Paige in Progress (Reluctant Hearts #3)

by Brighton Walsh

  “You are such a baby, do you know that? I’m the one it happened to.”

  “Yeah, and not letting me do anything about it is like cutting off my balls. I’ll grab José’s and meet you at Dillon’s in twenty.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You better get me extra guac. I’ll swing home and get stuff for margaritas.”

  “Sounds like a plan. See you in a bit.” He steps back and shuts the door for me, waiting until I pull away before he heads to his car.

  He’ll probably deny me my extra guacamole out of spite, just because I won’t let him doing anything to Jared. Tanner knows as well as I do that I’m right—it really would cause more harm than good if he did. The best revenge I can possibly get is to work extra hard, busting my ass and inching my way toward that permanent position.

  Since the day that interaction with him went down, I’ve spent my time going above and beyond. I’m done holding back and waiting to do what they tell me to. I’m stepping in, asking if I can be involved in things they’d never normally think to allow interns to be pulled in the loop on. And I managed to make a friend with one of the detectives. All it took was figuring out fresh baked snickerdoodles were her favorite, and I was in. One delivery to her desk and a strategically timed question, and I’m sitting in on the meeting they’re having tomorrow morning while the other interns continue collating papers, alphabetizing files, and jerking off.

  I don’t mind working hard for what I have, and I’m going to prove that.

  tanner and i pull up at the same time to Dillon’s small bungalow. I wait outside my car until Tanner walks up, several bags in his hand. I slide him a look. “Did you get me extra guac?”

  He leads the way up to the front door, then turns to me. “I didn’t want to.”

  “I knew it.”

  “But then I realized you were right.”

  “I’m—what?”

  He smiles and pounds on Dillon’s door. “You’re right. It’s not going to do anything if I say something to that asshole about it.”

  I open and close my mouth several times. “Wow. I’m actually speechless.” Bumping my hip into his, I say, “I think this is what maturity looks like.”

  “Don’t get too excited. Just because I agreed not to say anything to him about you doesn’t mean I’m not going to make his life at the station a living hell.” The smile he gives me is like a kid in a candy store, and I decide I need to pick my battles. Besides, I wouldn’t be totally against that asshole getting some shit work for the next who knows how long.

  Tanner raises his fist to knock again at the same time it swings open, and Dillon stands there, leaning against the door, exasperated look on his face. “Let me guess…Mom sent you.”

  “What? No,” I say at the same time Tanner says, “Definitely not.”

  “Uh huh.” Dillon levels us both with a look. “So she hasn’t been blowing up your phones like she has mine?”

  “She, uh, may have called once or twice.” I shrug, but Dillon doesn’t make room for us to come in. “Whatever, dude, she called us. It’s hot as balls out here and your a/c feels like fucking heaven. Plus I have margarita fixins, and this one”—I jerk my head toward Tanner—“got José’s. Now let us in, you grumpy bastard.” I don’t wait for him to extend the offer before I shove my way through, jabbing him in the stomach with my elbow while I’m at it.

  “Our sister, she’s so docile and ladylike…” Dillon says to Tanner.

  “Yep…a regular Mrs. Brady.”

  I flip them the bird as I head into Dillon’s kitchen and set down the margarita fixins. Thanks to Tanner coming over a couple weeks ago and helping Dillon get this room unpacked, it’s in a better state than the rest of his house, but not by much. Everything is…sterile. There are no pictures, personal or otherwise. No small touches. Even in Tanner’s place, which is Bachelor Pad Central, he’s got some candid shots up of the family and him with his friends. That thought sends a sharp pain through my heart, realizing the one friend with whom Dillon would have pictures—the one who was his best friend for as long as I can remember—is no longer in his life.

  Hoping it encourages Dillon to talk to us, I make the margaritas extra strong, then balance all three in my hands and bring them into the living room where the boys are already set up on the couch. A buffet of Mexican food is set out on the coffee table in front of them, but no plates.

  Setting down the glasses, I say, “Jesus, do I have to do everything around here? Lazy bastards…”

  “We love you, Punky!” they call in unison.

  I come back out, throwing paper plates at their heads before I sit in between them and start dishing up before either of them can. “You love me so much, you’ll let me have first dibs on all this glorious, glorious food.”

  They grumble behind me but don’t argue, and I smile as I dish up before settling back into the couch. With how strong I made the margaritas, it doesn’t take long to get a buzz going. And it takes me exactly that long to realize I maybe shouldn’t have made mine quite so heavy on the tequila. I always overthink shit when I’m buzzed…focus too much on things I should just let be. Namely, Adam.

  God, I can’t even think his name without getting tingly. And he was right…that explosive chemistry between us had nothing to do with the build up and everything to do with…us. He did exactly as he told me he would, too, and proved it to me in rounds two and three. I was so exhausted after that, I didn’t even realize he fell asleep with me until I woke up to my alarm and the smell of bacon. I walked, bleary-eyed, out to the kitchen to see him standing there in nothing but his black boxer briefs and the frilly apron my mom got me as a joke, cooking bacon.

  And the really fucked up thing? I didn’t know whether to laugh or jump his bones. So I did what I do best…I pushed him away. I inhaled the food, then shoved him out the door, thanking him for the grub and the orgasms.

  An elbow in my ribs jolts me out of my thoughts, and I glare at Tanner. “What the hell?”

  “What’s the matter with you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  He and Dillon exchange a look over my head. “Besides the fact that you’ve been quiet the whole time, we’re watching CSI and you haven’t pointed out the thousand things wrong with it. In fact, you haven’t even pointed out one.”

  “Yeah? Well, maybe this is the one show they got right.”

  “Oh, please, you know as well as I do they didn’t follow protocol in collecting that evidence!”

  I wave him off. “Whatever, dude, we’re not here to talk about me. No more avoiding.” With that, I shoot a pointed glance at Dillon who rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.

  “I’m not a child. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. No one has to come check up on me. Jesus Christ.”

  I bump him with my shoulder. “She’s just worried about you. We all are. How are you, really?”

  “I’m…” He trails off, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I’m getting there, okay? That’s not perfect, but it’s all I’ve got. It would go a lot easier if you’d both lay off. And if you’d help me convince Mom to back off a bit.”

  I glance over at Tanner, and he tips his head in a nod. Turning back to Dillon, I say, “Okay.”

  Dillon exhales a breath for what seems like the first time all night. Then he grabs his plate and goes to town on his chips. “So why’d you zone out? That’s not like you. I know how much you love hate-watching.”

  I snort but shake my head. “Oh, no. You don’t get to evade and then make me talk.”

  “Come on. It’ll get my mind off everything.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Oh, that was low.” But they’re both big talkers and they’ll run screaming if I tell them what was going through my mind, so I shrug. “Fine, I was thinking about this guy who spent the night—”

  “That’s enough!” Tanner yells at the same time Dillon shoots up from the couch and practically runs to the kitchen.

  “Anyone need another fuckin’ margarita?” he asks. “Yes? Yes.” />
  I tip over on the couch, falling into a fit of giggles. That was too easy.

  If only everything surrounding Adam was that way.

  TWENTY-TWO

  adam

  This, right here, is exactly why I’ve always stayed away from casual sex. This whole, should I call, shouldn’t I call bullshit is tiring, especially when I spend the entirety of my working day thinking about it. I hoped sleeping with Paige would abate the incessant need I feel toward her. That backfired big time. Since the other night, I’ve actually thought about fucking her more than I did before, which I didn’t think was possible.

  “Fuck it,” I mutter and pocket my keys, then head to her door and knock. After a few seconds, she answers, clad only in a pair of miniscule shorts and a sports bra. I don’t know where to look first, so I look everywhere, my gaze sweeping over her body, pausing on my favorite parts—the swells of her breasts, the toned softness of her stomach, the curve of those drool-worthy hips—as I let out a groan. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  She laughs and turns around, giving me a spectacular view of her ass. Since she left the door open, I take that as invitation and walk in as she pulls a bottle of water from the fridge. She turns to look at me over her shoulder. “Get over yourself. Not everything is about you, you know.”

  I lean against her counter and cross my arms. “I’m fully aware. If it was, you’d already be in my lap.”

  She doesn’t respond to that statement, but she doesn’t have to say anything for me to see the effect my words have on her. Her nipples tighten against the bright blue cotton of her bra, and her cheeks flush. At least I have my answer as to whether or not she’s thought about me since the other night. It’s hard to keep the smug grin off my face, and from the way she rolls her eyes, I don’t succeed. At all.

  I tip my head toward her. “You going somewhere?”

  “Yeah, but you wouldn’t be interested.”

  Quickest way to get me interested in something? Tell me I won’t be. “No? Try me.”

  “It’s just yoga. Like I said, not your thing.”

  “How do you know?”

  Hands on her hips, she narrows her eyes at me. “Are you telling me you’ve done yoga before?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “And you like it?”

  I have no idea. “Yeah, it’s good for, you know…” I gesture vaguely to my body.

  “Uh huh.” She walks past me, the sweet scent of her filling my nose, and it takes all my strength not to inhale. Goddamn, this girl has me by the balls. I follow behind her as she goes to her bedroom and then bends over by her bed, pulling something out from underneath it. I can’t pay attention to what it is, though, because all I can see is her ass in those tiny shorts pointed directly at me. She stands and gathers her hair back into a ponytail, arching her back, and I don’t know where to look first. While I’m taking in the visual buffet that is her body, a flash of purple behind her catches my attention, and my eyes narrow on it. Is that…

  “Why do you have a dildo on your nightstand?”

  She glances at me as she finishes her ponytail, then slings a long, cylindrical bag over her shoulder. “I don’t have a dildo on my nightstand.”

  “No?” I point toward the offending object. “That giant purple thing with the attachments and curved head isn't a dildo?”

  “No,” she says as she breezes past me and into the living room. “It's a vibrator.”

  She says it like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world to have on one’s nightstand. As if I said, “Oh, I see you have the new Stephen King novel…” instead of talking about a sex toy. I’m torn between grabbing her and throwing her on the bed and showing her exactly why she doesn’t need that stupid vibrator in the first place, and begging her to use it while I watch.

  I trail after her into her living room. “What the fuck do you need a vibrator for?”

  “A girl’s got needs, Adam.”

  “Thought I took care of those needs pretty damn well the other night.”

  “Yeah? You telling me you haven’t jerked off since you were here?”

  Well, she’s got me there.

  “That’s what I thought. Girls like to come, too.”

  “Oh, I remember, babycakes. And I think you remember exactly how much I can make you come, so do me a favor…” I walk over to where she’s leaning against the back of her couch and cage her in, bracing my arms on either side of her.

  “What’s that?”

  I trail my nose up the column of her neck and satisfy in the way her breathing changes, the way her hands tighten on the fabric of her couch. “The next time you want to reach for your purple friend, walk across the hall and knock on my door. I’ll give you what you need.”

  I pull away and stand to my full height, backing off enough so I can take in her flushed cheeks and parted lips. She looks like she’s two-point-five seconds away from jumping my bones. But then she narrows her eyes and stabs her finger into my chest. “I know the game you’re playing, and it’s not going to work.”

  “What game is that?”

  “The Let’s Make Paige Forget She Wanted To Go To Yoga And Fuck Instead game.” She traces her fingers over the embroidered letters on my work shirt, and that only exacerbates the problem in my pants. “It’s not going to work, but you’re welcome to join me, even though it’s not our usual night. You know, since you love it so much.”

  It takes me longer than it should to clue in to what she’s saying, and that she isn’t inviting me into her room for some purple playtime. Not only have I not talked her into sex, but I’ve also somehow made it impossible to say no to yoga. Her voice has just enough of a taunting edge to let me know she’s ready and willing to call me on my shit, which means I’m stuck doing fucking yoga, because if I bail, she’ll know I’m lying.

  On the plus side, at least I’ll get to watch her in those two minuscule articles of clothing, bending and contorting into all kinds of fuckable positions. I hope yoga’s easier to do with a hard-on than the batting cage was. With a nod, I say, “Sounds good. Let me go change.”

  “You’ll probably want as few clothes as possible,” she calls out to me before I can get to her door. “It’s Bikram yoga.”

  When I glance back at her, her smile is bright. Even not having ever done a yoga class in my life, I have to sell the equipment at the shop, so I know enough about it to realize I just fucked myself over so hard. As if pretzeling myself into those positions wasn’t going to be difficult enough, I now have to do it in one hundred-plus degrees.

  I’m so screwed.

  paige looms over me, a smile on her face, her skin shining with sweat. It’s hot as balls in here. Or maybe I’m not even at the yoga studio anymore. Maybe I’ve died and this is hell. Seems entirely plausible based on the past hour.

  “I’m impressed.” She extends a hand to help me up. “You actually managed to keep up pretty well.”

  I wave off her hand and close my eyes, concentrating on breathing in this sauna. “I think if I get up right now, I’ll die.”

  She laughs. “Thought you did this all the time.”

  I open my eyes just enough to see her squatting next to me. “You had to know that was a lie.”

  “I totally did, yes.”

  “Why the hell didn’t you call me out on it at your apartment?”

  “Why would I do that when this is so much more fun?” Her grin is big and obnoxious, but I can’t even be mad at her, because it feels damn good to make her smile.

  “Yeah, real fun. You could be witnessing my death right now. Laugh it up, puddin’.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh Jesus, here we go…”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I have two older brothers, so I’m well versed in the Man Hurt.”

  “What the fuck is the ‘Man Hurt’?”

  Gesturing to me, she makes a disgusted sound in her throat. “This. You. All of it.” Pushing to stand, she shakes her head as she looks down at
me, hands on her hips. “You’re a disgrace right now. It’s hot yoga, not climbing Mount freakin’ Everest. Stop being such a testicle and stand up.”

  “Stop being a—what the hell are you talking about?”

  Crossing her arms, she looks down at me. “It’s me waving my feminist flag. I’m tired of inaccurate portrayals society feels are acceptable.”

  “Wait…is this your way of calling me a pussy?”

  “No, this is my way of calling you a testicle. Pussies can withstand a lot more than your wimpy balls. How did that become a saying, anyway? It’s not even a little bit accurate.”

  I snort and slowly peel myself off the floor. “Must’ve been started by a man.”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” She appraises me as I stand up, wincing as I do so. “You okay to walk home? You’re looking a little flushed…” She’s fucking gleeful. I’m going to be hearing about this for weeks.

  “Careful, cuddle butt, or I’ll show you what I wanted to do instead of yoga tonight and prove just how okay I am when we get home.”

  Her lips part as her gaze drops to my chest and the A-shirt plastered to my skin thanks to the heat and the workout. Even though I had enough confirmation the other night, it’s still good to know she’s as attracted to me as I am to her. A low laugh rumbles out of me, and she snaps her eyes back up to mine, affecting nonchalance as she shrugs, but she can’t hide the desire in her eyes. And I don’t want her to.

  Reaching out, I brush a stray piece of hair away from her face, tucking it behind her ear and trailing my fingers down the damp skin of her neck. Running my thumb up and down her throat, I lean toward her and lower my voice enough so the other people walking around can’t hear it. “If you need something from me, all you have to do is ask. You know I’m more than happy to give it to you. Any time, remember that.”