stated.
“You do.” She gestured for him to walk in, and he did, the smell of cigarette smoke and beer and whatever else he’d had to drink wafted in with him.
Sierra sighed, wishing she knew what he was confused about.
The moment she closed the door, he stood next to her, staring at her with his soft eyes. Very Donovan like eyes. Sweet. Protective. Amused.
“You’re still in there,” she said.
He was drunk, but not completely wasted. Just…a bit wasted.
“You’re so so pretty. And so awesome. And I’m so drunk. And this is not a good combination.” He leaned closer, his eyes seeming conflicted but still kind. Always with Van.
Her throat tightened. “Why isn’t this a good combination?”
“Because my self-control is all washed out by beer. I’m like my asshole dad that way. Wish I wasn’t…”
“What does that mean, Van?”
“It means I really should walk away before I do something stupid.” He swayed toward her, pausing too far away. “I should just go to my room and shut the door. Not come out until I’m one hundred percent sober.”
She leaned in closer to him, wondering if she was being a horrible person for possibly taking advantage of his inebriation. Talking to him in ways she’d never dare if he hadn’t been drinking. “What would be stupid?”
“Because I look at you, and you’re… You are so perfect. But it’s more…” He swayed to the side for a moment before taking a few steps and sitting on the couch.
His eyes shot up to the wall. “There’s stuff.”
She glanced up even though she’d measured frames and spacing about a million times before actually hanging anything. “Yep,” she answered.
Sierra followed, telling herself it was just to watch over him, but the closeness of him… of who he was… Donovan always felt like everything when they were close and she craved more of it. She sat sideways, facing him.
“I know you.” He tapped his chest and then hers. “There. You know? I know you. So it’s not just that you’re pretty, it’s that I love you because I know you. And I don’t love you in that way, but I love because we’ve known each other. But maybe I could love you in that way, and what do I do with that?”
Hope creeped in, warming her and cooling her and amping parts of her up in excitement and relaxing other parts of her in relief. “I know you, too,” she whispered. “So well.”
“I should go.” But he leaned closer.
“What if I don’t want you to go?” She bit her lip and Donovan’s thumb stroked her lower lip until she let it go. The small touch smashed through her body and she inched closer, craving the warmth of him.
“That might have been stupid,” he said quietly.
Her hands shook. Her heart flipped. “What else might be stupid?”
Her voice sounded all breathy and strange, but he didn’t seem to care. Donovan stared at her face, her neck, her lips. His finger touched her jaw line and ran slowly down her neck until he reached her collarbone. “I really want to kiss you. I’m not supposed to want to kiss you.”
Now or give up.
Sierra scooted closer, resting her legs over Van’s. “That makes no sense.”
“I don’t know what makes sense.” His hands slid down her arms until he held her waist. “I want you closer.”
Sierra gathered every bit of new confidence she had and let him guide her until she straddled his lap. Her body tightened in anticipation of where he’d touch her next.
His hands stroked her sides. “Everything and nothing makes sense. You feel like you make sense, but maybe that’s the Daniels.”
He glanced down at how she sat on his lap. “We should always sit like this in here. I like this. But this is such a bad idea. Hanson’s sister… Clark’s daughter… Such a bad idea. Hanson hasn’t even written me back. What am I supposed to do with that?”
She rested her hands on his shoulders, her fingertips stroking the skin near the collar of his t-shirt, really not wanting to talk about her brother. “I like this, too.”
“Maybe if you kiss me, it won't be bad. It would be okay.” He leaned his head back on the couch. “Your brother might not kill me. Maybe you don’t want to kiss me.”
Kiss Donovan.
“I want to kiss you.” The millions of times she played first kisses with Van out in her head, this wasn’t quite what she’d pictured, but dreams were just dreams. Donovan was real, she was on his lap, and he was asking her for a kiss.
Slipping her fingers up the back of his neck and threading them through the bottom of his hair, she ached with wanting him. Tightening her hold, she leaned forward and nipped his bottom lip before sucking it gently into her mout
h.
His body tightened underneath her, his hands gripped her sides before sliding up the back of her neck. His mouth opened and their kiss deepened.
Her legs squeezed on his hips, and she arched toward him, needing to feel the pressure of him against her.
All she knew was his mouth on her mouth and his hands on her hair and then on her back and then slipping her shirt over her head because she needed more of his hands on her. His kisses weren’t sloppy drunk kisses. Firm but soft lips, exploring tongue, hungry grasping hands—tight but not too tight. Everything fueled her body, making her beg for more of him. More kissing. Touching. Holding. Exploring.
Heat spiraled through her body as their mouth met again and again. “I want you,” she breathed.
Donovan answered by tipping them over on the couch, his weight on her. His hardness pressed between her legs and his tongue once again exploring her mouth.
This was him. And her. And what she’d wanted since she knew people were together this way.
Donovan paused, his breath rushing against her neck. “I’m pretty sure I’m drunk enough that this seems like a really good idea, but is actually a really bad idea.” He chuckled a little.
Sierra eased her hands up the back of his shirt and he shivered above her.
“But I might not care…”
“I want you,” she said again. She slipped near the edge of the couch, and Donovan lowered them to the floor, his body once again hovering over her for a moment before his weight rested on her.
He trailed kisses up and down her neck, pausing to lightly suck on her ear. She couldn’t stop. Not at that moment. Not when they were so close. Sierra shoved the small tables away to give them more space on the floor.
Was she taking advantage of him by pressing? She flattened her hands on the floor, determined not to touch him again until he wanted to move forward, but felt the word form on her lips too late to stop it. “Please, Van. I’m okay. I want this. I want you.”
His mouth collided with hers.
Everything tangled together. Hands, bodies, clothes, more hands. More twisting and moving to strip down and then the scratch of the carpet underneath her, the feel of his hands on her sides as they moved together and then as Donovan rolled onto his back, the strength of him carefully rolling her with him as they continued to move together. Everything faded and buzzed and she let his inhibitions be hers until her body twisted and spiraled into a release that came out in a strangled cry of his name and a few seconds later she felt him tighten and shudder beneath her, his arms once again wrapping around her, holding her close. Pulling her to him. Caressing her hair and her sides and her arms and her heart.