“I think we should set some ground rules, though.” She scooted toward him. He stilled, and thanked fuck his mother had a climate-controlled garage. How far was Velma going to go with this?
When Velma tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his jeans and ran her palm up his abs, he got the idea.
He cleared his throat. “You want to tell me what you’re doing?”
“Setting down the boundaries,” she said against his temple.
His dick responded to boundaries like it had never responded before. “What kind of boundaries?”
“Well…” She scrunched her forehead and gestured to the fly of his jeans. “I guess we should probably be exclusive while we do…this.”
He could be on board with that. “Sounds fair.”
“And I think it’s just friendship and sex. Anything else should be discussed beforehand.”
Maybe it was the blood flow rushing to his zipper, but he had no clue what she was blathering about. “Discussed beforehand?”
“Like sleeping together…without sex. And, you know, if you wanted to take me to a movie or something and hold my hand. We should discuss that first.”
He glanced to her exposed bra. Her hand was not what he wanted to hold at the moment. His salivary glands worked overtime. Pretty soon, he’d be like one of those huge mastiff dogs, dripping slobber all over her. But in a good way.
“No sleeping. Got it.” He focused on her eyes. It was hard. “What, uh, were you thinking? We could go back to the apartment?”
“Can you really have sex on the back of a bike?” She glanced uncertainly to his Harley.
He nodded. “Yes.”
“If I’m going to do something crazy, I should go all in. You want to show me how?” She moved her palm over his pec, brushing his nipple, and fuck it. Yes, he did want to show her the many different ways one could hook up on a motorcycle. She’d been upset, though, and she wasn’t a quick fuck. He couldn’t take advantage.
Scruples really sucked sometimes.
“You’re upset,” he said, moving her fingertips from under his shirt and threading their hands together. He was always ready to go there when it came to Velma. But her abrupt change of heart gave him whiplash.
“You make everything better.” She moved over him, straddling his thighs on the top step, her knees pressed against his hips.
He dug his fingertips into her ass, tugging her closer. His body responded in kind. But where the fuck had this come from? “What’s with the one-eighty?”
She shrugged, but something passed across her face he couldn’t read. “I think it’s time. You want me. I want you. Isn’t that enough?”
He had a dick, so that was enough.
His mouth met hers, and he deepened the kiss to the point she squeaked. His hand slipped along the lace cup of her bra and tugged it down. He finally got a handful of her tit and moaned into her mouth. Her nipple pebbled under his thumb. She gasped and arched her back, basically presenting herself as tribute. Bonus, it also provided opportunity for him to unclasp her bra. One of those handy front clips he appreciated in moments like this.
Not that he’d ever done a chick in his mother’s garage. Ah well, first time for everything.
She pulled the hem of his white tee up. With a bit of help from him, she got it over his head. And there they were, chest to breast, ready to carnally christen his bike.
“Stand up,” he directed her.
Another something he couldn’t quite understand passed over her face when she complied, but he was too far gone to be a gentleman and ask. Unless…fuck.
“I don’t have a condom.” He swore. Maybe he’d left one up in his old bedroom from when he was a teenager and thought it was a sign of awesome to keep a store, just in case. Those couldn’t still be any good. Condoms likely had a shelf life.
“You don’t need one.” She covered her breasts with her arm.
“Thirty-two years old and nobody’s baby daddy. Pretty proud of that record.” He stood and moved to her, so she had to drop her arm. A rack like that shouldn’t be covered unless absolutely necessary.
“No, I’m…it’s just…sheesh…” She blushed deeper than he’d ever seen before. “I’m on the pill, okay?”
He raised his eyebrows at her. He was clean, but he’d never made it a habit of not using backup protection. Little Montgomerys running around all over the country weren’t his only concern.
“My periods have always been wonky…” She glanced away. “And now I’m officially mortified.”
“V, when it comes to anything you ever want to tell me about yourself, don’t be ashamed. Sorry your periods are…wonky.” He hugged her close, the lower parts of his anatomy glad to be back in the game. “Don’t need to go into a full sexual history here, but do you make a point of relying on the pill for protection?”
Her soft body went stiff. “Yes. I mean, no. What?”
He could tell the second she realized what he’d asked because her eyes got huge and then…she fuckin’ laughed. “You’re asking if I’m diseased?”
Apparently, that was amusing. She laughed so hard against his chest, he thought she’d pop a kidney or something. “Breckenridge Montgomery is asking if I’ve got an STD?”
He set his jaw. “Not something people usually find amusing. Yes or no question.”
She sobered and glanced up from under her eyelashes. “No. I’m healthy. Other than the period thing. Anything else?”
Nope, that about did it.
“For the record. I’m clean, too.” He leaned his face to hers and gave everything he’d held back before. She didn’t just squeak, she fuckin’ groaned into his throat as his tongue slid along hers. He lifted her so her legs wrapped around his hips and moved to his bike. She stood panting before him. Her skirt lifted easily, and he shoved her cotton panties down to her knees, running his hand up the inside of her thighs on the trek back up. He growled when his fingertips grazed the apex of her thighs and found her drenched sweet spot.
She mewed a small sound and gripped at his shoulders. His breaths came rapidly, and his dick prayed that soon it would follow suit. Whatever. Next time he’d go slow. This time was all about basic need and desire.
Until she broke the seal of their kiss. “I’m worried I won’t do a good job.”
“Less worry. More action.” He turned her so that her hands splayed on the seat of his bike. He shoved at her skirt, spreading her legs in the process. His erection throbbed for release. For her.
She stopped his exploration, straightening and grabbing his hands in hers. “I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.”
“How long we talkin’?” He asked around leaving a hickey on her neck.
“Just awhile. I…I don’t want to mess up.” The way her eyes got big and her face pale hit him straight in the gut. She was not a groupie looking for a good time. Not a hookup on his bike and never call again chick. This was Velma. His Velma. The thought hit him right in the stomach.
His pulse. His breath. Even his dick hiccupped.
“Fuck me,” he said on a breath.
“Okay,” she replied.
Everything inside him had stopped. He couldn’t use her as a distraction. She deserved more than that.
“Did I do something wrong already…” Her words trailed off, just like his punch of lust.
He paused, stepping back and pushing her skirt back down over her ass. He wasn’t about to pop the cherry on their relationship over a muffler. “We’re not doin’ this.”
Not here. Not like this.
Without glancing to her, because he didn’t trust himself to be a gentleman for very long, he moved to snag her shirt. He tossed it to her, unsure about anything in life at the moment.
“I’ve gotta check the house. Lock up. Then I’ll take you home.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her. Instead, he stalked through the doorway to check the dead bolts on the doors.
Clearly, he had to treat her with more respect than he’d been known for. He wasn’t
staying in town. She searched for forever and wedding rings. He searched for an easy lay. No, he couldn’t do that to her. Wouldn’t do that to her.
He finished up inside and returned to the garage. The big overhead door was open, and Velma was gone. He jogged outside, glanced up the street, and cursed as the bus pulled away from the corner stop.
A gentleman. That’s what he’d been. And he’d done the right thing. But doing the right thing had never felt so wrong.
Chapter Fourteen
The last two hours had been the longest of his life.
“Velma, pick up your phone.” Brek hesitated, his hand resting on the door handle outside Jase’s shop. “Please.”
He clicked off his cell. The cowbell clanked against the glass when he slipped inside.
Like always, loud eighties music blared from the overhead speakers. He stepped around a precarious display of ceramic angels and miniature crystal flowerpots.
Jase emerged from the back room lugging a tub of white roses and singing along to Van Halen.
“Hey.” He nodded to Brek and danced like an idiot to the walk-in display refrigerator.
Brek leaned a hip against the white marble-top counter. Doing the right thing had drained any hope of happiness.
Jase emerged from the cooler, brushing his palms on his green apron. “Uh-oh. I know that face. That’s the face of you and Velma after another spat. Do you two do anything but play tongue twister and fight?”
“Do me a favor, would you?” Brek asked, rubbing at the creases in his forehead. “Don’t be a jackass.”
“Spill it.” Jase gestured to the stools surrounding the worktable in the retail space. Brek always thought it was a stupid place for an arranging station, but Jase insisted customers liked to watch him while he put the flowers in vases, so whatever.
Brek checked his phone again. Nothing. He had sent Velma five texts and called her three times. Once from the driveway as the bus pulled away, once from the garage right before he left, and then again when he pulled up to Jase’s. He’d gone straight to their apartment. She wasn’t there.
Doing the right thing had never left him feeling like such a failure. Brek gave Jase the breakdown of Velma’s one-eighty, her willingness to do the dirty with him, and his sudden surge of conscience.
“She was really ready to put out for you?” Jase’s expression remained unconvinced.
Brek glared at him. “Yeah.”
“So, to be clear, you had Velma—willing—bent over your bike, ready for you to take her, and you decided that’s the moment you’ve got scruples?”
That about summed up the situation. “Pretty much.”
Jase leaned forward, elbows on the stainless-steel table. “You do realize you’re the dude who once took me to a beauty pageant where the girls all went down on each other for the talent competition?”
Not one of his finer moments, but yes. Brek had received an invite to the local motorcycle club’s annual beauty pageant. He had dragged Jase along. Neither had expected the evening to take that turn. Neither of them had minded much, either. Which was reason number one thousand and twenty-six why Velma deserved better than being bent over his bike in a dirty garage. And a dirty garage was all he had to offer. A woman like her needed more.
“That was a fan-freaking-tastic night.” Jase put his knuckles out to fist-bump Brek.
Brek made a face at Jase’s outstretched knuckles.
“You wanna know what I think?” Jase rubbed his eyebrow.
Not particularly. “No.”
“Good. I’ll tell you.” Jase leaned in further. “Since you’re here instead of out there tracking down Velma, I think she scares you. Because you know when you get in deep with chicks like her, you don’t come out on the other side.”
He should’ve talked to Dean. “That so?”
“Woman like her? You set up house, buy some doilies, and hand over your balls. Like Dean.” Jase smiled bigger than a chick in a room full of lilies. “He’s happy as a clam with Claire’s wire strippers holding tight to his nuts. You, my friend, are scared that’s the direction you’re headed.”
Brek shook his head. “Aspen pushes out this kid, and I’m out of here. That’s my problem. Not because I’ll want to stay, but because no matter what, I’m leavin’.”
“Ahhhh…so it’s about you not wanting to hurt her? This is an interesting development.” Jase rubbed his hands together. “And the plot thickens.”
“Yeah, I don’t want to hurt her.” Brek’s heart already felt like it was in a combat zone when she was nearby. He couldn’t do the same damage to hers.
“But by walking away with her already hot and bothered and ready to go, you hurt her anyway.” Jase pointed out.
Shit. “Yeah.”
“Well, I’m not Freud.” Jase wiped a clump of dirt from the tabletop. “Thank fuck for that. But, in my estimation, you both want to do this thing. So, you lay out some guidelines, toss her on the bed, and show her the ways of the sexually inclined.”
“That, right there, is why you’re a fuckin’ florist and not a therapist.” Brek stood and walked to the window of the cooler. Jase’s idea wasn’t bad. They would set more rules, understand where the other was coming from, and move forward. Communication and all that shit.
“The alternative is to get used to your right hand.” Jase followed him. “We both know that’s not gonna happen. Now, lilies are my go-to for please let me in your pants. I think in this situation we’re going to have to layer them with a handful of hydrangeas because you got her all hot and bothered, then walked away. Nothing says sorry I was an asshole quite like hydrangeas.”
Brek pointed to some small blue flowers. “What about those?”
“Ahh…those are agapanthus blooms,” Jase slid open the door and stepped inside. “The most expensive flower we carry. These are the I’m sorry I slept with my secretary flowers.”
“Now you’re just makin’ shit up.”
“Making shit up is my gift,” Jase replied, grabbing a handful of the stems. “Will you be paying with cash or credit?”
“Cash.” Brek pulled his wallet from his back pocket and counted out some bills. Time to talk to Velma.
Jase wrapped the flowers.
Brek tucked them into his jacket and headed back to the apartment. He’d wait for her there.
He turned his key in the door and pushed it open.
No Velma. The apartment was silent. He did the only thing he could think of to find her.
He dialed her sister.
Claire picked up on the first ring. “I’m not happy with you.”
“I messed up.”
“No kidding.” Claire was in a huff. He couldn’t blame her.
“Do you know where she is?” He filled one of Velma’s vases with water and set the flowers in it.
“She’s on a date,” Claire replied.
His stomach did a nosedive.
“Some matchmaking thing your mom put together,” Claire continued.
Brek cursed under his breath. “She say where this thing’s happening?”
“If I tell you are you going to muck it up again?”
“No.”
“Pinky swear promise?”
“Claire.” He practically growled at her.
“Elway’s,” Claire said, matter-of-fact. “Don’t hurt her or I’ll send Dean to hunt you down.”
“Fair enough.” He wouldn’t hurt her. Not again.
He tapped the phone off and hustled to the hallway. With no time to wait for the elevator, he jogged down the steps two at a time. He had to get to Velma before she made an even bigger mistake with someone who cared a hell of a lot less about her than he did.
Of all the men Velma expected to meet at the matchmaker mixer, Wayne Marsh was not one of them. And yet, Brek’s mom, Pam, had matched Velma and Wayne for the first thirty-minute date of the night.
Wayne and Velma had grown up together. He was the literal boy next door.
Velma’s throat constri
cted. She had hurried out of the garage after her humiliation with Brek. No way could she face him after what happened. Nope. Avoidance was key. She’d ignored his calls. His texts. What was left to say?
Wayne sauntered toward her, winding behind tables and chairs and other attendees. All six feet two inches of police officer handsome. Darn it. Why couldn’t he make her all tingly like Brek? All those little feelings that made her uncomfortable, happy, and adventurously naughty hit her in the belly, only with the one man she had embarrassed herself with and could never, ever see again.
“Velma, dear. This is Wayne. According to your questionnaires, you two are incredibly compatible.” Pam squeezed Velma’s arm in reassurance. “Really, it’s very rare to find two people as compatible as the both of you.”
His eyes twinkled as he got closer. Honest to goodness, they twinkled. Like a freaking cartoon hero. “Velvet.”
Ugh. No. Not Velvet.
“Hi, Wayne.” She made every effort not to wring her hands or suck on her lip. She failed and glanced to Pam. “We, ah, actually know each other. We grew up together.”
Pam clapped her hands in delight and waved to someone across the room. “Wonderful. I can feel the chemistry already. You two are in the far booth. Thirty minutes and then I’ll introduce you to your next partner. Talk about the things you both enjoy doing and relax. Remember, this is fun!”
Wayne wasn’t bad. He was goodness personified. He should probably get his own sunshine halo and the key to the city. It wouldn’t ever cross his mind to have sex on a motorcycle. Wayne would have rose petals and champagne. Probably strawberries. Dipped in chocolate.
He stood there, eyes sparkling, an ear-to-ear grin. Nothing like Brek. Which was a good thing. A great thing. Especially since she wasn’t presently talking to her roommate.
“Should we go sit?” Wayne cleared his throat and gestured to a corner booth set for two.
“Yeah. Yes. Yup.” Velma ran a hand over the skirt of her teal dress. He held out his palm, clearly waiting for her to grasp it. But she couldn’t touch him. Not when she had thrown herself at Brek earlier in the day. Brek, who had changed his mind about her…because she was boring, boring Velma.
Just the Tip of the Iceberg: Mile High Matched Books 1-3 Page 14