by Grey, S. R.
Has someone—someone dangerous—taken an unhealthy interest in me?
Suddenly, I just want out of the tire store.
I want to call Graham.
No wait, I’d rather call Dylan.
He makes me feel the safest.
But he’s still out of town.
Jeez, could tomorrow just get here already?
Protecting Chloe
Fuck, I need to get back to Las Vegas…and fast.
Chloe called this morning, upset as hell. Someone fucking slashed one of her tires.
I’m glad I’m boarding the team jet now.
After we land, I don’t bother to stop home first. I drive straight over to Chloe’s. When I park my Ferrari next to her Fusion, I check out her tires.
Thank God they all look intact, including the new one she just had put on.
I scan the area.
It’s quiet, like always, but I have to wonder—does someone here have it out for Chloe for some reason? She’s lived in this small community of homes for only a couple of months. And I know from her telling me that she’s had minimal interaction with her neighbors. A hello here and there and maybe the occasional wave, but that’s it.
Still, some creep could have her in his sights. These old-timers have young relatives who visit them, after all.
If it is a creeper dude, he’s going to be fucking sorry. He picked the wrong girl to mess with. Chloe not only has me to protect her, but she also has Graham.
When I knock on her door, ironically it’s Graham who answers.
“Hey, man,” I say as he lets me in. “I’m glad you’re here.”
He nods and assures me, “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”
“Me neither.”
We shake hands in solidarity then sit down with Chloe in the dining room. I can tell she’s shaken up from the way she keeps wringing her hands.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I try to tell her.
“I hope you’re right, Dylan.”
“We’re going to find out who did this, don’t worry.”
“Yeah,” Graham interjects, “and then we’ll take care of the fucker.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I concur.
Chloe reaches over and squeezes my hand, and then nods to Graham.
“I’m lucky to have you two in my life,” she says. “But I’ve been thinking that maybe it’s just a one-time incident and we’re all over-reacting. It could’ve been kids pulling a prank.”
“Maybe,” I reply. “But I don’t think we should operate on that assumption.”
“Agreed,” Graham chimes in.
We get down then to what is most important—keeping Chloe safe. Graham offers for her to move in with him for a while, but Chloe doesn’t like that idea.
I sense her reticence is because of our burgeoning relationship.
That’s confirmed when she says, “I think that could get a little uncomfortable, Graham. Dylan and I are dating now and we need time, uh, alone.”
Quietly, he murmurs, “I see your point.”
I throw out a suggestion of my own then. “What if Chloe moves in with me?”
Graham says, “That’s not a bad idea.”
Chloe’s hesitant, though.
“I don’t know,” she begins. “The coffee shop is just down the road. And I like living here by myself. I finally have my independence, and I guess I’m just not ready to give it up so quickly.”
“I have an alternate idea, then,” I reply.
“What’s that?” Graham and Chloe say at the exact same time.
Man, you sure can tell these two are related.
Clearing my throat, I say, “I could stay here a couple of nights a week. If there’s someone watching you, Chloe, seeing me around should make them back off.”
“I think that’s a fantastic idea,” Graham says right away. It’s clear he wants his sister safe and protected.
But I’ve still not heard from Chloe.
“What do you think?” I ask her.
Locking her fingers with mine, she says softly, “I like that plan, Dylan.”
“So we’re set?”
“Yes.”
Jesus, I sure hope this works.
Part-Time Roomie
I like the idea of Dylan living with me on a part-time basis. I know he can’t just up and move in completely, nor do I think we’re ready for that, but this I could get used to. Like real fast…
I sigh. Dylan is seated across the table from my brother. He looks so good and strong, as big as Graham, and Graham is huge. One thing for sure, there sure is a lot of testosterone flying around in my little dining room area as we discuss how best to keep me safe.
I sigh again.
Having two protective men in my life makes me feel like one lucky girl. My stalker, if I do in fact have one, stands no chance against these two. And Dylan will be staying with me now. I can’t imagine a vandalizing kid or a crazy-ass adult male will dare mess with me with Dylan around. He’s intimidating, big and strong, and in optimum shape.
Yeah, I’ll be just fine.
And I’m going to make the most of Dylan staying with me, even if it is only a couple of nights a week.
We wrap up and Graham leaves. Dylan does as well so he can go pack up some of his belongings. I’m excited he’s staying the night.
When he returns a short while later, with a couple of bags in tow along with some hockey sticks, I tell him to put his things anywhere he likes.
He heads straight for the spare bedroom and oh my God, my heart melts. Even though we’ve slept together, how cute is it that he doesn’t want to assume anything?
Still, I have a feeling he’ll be in my bedroom soon enough. Lord knows I’m ready for a repeat of our night at his house.
Oh, but I can play the unassuming role too. In fact, that evening I decide to have a little fun with it.
When Dylan emerges from the spare bedroom, I nonchalantly ask, “Are you hungry? You must be, right? All that packing and running around today probably has worked up your appetite.”
Crossing his arms over his wide chest, he mulls it over.
“Yeah, I probably could go for a bite.”
“Perfect.” I stand. “I’ll get to work on a nice salad.”
Dylan grabs two hockey sticks that are leaning against the living room wall and the muscles in his arms flex and bulge.
Gah!
“I’m good with a salad,” he says. “But I think I’ll need something a little more substantial than just some lettuce leaves.”
“I bet you do,” I murmur.
All his ripped and tight muscles surely require lots of nutrients to keep them so hard and strong. I’m so busy admiring Dylan’s physique that I don’t realize he’s in the middle of asking me something. So much for playing it coy.
“What was that?” I say. “I was, uh, just daydreaming there for a sec.”
Yeah, daydreaming about you and your muscles and how soon I can get under them again.
“I could tell,” he murmurs.
His accompanying smirk leaves no doubt that he knows I was drooling over him.
But he lets it slide, instead saying, “I was just asking if you have any chicken breasts handy? Either breasts or thighs would work.”
I have some breasts and thighs for you, I think to myself.
Out loud, I just say, “Uh-huh, I have both in the fridge.”
Clearly, I need to get laid…by Dylan…again…and soon.
“Okay, good,” he says as he slips the hockey sticks into the spare room, his voice fading and then becoming clear again when he steps out into the living room. “I noticed before that you have a grill out back, so I was thinking I’ll grill us up some chicken to go with the salad.”
“That sounds delicious, but…”
“What, Chloe?”
Based on his last attempt at cooking, I can’t help but blurt out, “I don’t know if grilling is a good idea.”
He looks perplexed. “Why’s that
?”
“For starters, property management wouldn’t appreciate you burning down this unit. Face it, Dylan, you’re a dangerous chef.”
“Ouch!” He places his hand over his heart like I just mortally wounded him. “That’s low, Chloe.”
He sounds serious, but his sneaky smile gives him away. Still, he maintains, “Poking fun at my noble attempt, albeit botched, to make you a delicious roast is just plain wrong.”
“No,” I counter, playing along, “what you did to that roast was just plain wrong, Dylan.”
“Wow, who knew sweet Chloe Tettersaw could be so cruel. I’m shocked.”
Uh-oh, is he kidding, or is he serious?
I can’t tell.
Crap, I’ve taken things too far.
Fearful I’ve upset him, I blurt out an apology.
“I’m sorry. Really I am. I was just joking, Dylan, I promise.”
He comes over to me. “Hey, hey, I know that. There’s no need to apologize. We were just having fun.”
Peering up into his deep brown eyes, I whisper, “You’re not mad at me, then?”
“Hell no.”
“And I didn’t hurt your feelings?”
“Fuck no. You should hear the shit the guys say to each other in the locker room.”
“Thank God.” I breathe a sigh of relief, and he puts his arm around me. “I’m glad to hear that. I thought maybe I’d gone too far.”
He turns me so I’m facing him. With his hands on my shoulders, he looks at me like he’s trying to figure something out.
After a beat, he asks, “Did someone once tell you that? Like when you were joking about something?”
“Uh-huh.” I nod once. “Sten used to say crap all the time when I tried to tease him.”
Shaking his head, Dylan murmurs, “What an asshole.”
I don’t want to keep things from him ever, but it doesn’t make sharing any easier.
Stepping back, I cross my arms. “It was like that for a long time, so long that it became the new normal.”
“Chloe,” he sighs.
“I know that’s really fucked up. And I’m embarrassed I put up with it.”
“Hey, don’t do that to yourself; Sten guilt-tripped you enough. The important part is that you left…while you still could.”
I know Dylan’s referring to his mom. She didn’t leave and it ended as badly as it could. I shudder at the thought that that could’ve been me.
Dylan takes me in his arms. “Hey, let’s talk about something else, okay?”
We focus on fixing dinner from that point on and spend the next half hour getting all the ingredients together. Since I want to keep moving forward—that fucking bastard Sten will never win—I go ahead and start teasing Dylan again about roast night.
“I better make sure all the smoke detectors are in good working order,” I say when he has all the chicken prepped.
“Won’t matter,” he snarks back. “I’m cooking these outside on the grill, remember?”
“Ha, there was a lot of smoke last time, as I recall. A repeat of that and the sprinklers will go off.”
“You’re relentless,” he tells me.
And this time I reply with, “You bet your ass I am.”
No cringing, no stress. So this is what a healthy relationship looks like. I could get used to this.
As it turns out, Dylan doesn’t burn the place down, and no sprinklers or smoke detectors go off.
“See, you can trust me,” he says as he brings in perfectly grilled chicken.
“I do trust you, Dylan.”
Our eyes meet, and he knows I’m talking about far more than chicken.
After dinner, we decide to watch a movie. But we need to get comfortable first. I go to my bedroom and throw on my favorite flannel pajamas, the ones with little rose bouquets all over them.
I pass a mirror on my way out and falter.
“Wait, this is no good. What the hell are you thinking?”
If my goal is to get Dylan back into bed, and it is, it’s probably best not to have him thinking he’s rooming with a granny.
Perish the thought!
PJ’s go flying into the night, and my sexiest camisole and shortest boy shorts come out.
I go from grandma to pinup in less than sixty seconds.
Let’s see how long Dylan can resist me in this.
I make it back out to the living room before he does. But just as I’m getting settled on the sofa, he emerges from the spare bedroom, wearing black lounge pants and a tight white performance shirt that clings to his sculpted muscles in all the right ways.
When he sees me, he stops in his tracks. “Wow, Chloe.”
Hmm, I seem to have gotten my “I’m ready for some sexing” message across with my skimpy attire.
Yes! This girl is getting some hot hockey ass tonight!
Dylan, trying to play it cool, crosses his arms over his broad chest and asks, “So what do you want to watch, Chloe?”
I pat the spot next to me and say huskily, “Does it really matter?”
Voyeur Bunny
Chloe’s right, it doesn’t matter what we watch. With the way she looks in those sexy red boy shorts and pink camisole, TV is the last thing I have in mind.
So the flat-screen remains dark.
We make out on the sofa for a while like a couple of horny teens until I suggest, “Let’s move this to the bedroom.”
“We should go to mine,” she says. “It’s bigger.”
We’re naked in no time once we’re on the bed.
Chloe rises to her knees and begins kissing down over my abs, lower, lower…
“What are you doing?” I rasp, like I don’t know and don’t love every minute of it.
“This,” she replies, looking up at me and smiling coyly before she takes me in her mouth.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I murmur as she sucks and licks and drives me to the edge.
But I don’t want this over yet.
Nudging her, I indicate that she should stop. When she does, I flip her over on to her back.
“It’s your turn now, beautiful,” I say.
Shimmying down between her thighs, I touch my tongue to her clit. “Ah, Dylan,” she moans.
“More?” I ask, teasing her.
“Yes, more!”
It doesn’t take long to get her to where she needs to be.
“Let go,” I urge when I feel her tensing, trying to hold back. “Trust me, Chloe.”
That does it. She lets go completely, grinding into my face. When I insert a finger, she comes apart, calling out my name.
Sexy times grind to a halt though when we both hear a weird scuffling noise outside her window.
“What the fuck was that?” I murmur, rocking back onto my heels.
“I have no idea,” Chloe whispers.
She sits up quickly, and though the blinds are tightly drawn, she pulls the sheet up around her.
Immediately, I go into protective mode.
Fuck this. I am not having her feeling frightened in her own home. This is why I’m here, right?
“Damn straight it is,” I mumble as I jump out of bed and throw on my discarded lounge pants.
“What are you doing?” Chloe asks.
“I’m going outside to check on things.”
“Oh, Dylan, be careful.”
I assure her I will before I leave.
It’s strange out behind her unit, though. Everything looks fine. There’s no one around, and nothing appears disturbed or out of place. Not that anyone would loaf around back here, seeing as there are sharp cacti and scraggly bushes just about everywhere. Certainly this is enough underbrush to discourage a random creeper, right?
But maybe not, I think when I hear the scuffling noise again.
“You’re not getting away this time,” I growl as I swing my phone in the direction of the sound.
“What the…?” I start laughing. “Shit, no way.”
A cute jackrabbit is frozen in the light from m
y phone. Once his wits return, he scurries away, but not before I snap a pic of our little Peeping Tom.
Back in the bedroom, I pass the phone over to Chloe. “I think I found our voyeur. He’s a little furrier than I expected, though.”
When she looks down, she cracks up. “Aw, I love this pic. What an adorable little fellow. I feel bad we were thinking it was a weirdo trying to sneak a peek.”
“He could still be a weirdo, Chlo,” I joke as I try not to laugh. “Maybe even a pervert bunny.”
She throws a pillow at me, but I catch it easily.
And then I crawl back to where I want to be—in her arms.
Trailing my nose along her neck, I whisper, “Now, where were we?”
Purple Rain
The next day, Dylan has to leave early for a flight to an away game up in Edmonton.
Even though I’m barely conscious, I’m comforted by the gentle kiss he brushes across on my cheek, as well as the sweet goodbye he murmurs in my ear.
“I hate that you have to leave,” I whisper as I rouse to life.
“It won’t be long, sweetheart. I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Even though it’s only slightly more than twenty-four hours that we’ll be apart, I still dread it.
I fall back asleep after Dylan leaves, but wake again to the sound of the alarm buzzing. I have a shift at the coffee shop that begins at noon.
As I get ready for the day, I can’t help but think about last night with Dylan. Every part of me tingles at the memory of all we did. He’s such an amazing man, as thoughtful and caring in bed as he is out of it.
The stuff we did before the bunny interrupted was fun, but the hot sex afterward was even more amazing. The first round was fast and hard, but the second was gentle and loving.
Whoa, “loving”? Where did that come from? Does Dylan love me? Jeez, I don’t know. And wait, do I love him?
If I’m honest with myself, I think I’m starting to fall. No, I know I am. Shit, I’m falling for Dylan Culderway.
But is that such a surprise?
No. He makes me feel safe and protected, and he’s a kind man with a good heart.
Yeah, I’m good with this. It’s okay to love again. I guess I really am healing.