by Andrea Joan
My dad is smiling like the Cheshire Cat but I am not sharing the same sentiment. I’m pretty fucking livid, actually.
“What the fuck!? What the hell is wrong with that girl?” I launch myself from the closet door and start pulling clothes from my closet with more force than necessary. “What the hell possessed her to walk into the hospital room of her attacker and confront him like that? It’s as fucking reckless as sitting in a damn alley at night alone, not to mention Skylar has no fucking business cleaning up my messes.”
I need to fucking hit something. Or spank someone. A very specific, obviously feisty, gorgeous someone who needs to mind her business.
Then I hear deep laughter coming from behind me. I snap my head around, my fists clenched as I see my dad getting up while shaking his head.
“What are you laughing at, old man?” I ask, because nothing about this fucking situation seems amusing to me.
“It’s just good to see you all tied up in a girl again, Son.”
I expect guilt to hit me at his accusation, like I’m somehow betraying Ali, but it doesn’t. What does hit me is fear; fear that he might be right, that I’m a little too mixed up in Skylar fucking Barrett. I don’t need anything slightly resembling hope or caring, or whatever the fuck feelings come with her bouncing around in my black fucking heart and messing with my head.
“I am not tied up in a girl,” I huff, well aware I sound like an immature child. Stomping toward my adjoining bathroom probably doesn’t help my image either.
He fucking laughs again. “Let me tell you something about the O’Connors, Son. We love with the same emotional intensity we use to hate, which means we have no ability to hide our feelings, they are as transparent as a damn window. Your sister is the same way, although I’m not sure she has it in her to hate a thing, which is why she’s always bouncing around all over the place. That girl loves life. Pure of heart, that one.” He shakes his head, chuckling softly, with a prideful look in his eyes. It’s almost like he can’t believe a girl as soft and kind as Shayla came from a man as hard as he is. “Now shower and get ready for work. Those bottles aren’t going to count themselves, and I’ve reached my limit of talking about feelings. My dick is shrinking a little more with each estrogen-filled second, and I can’t have that. Another thing about the O’Connors—we’re not pussies.”
With that last abrupt and slightly convoluted comment, he stalks out my door, leaving me with an image I really did not fucking need. I walk into my bathroom and turn the shower on. Flashes of Sky flood my mind, her blue eyes with those tiny flecks of gold, that goddamn bright-ass sincere smile…shit I can even smell her: strawberries. And her skin, I only had a few stolen chances to touch, but it was pure silk.
My cock is getting hard just reminiscing. I turn the nozzle to cold and step into the shower. The freezing water douses my skin but does nothing to lessen my hard-on. Since the cold water is doing nothing to kill my Sky-centric erection, I flip the water to warm, grab my cock, and start pumping. Hard. The memory of her will never leave me, I know this, so I can at least make the best of this fucked-up situation and beat off to her face and body and scent until I come. At least then I will get those few seconds of peace that I crave.
“DAMN, HERMANO,” BOBBY R. curses, entering through the double doors that block the kitchen from the bar. “Your sister is driving me insane. I’m telling you, it’s unnatural to be that fucking peppy this early in the morning. If she wasn’t so adorably hot I would have throttled her by now.”
Bobby grabs a set of glasses from a top shelf above where I am crouched on the floor counting vodka bottles and resisting the urge to punch him directly in the kidney. If it wasn’t for the fact I’ve known him for most of my life, he would probably be sprawled out on the fucking floor right now.
I exhale a breath in an effort to calm the hell down. “I fucking know I did not just hear you call my sister hot while threatening to throttle her at the same time,” I warn, as I shove the crate of vodka I just finished counting back onto the shelf with a little more force than necessary.
It’s not just Bobby‘s comment that makes me do this—it’s the fact that taking inventory is so fucking boring. A far cry from going multiple violent rounds in an arena full of screaming fans.
“Sorry, but damn, you know how Shayla can be. She’s like a fucking Care Bear on sunshine crack or some shit. Hard to take first thing in the morning. But I won’t apologize for saying she’s hot. You should see what she’s wearing today, man. Cute little skirt with some kind of thigh-high socks. Chica can throw an outfit together, that’s for damn sure.”
Bobby looks pretty comfortable leaning up against the liquor shelf for a guy that’s about to get his ass kicked, friend or not.
“If it makes you feel better, I think you are equally as hot, hermano,” he says, throwing his hands up in retreat.
That does not make me fucking feel better.
Before I have a chance to say another word, the double doors burst open so hard they swing back and retaliate against the person barreling through them. If it isn’t the girl of the moment. I should have guessed by that entrance.
“Crap,” Shayla says under her breath as the door almost slams into her face and she practically trips over her own feet.
“Christ, Shay. Be careful,” I scold. Fuck, Bobby wasn’t kidding about her outfit. I make a mental note to have a serious discussion with Shayla about the appropriate length of a skirt, or maybe just go and shred any skirts in her closet so she’s forced to wear only pants.
“Sunshine crack, I’m telling ya.” Bobby shakes his head, trying to hide his smile as his eyes linger a little too long on her legs.
“Fuck off, B.” I smack him over the head, and the son of a bitch actually laughs at me before walking past Shayla and out of the kitchen.
“Liam!” Shay yells, running up to me and grabbing my arms in a pretty impressive grip for a girl her size. Her weird excitement takes me off-guard, and as always seems to be fucking contagious because I find myself smiling while she jumps up and down in front of me, a big ass smile plastered on her face.
“You will never guess who’s sitting at the bar right now asking for you!”
“If it’s the cops I’m leaving out the back.”
“No, fuckwit. If it was the cops you really think I would be this excited? I would be helping you out the back door!”
Fuckwit?
“It’s Skylar freakin’ Barrett.”
No fucking way I heard that right. Why would Skylar even come back to this bar after last night? I figured she’d want to stay as far away from O’Connor’s as possible, especially if she knows what’s good for her. But no. She’s here asking for me. Hell, I can’t believe she even remembers my name.
“HELLO! Earth to Liam. Did you hear me? Skylar Barrett is asking to talk to you.”
I take a few steps back, needing a little distance. “Yeah—yes I heard you. I-I’m coming out, okay? Just give me a second.”
Shit. I’m fucking stuttering now.
“Okay. I can keep her company,” she says, clapping her hands together excitedly. “Hey, why is she asking for you anyway? Did you hit that and not tell me?” she asks, lightly punching me on the shoulder.
“Give me a break, Shay. Let me put this last crate up and I’ll be right out. Try not to embarrass yourself.” She flips me off as she turns and strolls back into the bar.
My baby sister. Classy as ever.
After shoving a crate of whiskey back up on the shelf, I brush off the debris and dust that had fallen from the shelves onto my shirt and pants as if it would somehow make me more presentable and worthy to be in Skylar’s presence.
I feel like a teenage chick primping for a first date. I need to get my shit under control. I have to go out there, find out what she wants, and then call up one of my regulars and fuck her until the memory of Skylar Barrett is a distant one. I’ll probably call Christy, she’s always free for me and will let me stick my dick anywhere I want
. Hell, she’ll probably even let me call her Skylar when I come.
The second I walk through those doors I’m hit with that sexy as hell laugh Sky unknowingly assaulted me with last night, and I see her sitting at the bar engaged in conversation with Shayla. Every second I watch her carry on with Shay so animatedly, smiling and laughing, those dimples coming out in full force, I can feel the scars on my chest and abdomen scorch into me.
As if reminding me. Fucking warning me.
I am not allowed to have her. Like the sting you get if you stick your hand on a hot stove; that painful burn that reminds you instinctually to never repeat the same mistake again.
Skylar’s gaze lifts to meet mine as I walk up to the bar and stand by Shayla. I don’t miss the fact that her smile grows wider across her full lips as her crystal blue eyes light up, and I wonder if it’s all meant for me.
“Hi,” she says so simply, and the mere fact she greets me first causes me to relax enough to toss a slight smile back at her.
“Hello, Sky,” I respond, throwing my hand on Shay’s shoulder, hoping she will take the hint and get lost.
She does. Smart girl. “I’m going to go over there…and um…clean something. We open soon so I have to get this place spotless. Okay. Bye, Skylar, it was so awesome to meet you!”
She walks around the bar, and to my shock throws her arms around Sky, embracing her in a hug. Even more shocking is when Sky fucking hugs her back.
What the ever-loving hell was that?
Shay saunters over to a booth at the far side of the bar and starts wiping the table as if she didn’t just accost one of the most recognizable faces in the country with a fucking hug. Of course I shouldn’t be that surprised, Shay’s never been one to adhere to boundaries. She has a tendency to just bulldoze her way into people’s lives and personal space without a second thought, and people usually let her get away with it because she just has that welcoming innocent way about her. Bobby was right. Fucking sunshine crack.
When I turn my attention back to Skylar I notice she looks a little shocked as well, maybe even slightly uncomfortable, but still manages to maintain that knock-out smile. I grab the back of my neck in an attempt to release this nervous tension that has suddenly come over me. The urge to have a drink hits me, but I push it back down. I promised myself when I came home I would keep the drinking to a minimum, and never drink in the morning. Whiskey for breakfast is now a thing of the past.
I clear my throat in an attempt to get my mouth to actually form words. Skylar Barrett has me stupid and tied up in all kinds of knots. And I don’t fucking like it. I need to get this over with and get her off my island already.
“Uh…sorry about Shayla. She can be a little much sometimes. Do you want to go sit at a table? Something more comfortable than a barstool?” I offer, pointing to the booth behind her all the while trying to avoid those alluringly sinful eyes.
“Sure. And your sister is quite cute, actually. I don’t get to meet girls like her in L.A. Kind of a breath of fresh air,” she says as she hops off the barstool and heads to the booth.
I take in the sight of her. She’s wearing some kind of short white summer dress that hugs every curve of her perfect body, her auburn hair pulled up in a ponytail, loose tendrils barely touching the curve of her neck. I follow close behind and find my hand twitching with a need to find the small of her back, my teeth grinding at the thought of kissing and biting and licking her bare neck. My dick goes hard as I take in the scent of strawberries left behind in her wake. I watch closely as she slides gracefully into the booth, completely unaware of what she is doing to me. Every sense I have is flooded with a need, and I can feel it quickly coursing through me at an uncontrollable pace.
A need to touch.
To inhale.
To taste.
To fuck.
A need to claim. Fuck. I need to get it together.
I sit down in the booth across from Sky, resisting the immediate urge to take the empty spot right next to her. She places her hands on the table, folding them in front of her, and my hard-on quickly disappears at the sight of her bandaged hand. My lust is replaced with anger as flashes of last night and her on the ground bleeding come crashing back to me. Now the only need I have is a need to fucking hurt someone.
“I’m okay, Liam.”
The soft sound of her voice brings me back to the present, but I have no fucking clue what she just said. “Sorry, what’d you say?”
Sky lets out a timid laugh as she glances down at my clenched fists on the table. “I said I’m okay. My hand, I mean. You were staring. It looks worse than it really is. My friend kind of sucks at the whole Florence Nightingale routine so he may have over compensated with the bandages,” she explains, picking at a frayed edge of the bandage.
Glass. Blood. Skylar on the ground in shock.
I shut my eyes, trying to block out the flashbacks. My head is starting to pound. It’s moments like these that I would give anything to not remember everything.
“Does it hurt?” I ask, running a hand over my face. I don’t know why I decide to ask this. Just the idea that she may be hurting because I couldn’t help her has me close to falling over the edge.
“No, not really.” She’s lying to me and it’s fucking obvious by the way she avoids making eye contact as she nervously slides her hand under the table.
“Forgive me if I find that hard to fucking believe. I saw that piece of glass in your hand, Sky.”
“I swear it doesn’t hurt that bad! I’ve survived much worse, trust me. This one time I accidently gave myself a wicked paper cut on my tongue and couldn’t eat or drink anything for days without my tongue stinging like a bitch, and before you ask how I could get a paper cut on my tongue just know that it was for a noble cause, and at the time it didn’t occur to me that I could use a glue stick to seal all those envelopes or that there is actually a product out there specifically designed for sealing envelopes.”
Just like that my anger dissipates and I try to hide my smile at the realization that I make Skylar Barrett nervous. If her rambling wasn’t enough to convince me, the fact that she’s now gnawing on that plump lower lip so hard I’m afraid she may puncture it.
I don’t know if it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen or the most annoying. The small part of me that maintains some type of humanity wants to stop her, to put her at ease. But the other part of me, the primal animalistic side I can’t seem to escape, wants to know that I fucking affect her. That I unnerve her to a point where she’s unaware of her own physical reactions. I want her to be marked by me.
I haven’t wanted since Ali. With Ali it was so different though—innocent and pure and loving. We were high school sweethearts. The person I am now would ruin someone like Ali. Sweet. Angelic. Ali. Looking across at this anxious blushing girl in front of me, I’m almost tricked into believing she’s sweet and angelic too, but I’m not fooled. She’s no Ali. Skylar Barrett may have a sweet and caring side, but I see the dark that hides behind those eyes. I can sense it. Like how animals can sense fear in other animals just from their scent. Call it intuition or fucking instinct, I don’t give a shit. I just know it’s there.
“Anyway, I had to come and see how you are,” she says. “Last night got so crazy. Noah heard me yelling, I guess, and wanted to make sure I got out of there before people started to take pictures and stories ended up in the tabloids. In this business, a picture is worth a thousand words and unfortunately none of them have to be true. I-I’m just…I wanted to say I’m sorry for everything and for running away, and to thank you for what you did.” She lets out a breath and smiles while fidgeting with her hands on the table.
“You have no reason to apologize, Sky. It was good someone got you out of there. I should’ve done it before you got hurt.” My hand finds its way on top of hers before I even realize it.
Her skin is soft against my rough calloused palms, and I swear a surge of energy travels from her body to mine. Sky reminds me of every time I to
ok a hit of coke or shot of whiskey; intoxicating and dangerously lethal.
“You tried,” she says. “Those asshats just refused to let up.”
I chuckle, quickly removing my hand from hers. “Noah, huh? Is that your boyfriend?”
Not sure why I ask this question, but I certainly seem to be on a roll today when it comes to asking stupid shit, so why stop now?
“Noah?!” She bursts out laughing, and while it’s all kinds of sexy, I’m pretty confused as to what is so fucking funny because I sure as hell am not laughing. “No, definitely not my boyfriend,” Skylar says. “Noah is my stylist. He works for me. He also happens to be one of my best friends, and let’s just say you’re more his type than me. Besides, I’m completely single and without a boyfriend at the moment…uh…not that you asked me if I’m single,” she blushes, looking completely flustered. I’m about to speak when she continues on. “Also, I’m pretty sure that announcing I’m completely single also implies that I’m without a boyfriend already, so I guess saying I’m without a boyfriend is kind of redundant.” I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh at her, rambling Skylar is pretty fucking cute.
“Got ya. Well I’m relieved to see you’re okay.” I’m also relieved to hear she’s not dating some dick that lets her sit behind a bar alley alone. “I would have called to check on you but had no way to reach you. So, how much longer will you be on Orcas Island?”
“Not long. I was supposed to be leaving today but I have something to do first. Actually, that’s why I’m here. What I say next may sound a little crazy.” She bites her lip appearing apprehensive, her eyes looking sheepishly up at me, but there’s a hint of mischief in them that intrigues the hell out of me. If she’s here to ask me to fuck her then I’ll truly believe that there is a God.