Paige in Progress (Reluctant Hearts #3)

by Brighton Walsh

  And then I make the mistake of looking at him. His eyes are dark and hungry, the baby blue eaten up by black pupils, and a flush blooms on his cheeks. It smells like sex in here, and with his fingers still wet from me and him looking at me like he wants to devour me, I can’t take this. I need to get out of here. Regroup. Maybe give myself a lobotomy.

  I spin for the door, and my hand closes on the knob, ready to turn.

  “This isn’t finished, Paige.” His voice is low and rough and halts my movement.

  My shoulders tighten, my posture going rigid, because I’m afraid he’s right. And worse, I’m worried that getting any more involved with Adam Reid will completely demolish all my defenses. Defenses I’ve worked years to perfect.

  Looking at him over my shoulder, I say, “I finished just fine. You’ll have to work yourself out on your own.” I pull open the door and march out into the pub, faking a confidence I certainly don’t feel.

  Because I know he’s right. This definitely isn’t finished.

  And I’m afraid I don’t want it to be.

  FIVE

  adam

  My fingers are still wet from Paige when she rushes out of the bathroom. And all I can do is stare at her back as she flees. It smells like sex in here¸ like Paige, and my cock is hard enough to pound nails. I want nothing more than to bring my fingers to my mouth and suck, get a little refresher of her taste, because my memories don’t do it justice. But I don’t. I refuse to.

  The next time I taste her pussy, it’s going to be straight from the source while her legs are over my shoulders and I can listen to her out-of-control moans while I do it.

  By the time I get out to the table, there’s no Paige in sight. Though that’s not exactly a surprise. I knew she was going to bail, but she bailed. I wasn’t that far behind her, and I don’t even see a flash of her blond hair by the door. The last thing I want to do is sit around with everyone a while longer. I want to go after her. Get some answers and find out why the hell she’s been avoiding me, why she says she doesn’t like me. Which I call total bullshit on, by the way. That girl is fighting something, and it feels a hell of a lot like she’s fighting me, specifically.

  Even though I want to leave, I still pull out my chair and take a seat. And though everyone is giving me covert glances, no one says anything about my disappearance coinciding with Paige’s. Which is probably a good thing, because I’m sure none of them are interested in hearing how her orgasm felt around my fingers.

  Jesus.

  That girl is a damn pro at giving out mixed signals. She spouts off to me, coming at me with her defensive words at the same time she melts into my body, tilts her hips up so I can push deeper into her pussy.

  I repress a groan at the thought of my fingers inside her and shift in my seat, trying to adjust the major hard-on I’ve had since laying eyes on her again without drawing attention to myself. When I reached into her panties and found out how wet she was—fucking drenched—I barely held my composure. I wanted to take her right there. In a goddamn bathroom.

  I’m not that guy.

  I’m not the guy who has one-night stands, who fucks on the first date, who has public sex because I can’t wait to get someplace private. I’m methodical…safe in my relationships, because when it comes down to it, that’s what I want. I want a relationship—one like my parents have. Despite all the shit they’ve dealt with over the years with the store—the ups and downs and plummets when they thought it couldn’t get any worse—they’ve always maintained a solid marriage.

  Because of that, it’s something I’ve always strived for. I never went through the sowing my oats phase Cade and Jase both did. I was always content getting lucky while being in committed relationships. And if I wasn’t in one? I didn’t get laid. Simple as that.

  And then Paige happened.

  Before that night just after Christmas, I only ever saw her in passing when I’d come home for breaks, but I saw enough of her to know she was gorgeous. Like, drop-dead, is-this-girl-real gorgeous. And until that night, I didn’t realize what a contradiction she is, because she isn’t just a bombshell. She’s a bombshell with the mouth of a sailor and an attitude to match it.

  It shouldn’t turn me on. She shouldn’t turn me on. I like my women petite and a little shy. Even-keeled and mellow. Paige is none of those things. She’s loud and vibrant and passionate and crass. She looks like a supermodel and acts like a trucker, and I love it, but I have no idea why.

  Jase raps his knuckles on the table in front of me, getting my attention. “What happened back there, man?” He leans toward me across the table, his voice low enough to keep the conversation between the two of us.

  I glance over and notice Tessa talking with Cade and Winter, her story about Haley shaking glitter all over the living room carpet holding their attention. Looking back to Jase, I say, “Took a piss.”

  He stares at me. “For ten minutes,” he says flatly.

  Instead of answering him, I shrug and take a drink from my beer, draining the bottle. He’s always been one to run his mouth, sharing way more details about his sexual conquests than Cade or I ever needed to know. Until Tessa, that is. But me? I don’t share shit with them—not about stuff like this. They know more about me than anyone else, but what I do with my dick is my business and no one else’s. So my silence isn’t unusual.

  But that’s the problem.

  If it had been anything but sexual, I would’ve told him about it. Probably asked his opinion, because for having been a player, Jason has some insights that don’t always occur to me. But now? He knows something’s up with Paige and me. He just doesn’t know what, exactly. And since Tessa can’t keep a secret worth shit, especially from Jase, that means Paige never told her.

  That shouldn’t bother me as much as it does.

  I need to get her alone…and not alone in a public bathroom where I finger her. Someplace where I can dig deeper and find out what her deal is. I want to know what she thought of that night—if I’m the only one who’s been thinking about it non-stop since it happened. If I’m the only one who dreams about it, who thinks about it when I come.

  And despite her doing everything in her power to turn me away from that studio apartment in her building, you can bet I’m calling about it on Monday. Get me out of my parents’ house and make it so Paige can’t run away every time I get close?

  Sounds like a win-win to me.

  SIX

  paige

  It’s been nearly a week since The Bathroom Incident, as I’ve come to call it. Normally, Tessa and I hang out a couple times during the week, and I never miss the weekly girls’ night we’ve had every Tuesday since forever.

  I missed this week’s.

  I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t sit across from her, talk with her at all, because I wasn’t going to be able to hide this from her. She’s been harassing me all week, calling and texting, asking what the hell went on last weekend. She doesn’t mention Adam’s name, but she doesn’t have to. I know that’s what she’s thinking.

  And she’s right.

  I can’t get him out of my head, the bastard. When I close my eyes, I feel his warm breath on my neck, his hoarse, whispered words in my ear. I feel his body against mine, the hard length of his cock pressed into my hip, his fingers moving inside me.

  Who am I? I don’t do this. I don’t pine or daydream over a guy unless he’s Ryan Gosling. And, honestly, Ryan doesn’t hold a candle to Adam and his gruff voice and naughty words. Adam looks like he was photoshopped, too, his abs and chest a work of art. A work of art I want to drown in chocolate syrup and lick up.

  The only thing that’s managed to occupy my mind has been my internship. It’s fucking awesome, being at the station and being immersed in exactly what I want to do…

  Okay, that’s a lie. It sucks ass. All I’ve done so far is get coffee and file reports. The reports have been interesting to read, but it kills me that I’m not doing anything. I’ve been itching for the past two years to get into
the field, but now it’s worse than ever, being so close and still so far away. But then I remind myself it’s only been four days, and I can’t expect miracles overnight. I’ll just have to charm them with my sparkling personality and knowledge of the field and coerce them into hopefully letting me get my hands a little dirty.

  I snort into my pitiful Lean Cuisine and roll my eyes. If my sparkling personality is the only thing I have to lean on to get me where I want to go, I’m fucked.

  My phone buzzes next to me on the couch cushion with a text from Tessa.

  Jason’s with Haley and I’m a free agent. Can I come over?

  I should’ve known she’d corner me tonight. This isn’t the first time she’s asked me that this week. I purse my lips as I type back a lie I hate telling her.

  Sorry, still at the station. Raincheck?

  I press send and stand from the couch, bringing the paper container that held my “gourmet” meal into the kitchen when a pounding thuds at my door, sending me a foot in the air.

  “You are not at the station, you little liar!”

  Like she can see inside, I freeze, empty Lean Cuisine and water bottle in my hands. Maybe if I don’t move or speak or breathe, she’ll go away.

  “I can smell whatever the hell you just cooked for dinner. I’m not going to go away!”

  Fuck.

  Blowing out a deep breath, I throw my fork in the sink and everything else in the garbage, then head to the door, preparing myself for a verbal beating from my best friend.

  A verbal beating I can’t say I don’t deserve.

  I don’t even get out a hello before she’s plowing past me, tossing her purse on my counter and spinning on me. “Time’s up, Paige.” She crosses her arms and taps her foot, and I repress a smile. Tessa isn’t tough. She’s tiny, her head perfectly in line with my boobs, and she’s always been more of a lover than a fighter. Even though she’s a strong woman and doesn’t take shit, especially from Jason, she’s just never had a rough-and-tumble personality. Seeing her all riled up like this is amusing. Probably shouldn’t laugh, though.

  My best course of action is to play dumb. “Time’s up for what?”

  “For me giving you your space. I know you’re mad at me about something, so spit it out already.”

  This is our thing. We don’t beat around the bush with each other; we just get straight to the point. Since we became friends when I moved back to Michigan as a junior in high school, it’s been transparent with us. I don’t do girlfriends. It might be the fact that I grew up in a military family, or that I have two older brothers who’ve never held back with me, or that my parents have only encouraged my tomboy inclinations, but I’ve always gotten along better with guys. So when Tessa and I became friends and we had our first fight, I handled it like I would with a guy. Said something to her along the lines of, “What the fuck is your problem? I wanna get lunch.”

  I should’ve known she’d do this. And I should’ve known she’d think it was all on her. While I am upset she told Adam about that apartment when she specifically thought I didn’t like him, she’s not the one I’m pissed off at. Nope, that award goes straight to myself.

  Instead of answering her, I go to the freezer to pull out our usual indulgence—double fudge brownie ice cream—then grab two spoons and head to the couch. She follows, plopping down next to me as she tucks one leg under the other so she can face me. I pop off the top of the container and pass a spoon over to her before digging in myself.

  Around a bite of creamy, sugary goodness, I say, “I’m a little pissed you offered the place across the hall to Adam.”

  She freezes with the spoon halfway to her mouth, her brows drawn. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, seriously. Have I done a shitty job of giving the impression that he’s not my favorite person?”

  “Well, no. I caught on to that when you said, ‘stop talking about that asshole,’ but I still don’t get it. How can anyone hate Adam? He’s the nicest guy in the world.”

  I can’t help it. I snort. “Nice. He’s not nice. He’s the devil incarnate, and he’s made it his mission to make my life hell.”

  “Okay, what the crap is going on? Because I really feel like I’m missing something here. You acted all weird at the pub on Friday and then you flew out of there like your underwear were on fire, but even before that…” She trails off, shaking her head. “I just don’t get it. Something’s up. What aren’t you telling me?”

  I avoid eye contact, digging into the ice cream and stuffing my mouth with it just to buy some time. I wonder how sick I’ll get if I eat this whole container, and if that would deter her from getting answers. Might be worth puking if I can avoid this a while longer. When I reach to scoop another bite, Tessa snatches the spoon from my hand.

  “Hey!” I say, trying to get it back.

  “Nope.” She shakes her head, holding my spoon hostage. “Not happening. Spill, or no more ice cream.”

  “You know I have a whole drawer of spoons, right?”

  She narrows her eyes until they’re nearly slits on her face. She’s not budging on this.

  I blow out a breath, my shoulders slumping as I lean back against a throw pillow. “Fine. You remember when you, Winter, and I went out after Christmas? When Jase came and left you that note?”

  Her cheeks turn pink at the mention of those freakin’ notes, and if I didn’t love her so much, I’d hate her. She’s actually swooning in front of me. Gag.

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  “Well…Jase may have asked Adam to take me home, because I was a little too tipsy to drive. And I may have asked him to come inside. And then I maaaaay have fucked him. Maybe.”

  Tessa gasps, her eyes comically wide. She’s speechless for several minutes. “Adam?” she finally sputters. “You fucked Adam. My sweet, caring, relationship-loving Adam had a one-night stand with you, that’s what you’re telling me.”

  I huff out a breath and roll my eyes. “He might be your sweet, caring, relationship-loving Adam, but to me, he’s just the guy who fucked me against my front door. And over the arm of my couch. And laid me out on the dining room table and feasted on me until I was hoarse from screaming.”

  Her mouth hangs open as she stares at me. And it’s a testament to how caught off guard she is that she’s not even freaking out about sitting on the same couch I mentioned he fucked me on. Reaching over, I tap two fingers under her chin. “Close your mouth, sweetie. No cocks around.”

  She shakes her head as if trying to clear it and opens and closes her mouth several times, broken words spilling out. Finally, she scrunches up her face. “Holy shit, that’s weird.”

  “Weird? Uh, no. I can guarantee that it was anything but weird. Mind-blowing? Unprecedented? Unparalleled? Yes, all of those. Weird? Not even a little.”

  “That isn’t what I mean. It’s just strange hearing about this guy I’ve known my whole life do all those things. Weird and a little gross.”

  “Wasn’t that, either.”

  “Yeah, so now I really don’t get it. If it was all those things, why aren’t you jumping all over that? Especially now that he’s here for a few months.”

  I just stare at her, because I shouldn’t have to say it. I don’t have to say it, because realization dawns on her face. “Paige…” She shakes her head. “Seriously, you have got to stop running scared from something that happened years ago.”

  My spine snaps straight, because I don’t run scared from anything. Least of all feelings. I’d just…rather not have them. Been there, done that. Got the T-shirt that says, Congrats, you changed your whole life for a guy and it blew up in your face. So, yeah, forgive me for not wanting to go there again. “I’m not.”

  “You are. You haven’t had a relationship—serious or otherwise—since Bryan.”

  I try not to cringe at the mention of his name. “That’s not true. I have lots of relationships.”

  “It doesn’t count if it lasts less than a week.”

  Well, shit. That pretty
much makes up my entire adult dating history.

  “Look, I get it,” she says. “What he did was shitty. Seeing it with your own eyes was shittier. Watching me go through everything with Nick was shitty, too. And I know you were there for Dillon when he went through everything with his ex-wife, but you can’t base the outlook of your entire romantic life on the bad luck of a couple people.”

  I snort because she’s downplaying everything to a ridiculous degree. Watching her, pregnant and alone at seventeen, taking the full brunt of the judgmental stares and barely hidden gossip at school while her fucker of an ex bailed on her was hard enough. Watching my oldest brother deal with finding out his wife fucked his best friend? While he was deployed? Even worse. And all that after seeing my boyfriend—the guy I thought I loved…the guy I changed my life for—letting some girl bounce on his cock in the front seat of my car? Yeah, it affected me and every “relationship” I’ve had since. And I’m not sorry about that. I like my life. I love my life. And that includes my lack of a significant other.

  “Do you know what the divorce rate is?” I snatch my spoon back and jab it in her direction. “It’s not just a couple people. It’s the whole fucking world. Plus, I like men. And I like a variety of men. There’s nothing wrong with me tasting a different flavor every month.”

  She exhales and sags back into the arm of the couch. Probably not a great time to tell her that’s the side Adam fucked me on. “Fine. You don’t want to do anything with Adam—even though he was unprecedented—that’s your call. But you better figure out a way to be around him without running like a chicken.”

  “Why’s that? You have group get-togethers planned for the summer?”

  “No. Well, yes, but that’s not the main issue.”

  “What’s the main issue?”

  “You’re getting a new neighbor this weekend.” And then a grin splits her face, and she happily digs into the ice cream.