“When I was seventeen, I made a huge mistake and got behind the wheel of my boyfriend’s car after winning a game of ‘Who’s more sober?’ Unfortunately, as it turned out, we both lost. I hit a tree and suffered minor injuries, but he went through the windshield.” I talk for another minute, appreciative when Candace doesn’t look at me with pity or disgust. She doesn’t judge. She asks a few questions like, how long before I stopped having dreams in which Mason miraculously recovered and life went back to “normal”? A couple of years, I tell her, and in saying so, realize it’s true. The life I’m living nowadays feels “normal.” My hopes and dreams spring from who I am and where I am now.
When she wants to know if there’s any salsa in the takeout bag—as if a kick-ass assistant like me would neglect to bring salsa—just like that, we fall back into comfortable conversation, talking about the list of things that need to be done in the next forty-eight hours. The more we discuss, the more excited I get. I can’t wait to show her what I’m made of. I’ve never shied away from hard work.
At ten o’clock my summer class starts. “Hi everyone, I’m Kendall, and I’ll be overseeing your class today. How was your weekend?”
“Good,” they return.
“I can see you’re just about done with your paintings and have put a lot of hard work into them.” I walk between the four teenagers sitting on stools in front of easels. The theme for the exhibit is “The Power of Us,” and on each canvas is the artist’s unique rendition.
“Would you please introduce yourselves?” I ask.
“I’m April.”
“Javier.”
“Brooklyn.”
The fourth student, a boy whose light brown hair is bisected with a scar several inches long, doesn’t say anything.
“His name is Will and he doesn’t talk,” April tells me.
“That’s okay,” I say, a sharp pang stabbing my heart. Not pity, but concern. For the first few days after the accident, I barely spoke a word. It was easier for me to keep things bottled up inside. “Can you hear me, Will?”
He nods.
I ache to know all of the stories in this room, and maybe with time I’ll get to hear them. April, Javier, Brooklyn, and Will look to be around sixteen or seventeen, close to the age I was when I crashed Mason’s car. I’m not sure I believe in fate, but if my aunt hadn’t asked me to house-sit for the summer, I wouldn’t be standing in this room right now, trying to hear these kids and trying to help them.
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” I say. “Your artwork is beautiful.” It truly is, but I stall in front of Will’s piece, awe overcoming me. He’s chosen to use charcoals instead of watercolors like the others, and the depth and detail are amazing. The drawing depicting three young girls playing with a large black-and-white dog is so lifelike it’s as if I could reach out and touch them.
Are they girls he knows? Sisters? Friends? Will’s focus is fixed firmly on his picture, his shoulders hunched in concentration. Whether from his memory or imagination, it’s remarkable and tugs at something in me. My eyes see the girls as Dixie, Amber, and me, bonded in a way we never were at that age, but maybe are heading toward now. Seeing it leaves me a little sad about our past but hopeful about our future. I have no idea how much Candace is charging for these works of art, but I want to buy this one.
“Where’s Josie?” Brooklyn asks.
“She has the stomach flu.” I resume walking around the easels, impressed by each picture. The talent varies, but that’s not what this is about. It’s about the artists pouring out their feelings, and that mission is accomplished—in the colors, shapes, shades, and clarity.
April stops painting. “Will she be okay for the exhibit?”
“I’m sure she’ll try her best to be here,” I say, moved by the concern. This group may be here because they need emotional support, but that hasn’t stopped them from caring about someone else.
I could easily pull up an easel and join them.
…
The house is dark when I get home. I flip on the lights and try not to trip on Snowflake, who is underfoot and barky about being left alone in her big, comfortable house with her millions of dog toys. I scoop her up and fuss over her as I make my way to the kitchen for something to quickly curb my major hunger pains. Luckily, the kitchen just happens to be Snow’s favorite room in the entire world, so she settles in my arms and switches from annoyed bark to excited bark. “Are you hungry, girl? Me, too. And unlike one of us, who has three live-in servants to see to her meals, I’m running on half a breakfast burrito, which is way under my normal calorie intake.” Not that I thought much about food today. I was having too much fun substitute teaching and helping to prep for the art show.
Still holding Snow, I open the cupboard where Sally keeps the dog treats, dig out one shaped like a fish, and let Snow inspect it. She approves by biting off the tail. Great. I put her down with her feast and scan the room. The plate of chocolate chip cookies is right where I left it on the kitchen counter. I peel back the clear plastic wrap and take one of the remaining two, only to hear a greedy whimper at my feet. I shake my head at Snow. “No. This is my treat. That’s yours,” I say, and use my foot to point at her biscuit. Then I bite into the cookie. Snow grumbles and then turns tail, takes her biscuit, and runs off.
As I eat both cookies, my thoughts stray to Vaughn and the smile on his face when he devoured the ones I brought him. I’ve probably smiled a dozen times today thinking about his killer green eyes and the words that come out of his sexy mouth.
Licking crumbs off my fingers, I notice a lined piece of paper with writing scrawled across it. I reach over. Snow has been walked and received her “good walk” treat. Don’t let her con you into giving her another.
Oops.
Dixie and I are at the ArcLight for a movie. Text if you’re home before seven and want to join. A & D
I glance at the digital clock above the stovetop. It’s seven fifteen.
I’m not too disappointed but wish I’d known sooner so I could have tried to meet them at the theater. Looks like it’s a turkey sandwich then bed for me. Just as well, since tomorrow will be another insanely busy workday. My lips twitch in anticipation.
I startle when there’s a knock on the kitchen door. It’s Vaughn. And oh my God, is that a pizza box in his hands?
“Hi!” I say, opening the glass door and trying to act like he isn’t the best thing since, well ever.
“Hey. Pizza delivery.” He gives me a quick kiss on the mouth before striding inside.
The pie smells delicious, but he smells better. Which is crazy given my love of carbs, but apparently I’m not the only one who notices because Snowflake charges into the kitchen to bark with joy and dance around his feet.
I don’t blame her. “Thank you. I’m starving.”
He puts the box down on the counter, and I notice things Snow will never properly appreciate, like the way his T-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders. The guy is dangerous coming or going. And I’m hungry for more than food now.
“Me, too,” he says, turning to look at me. My legs go weak at the blatant hunger in his eyes.
I think he wants more than pizza, too.
“What kind did you get?” I manage to perch on a barstool without flinging myself into his arms.
“I wasn’t sure what your favorite toppings were”—his gaze bounces around the kitchen—“or who else might be joining this pizza party, so I took the safe bet and went with cheese only.”
“Dixie and Amber went to a movie, so it’s a pizza party for two. And I love just cheese.” And you.
Whoa. So not an appropriate thought. I lift the box lid and give Vaughn a slice before taking my own. He pulls a chunk of crust from his piece, shows it to Snow, and then tosses it into the hall with a “Go get it, girl!” before I can say, “No! She’s already had two treats.” Oh well. Off she goes. I’m in such a hurry to stuff my face and hide my affection for him anyway, that I burn the roof of my mouth.
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“Ow. Ow. Ow.” I fan my hand in front of my face. “It’s hawt.” I need to chill out. It’s normal for friends to feel attachment, so I don’t need to burn my tongue off in order not to accidentally blurt out something inappropriate.
“How about we slow down, Speed Racer, plate our food, and take it to the couch?”
I nod. Then watch as he takes care of everything, including glasses of water and napkins. I follow him to the family room where we sit facing each other on the sofa. There is no end to how long I could stare at him.
“This is really good. Thanks again,” I say.
“Welcome. I’m glad our timing worked out.” His attention hasn’t strayed from me for even a second, his eyes keeping us connected and making my body heat. He’s a pretty intense friend. Just saying.
“How did your final audition go? It was today, right?”
He runs a hand over his smooth, angular jaw. “It went well, I think.”
“What did they have you do?”
“Another actor and I were put into a room and thrown a bunch of scenarios, like this person is going to move forward, this person is not, this person is a great singer, and then we had to improv what we’d say.”
“You are a smooth-tongued devil, Vaughn Shaughnessy. I bet you slayed every single one of their scenarios.”
“I must have done okay because then they called me into a room by myself and said, ‘The judges just tore a performance to shreds and the contestant’s father passed away two weeks ago, go.’”
“Oh my gosh, that’s horrible. What did you say?”
He scans the room like he’s looking for the answer. “I—um—I said bravery takes different forms, and tonight you showed us one of them. Getting up here, continuing to compete, made a whole lot of people really proud of you. They’re rooting for you to come back strong next week.”
Smooth-tongued doesn’t begin to cover it. “How did you come up with something so perfect off the top of your head?”
“I don’t know. I tried to say what I’d want to hear if I was the contestant.”
“You nailed it.”
“I hope so. The new set is sick, by the way. Regardless of what happens, maybe I can get you in to take a look around.”
“Can’t say no to that.” Pizza sauce smudges the corner of his mouth, so I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb.
He puts his plate on the coffee table, and waits for me to finish my bite before taking my plate and placing it atop his. “Can I get you to say yes to my next question, too?”
We lean toward each other. It’s slow-motion torture. It’s also safe to say I will agree to all his requests. And that’s a fairly frightening realization, especially considering I thought all the scary parts of this…whatever this is…were behind me. They’re not, though. Each step I take with Vaughn is new and leads down an unmapped path. Are there landmines here? Do I care? “What’s the question?” I mutter.
“Put this on me?” Somehow he’s produced a condom packet in his hand.
Oh my. If this is a landmine, I will gladly throw myself on it. Lifting my brows and fluttering my lashes, I ask, “Anywhere in particular?” We inch closer.
“Considering it’s extra large, there’s only one place it will fit.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. Any more than I can help how I break eye contact to glance down at his lap. And then my eyelids flutter. I can’t believe he’s hard—full-mast hard—and we’ve yet to really touch since his quick hello kiss. I’m immediately turned on knowing I do this to him. “Wow. You must really like pizza.”
“Pizza I can take or leave, but you I’ve got to have. Now.”
“Right here? On my aunt and uncle’s couch?”
His naughty smile doesn’t quite protect me from the unadulterated longing in his eyes. “I’ve had a dirty fantasy about you and this sofa for several weeks now.”
Now I do, too, but there are big gaps between my fantasies and my actual know-how. “I’ve never—”
“You’ve got this, sweetheart.” The naughty smile softens into something that matches the look in his eyes and destroys me completely. “You’ve got me.” Our noses touch and then…
We can’t get our clothes off fast enough. Hands seeking, roaming, tugging off shirts and unzipping jeans. Mouths fusing, tongues tangling, teeth nibbling. When Vaughn gently bites my lower lip, I feel it in my breasts and between my legs.
I’m naked and flat on my back seconds later. He straddles me, offers me the condom.
I pull my hand back as if he’s holding out a blowtorch or a scalpel or something else I’m not qualified to handle. “I don’t want to accidentally mangle anything. I like it too much to hurt it.”
He laughs—a little strained—and places the rolled latex on my palm. “I’m hurting already, Kendall. The only way you make it worse is by not touching me.”
Well, when he puts it like that…
I lift the condom and place it like a cap on the blunt smoothness of his crown. Sensing my nervousness, he talks me through rolling it over his long, thick member. His penis is a work of art—an erotic masterpiece of strength and sensitivity. Sliding my hand along the length awakens a complex and powerful string of nerves running from my fingertips to my core. I’m wet and ready.
“Perfect,” he whispers before he props one of my legs over the back of the couch and the other over his shoulder. His fingers find their target to test my readiness and then he’s thrusting inside me in one smooth stroke. “Fucking perfect.”
It is.
His hands slide to the back of my neck to bring my mouth to his. His kiss is firm. Hot. Possessive.
It’s everything.
Chapter Nineteen
Vaughn
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”
Kendall’s breathless words are barely louder than the patter of water against tile. “Showering?” I ask innocently as I skim my soapy hands up her shoulders. “Don’t you do it every day?” My fingers find and massage tight muscles at the base of her neck.
Her eyelids droop and the back of her head hits the tile with a muted thump. “Not with a guy.”
After a farewell knead to her now loose neck I slide my hands down the slopes of her breasts and give her nipples a playful pinch. “Hey, I’m not just a guy.”
“Okay, a neighbor…”
“Neighbor? That’s how I rate?” Determined to make her pay for the deliberate slight, I run my fingers along her sides.
She jerks and shrieks. She’s ticklish. Holy crap is she ticklish. Knee raised, body curled, eyes tightly closed ticklish. Charmed and, well, victorious, I go to town, prepared to fully exploit this situation. “Say ‘You’re the best neighbor ever, Vaughn.’”
“Can’t…growing up there was Suzie Gilmore, and she had…in-ground trampoline. Vauuuuuuughn!”
“Say it.” I dig in at her sides, between her ribs. Her attempt at self-defense bounces harmlessly off my shoulder. “Say it or I show no mercy.”
“Ahhh! Vaughn, I swear to God—”
“Try again,” I encourage, and walk my fingers down to her waist.
That’s when a palm cracks across my ass. Desperate. Unchecked. Loud.
It doesn’t hurt, but the impact of wet skin on wet skin reverberates in the small space.
Her eyes pop open. “Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry.”
I lean in and nuzzle her neck. “Not me. C’mon baby. Do it again.”
She pushes me away with an exasperated laugh. “Get off of me and let me see the damage.” Laugh or no, I can tell by the way she bites her lip that she’s more concerned than she needs to be. I turn and look over my shoulder as we both watch a red palm print appear on the comparatively pale skin of my ass cheek. At the sight of the mark, the very pleasant semi I’ve sported since I snuck into the shower turns heavy.
“Does it hurt?” She dances fingers over the zone of impact and my erection surges to full, painful attention.
“No,” I say quickly. “And yes
, just not how you mean.” But I don’t move. I keep letting her caress the tender spot because I like the hot stain of her hand on my skin. I like the concern in her eyes, as well as the hint of I-can’t-believe-I-did-that. Every soothing sweep of her fingertips across my ass has a direct and inversely proportional effect on my cock. It’s throbbing for equal attention. Each finely diffused droplet of water that rains down on it becomes a separate punishment.
Kendall’s lips brush my earlobe. “Would you like me to…?”
“What?” Did that thick, inarticulate noise come from me?
“…kiss it better?”
Before I can fully process the question, much less respond, she’s on her knees behind me, and…“Jeeesuuuuus.” I grip my aching cock in a rough, but incredibly necessary hold while Kendall’s soft lips meander over my ass. They trail, gentle as a feather, stopping occasionally to press firm little kisses against my heated skin. Every nerve ending she touches seems to have multiple direct counterparts all along my shaft. I run my hand over it, tugging at those phantom sensations.
Her mouth moves again. She kisses lower.
I feel the tingle of it all the way to my balls. My tugs grow harder. Hard enough to lift the boys.
The next kiss involves a quick, spearing dart of her tongue, and my harsh curse bounces off glass and tile.
“Uh-oh,” she says from behind me. “Does something else hurt now?”
I’ve created a monster. Despite my agony, I feel a smile stretching my lips. “God, yes. You don’t know the half of it.”
With hands on my hips she urges me around and then takes in my predicament with wide, serious eyes. “I can see there’s quite a bit of swelling. Should I kiss this better, too?”
I get lightheaded at the thought. “Would you?”
She nods seriously, but then offers a tentative smile. “Where would you like me to start?”
“My balls,” I say automatically, because I’m pretty sure if I release the chokehold I have on my dick I’ll come.
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