by Jen Davis
But it didn’t come. Instead, her friend asked gently, “What do you know?”
“I know I want to keep feeling the way I do when he looks at me.” She sighed. “I know he’s a good guy underneath whatever shitty circumstances he’s in. He wants to get away from it. He wants to keep me away from it. I know he’s had a hard life.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cushion, her hand slipping out of her friend’s. “I think he lost his parents too, but he didn’t have someone like Will or Izzy to make sure things would be okay.”
“Are you going to see him again?”
She could hear no censure in Carol’s voice. It was one of the things she loved best about her friend. Though Carol did sound tired and looked it, too.
She didn’t even think before she answered. “Yes. I’m not sure how, but yeah, I’m going to see him again.”
***
When she woke up the next morning, Liv found an eye patch on Carol’s coffee table. Her friend must have planted it there during the night. Gamely, she tried it on, but she quickly ruled it out. First of all, the elastic rubbed against the bruise which had blossomed as she slept, making her more uncomfortable than ever. Secondly, the patch only covered about half of her swollen purple flesh.
Third, she looked like a fucking pirate.
A wannabe pirate with a black eye the size of Texas.
She dragged herself into Carol’s bedroom, hoping to beg a ride home, but her friend had looked so exhausted last night, she couldn’t bring herself to wake her. So, she Ubered. A quick shower and half a bottle of concealer later, she figured she could pass as someone who hadn’t run into a fist the night before.
She was right. No one even glanced at her twice as she powered through the day. By lunchtime, she managed to even forget about it herself. It wasn’t until Devon returned to her classroom at the end of the day, he gave her reason to remember.
He spoke softly, but his voice was ice cold. “Who hurt you?”
Her hand flew to her eye, and she flinched when her fingers ran over the tender skin.
“Make up doesn’t last all day. It’s starting to show.”
Crap. She should have anticipated this on her own.
“You shouldn’t be with somebody who puts his hands on you.” His nostrils flared. “Tell me who did it, and I will make sure he never does it again.”
“Oh honey, a man didn’t do this to me.”
He shook his head like she disappointed him. “You gonna tell me you walked into a door? You got hit with a ball?”
She sat down in one of the chairs and gestured for him to join her. “I got hit with my sister’s fist when we sparred at the gym.”
Devon’s eyebrows shot up. “You fight?”
“Not very well, obviously. I weaved when I should have ducked, and she hit me even though she was trying to miss. Believe it or not, she actually teaches classes on this stuff.” She pulled out her phone and pulled up her sister’s profile page on the website for the gym before handing it to him.
It wasn’t until he scrutinized at Izzy’s picture, he finally relaxed his tensed features. “She looks so much like you.”
She grinned. “Except for the black eye and all, sure.”
He handed her phone back. “I’m glad it wasn’t something else.”
“Thanks. I appreciate you trying to look out for me, but it’s my job to look out for you. Humor your teacher for a second while I’ve got you here. Have you given any thought to the ACT prep classes we talked about? You still have a few days to sign up for the summer session.”
Devon’s pursed lips gave her all the answer she needed.
“What can it hurt, Devon? I’ll bet you can get a scholarship to a place close-by. You could stay home with your family if you’re worried about leaving them.”
He drew figure-eights on the top of the desk with his finger, staring intently at the wood littered with names and graffiti carved into the surface. “You don’t understand. I’m gonna have to start working soon. I’m not going to have a choice.”
“But you—”
“The answer is no.” He looked up to face her. “It means a lot to me you want to help, but you can’t. It only hurts more when you make me think about things I can’t have. If you really want to do something for me, you’ll stop bringing this up.”
Tears prickled her eyes as Devon got up and walked toward the door.
“Thanks for believing in me, though.” He didn’t turn around. “I won’t forget it.”
CHAPTER TEN
Liv
Liv put her car in park outside Brick’s work site an hour after school. She wasn’t sure at first if he’d still be on the same build where she met him, but she recognized his truck the minute she pulled up. Her internal debate about whether to seek him out ended quickly once she realized the old Liv would’ve been too nervous to put herself out there.
Bonus points: she saw no sign of Will.
She’d barely made it two steps out of the car before Brick’s long stride approached her. He’d stormed from the house, which now resembled a popsicle-stick version of itself. All the wood bones were in place, but not much else.
Her gaze soaked in the sight of him. Jeans hugged his thick legs, and an open blue flannel shirt covered a tight white T. His yellow hardhat did nothing to detract from the intensity written all over his face. Intensity that looked a whole lot more like fury the closer he got.
Had she made a mistake in coming here?
She took an involuntary step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have showed up at your work without warning.”
He lifted his hand to her face but stopped short of touching her. “Someone hit you,” he growled. His eyes glowed with wrath.
She wrapped her hand around his and pulled it close to her chest. “My sister did it,” she explained quickly. “It was an accident.” She stepped in close to his rigid body. The tension poured off him in waves.
“Stay right there.” He stomped back to the house and spoke tersely with the long-haired, tattooed guy she’d seen here before. Brick handed him his hardhat and returned in less than a minute. “I’ll follow you home.”
A dozen scenarios ran through her head on the short ride to her place. Each one ended with the two of them naked. She imagined Brick inside her space with his arm around her on the sofa. His big body covering her bed. The image still floated around her brain when she pulled into her parking spot.
She approached the door, but Brick didn’t follow her. He still sat behind the wheel of his truck. Doubling back, she opened his creaking passenger door. “Aren’t you coming?”
“No,” he said tersely. “Get in.”
She didn’t hesitate. He broke at least a dozen traffic laws in the short distance to her sister’s gym.
“Should I ask how you know about this place?”
He shrugged. “You told me she teaches Krav Maga. I looked her up. It’s a nice place.”
“So why are we here?”
Brick climbed out and passed around the front of the truck to open her door. “Because you need to train with someone who’s not going to fuck up your face.”
An explanation about how she brought on the black eye herself sat on the tip of her tongue. But she didn’t want to waste her opportunity to spend time with him, so she kept her mouth shut, and they walked together into the gym. Cassie, the girl who worked reception, waved them both past the front desk.
“Not very worried about security,” Brick muttered.
She tugged him into one of the empty training rooms. “She knows who I am. Cassie’s worked with my sister for years.”
Grunting, Brick surveyed the room. Not much to see. Only the standard mat on the floor. He stopped his inspection and faced her head-on. “Hit me.”
“What? No.”
“I need to know what I’m working with. Take a swing.”
“Not. Going. To. Happen.” To accentuate her point, she plopped down onto the floor, crossing her legs
and her arms.
Putting his hands around her biceps, Brick lifted her to her feet like she was a ragdoll. He didn’t let go and he drew his face only inches from hers when he spoke. “Do you have any idea what it’s doing to me to see the shiner on your face?” His voice sounded calm, but his brown eyes flashed wild. “I need you to do this. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for me. Please.”
It was the please that did it. She gritted her teeth and shook off his hands. “Fine.” She squared her shoulders and threw a quick jab. He caught her fist in his hand, then let it go.
“Not good enough. Try again.”
“What the hell did you expect?” This was pissing her off. “I’m half your size. I’ve only been taking classes for a few weeks. And I don’t want to do this!” She pushed at his hard chest, but he didn’t move an inch. It only made her irritation burn brighter.
Brick obviously wasn’t happy, either. “You need to be able to protect yourself, Olivia. You’re not even close.”
She bit back her anger when she recognized his crazed expression for what it was: fear. Her hands crept up either side of his face.
He breathed in sharply, and his eyes drifted closed for a moment before he leveled his soulful gaze on her. His regard pressed against her like a physical touch. Though a real touch—one from those big hands—would be better.
“I know you live in a different world than I do. A scarier world. A violent one. But nothing is going to happen to me.” She’d already faced the reaper and won. “I joined this class to get stronger and to make my sister happy. I suck at it, which is okay. I’m not trying to become a ninja.”
Her fingertips traced his heavy jaw. “I’m a teacher. I grade papers. I go to the library. When I’m really living it up, I visit my brother or my sister at work.” She left out the part about jumping out of planes and off cliffs. “I’m safe.”
“Safe.” His lips moved, but he barely made a sound.
Her eyes locked on those lips, and her breath quickened as his tongue swept over the bottom one. Moving slowly, she inched closer until her body hovered less than an inch from his. As he exhaled, the heat of his breath washed over her, and butterflies took off in her stomach.
She swallowed against the rising thump of her heartbeat. The tips of her fingers now rested on his shoulders and her thumbs feathered across his collarbone. Want shaped an iron vise squeezing her chest.
Forcing her stare away from his pink, full lips, she took in his entire face. Her need reflected in his stark expression. Unable to wait one second more, she lifted onto her toes and sought his mouth with her own.
He froze at first, his muscles rigid. But he didn’t pull away.
She marveled at the softness of his lips, as she brushed her own across them, teasing, coaxing.
His pulse pounded beneath her hands. Was he breathing?
Was she?
Breaking contact with his mouth, she slid her cheek across his face, the stubble scraping gently against her skin. Her lips against his ear, she murmured, “Kiss me.” It came out more breath than sound, but the words electrified him like live wire.
Those big hands he’d kept at his sides now framed her face. Banked coals glowed in his eyes. He stared at her for a second—two—then pulled her forward to claim her mouth.
Her fantasies of him had nothing on the real thing. Brick kissed with more than just his lips; his whole body swept her up in passion.
The bulk of him overwhelmed her…exhilarated her. The heat and pressure at her mouth intensified with every breath, consuming her, burning her alive. He couldn’t get close enough.
Neither could she.
Her hands clutched his hips, gripping his jeans, crushing him to her. She moaned at the intensity of the contact.
When his tongue finally slipped between her lips, her knees went weak. One of his arms snaked around her back.
No way he’d let her fall.
All her senses trained on this man, on this moment, as she tried to stamp the memory into her mind forever. The trace of cinnamon on his tongue. The scent of soap and sandalwood.
Want.
Need.
Fire.
It was all perfect.
He was fucking perfect.
Her nipples grew tight against the pressure of his chest. And God, why had no one kissed her this way before? Her head swam, and she swayed on her feet, unable to breathe or think or function. She could only drown in his touch.
As he pulled away, she sucked in a deep breath and stumbled right back into his arms. Holding tight to his waist, she buried her head into his chest until the world began to right itself again.
The way his ragged breaths slowly turned heavy and even helped her find her center. His gentle strokes over her hair soothed her.
It could have been seconds, minutes, or hours.
Or forever.
She could stay in his arms forever.
“You make it impossible to walk away from you,” he murmured.
She smiled against his t-shirt. Beneath his regular scent, she caught a trace of sawdust he must have picked up at work. “You should stop trying.” Reluctantly, she pulled back, searching for the control she’d lost when his tongue tangled with hers. “I’m hungry.” The best idea occurred to her. “You ever been to the Majestic?”
Fifteen minutes later, they sat in a small booth. She had a Deluxe Burger with American cheese, and Brick got the Majestic Special.
She breathed in the comforting scents of the food and ran her hand reverently over the familiar vinyl seats. “I’ve loved this place since I was a kid.”
He took a bite of his burger and looked around the place, not quite skeptically, but clearly not seeing beneath the surface of its old-school diner charm.
But he would.
“My dad took me to lunch here for my eighth birthday.” She could still picture him as he looked then, so tall and healthy and strong. “We never told my mom he checked me out of school. He called it a father-daughter adventure.”
She gestured to the shiny red counter and the padded stools. “We sat right there, and he told me I could have anything I wanted. On the grown-up menu. I had a giant cheeseburger and a chocolate milkshake.” She’d felt so big.
Dad had shared memories about all the times his father had taken him here as a kid. The restaurant was a legacy of Turner memories. “He told the entire place it was my birthday and they all sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to me.”
He nodded, setting down his half-eaten sandwich.
“After Dad died—and later, my mom too—coming here helped heal me.” She hugged herself tightly, reliving the bear hugs her dad gave freely every day of her childhood.
“The Majestic is a hundred years old. It’s an institution.” It wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t changing. “I can still walk in twenty years from now and see the hanging lights or the vinyl booths. I can sit on the same stool where I sat with my dad, the table where I ate with Izzy after graduation.” She released her arms. “Or this booth, where I ate with you for the first time. It will all stay the same. Accessible forever.”
He dipped his head when she added the memory they were making now to her list of unforgettable moments. The way he’d watched her, transfixed during the story, made it clear he understood the significance.
The waitress stopped by and offered them refills.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and rearranged the ice cubes in his Coke with a straw. “I don’t understand what you’re doing here with me.”
“I enjoy being with you,” she said simply.
He said nothing, turning his attention back to his food.
She couldn’t take her eyes off Brick as he demolished his double-decker burger in a handful of efficient bites. She chewed hers slowly, savoring the juicy ground beef and the cool sweet tang of ketchup before she swallowed.
“Hey, Mister.” A little boy with curly carrot-colored hair and a striped shirt tugged on Brick’s sleeve. “Are you in WWE? You look like a
Superstar.”
Brick smiled but didn’t show any teeth. “Nah, buddy. I’m not a Superstar.”
“But you’re so big.” The little boy’s eyes were wide. “I want to be big like you someday. Then nobody can ever be mean to me no more. I could beat ’em up first.”
“You’ll be big one day,” Brick assured him. “I’ll tell you how to do it if you make me a promise.”
The child nodded.
“The secret: you gotta practice lifting milk jugs filled with water above your head over and over again. You think you can try it? Lift ’em over and over until you can’t anymore. Then do it again the next day and the next, until one day it’s not even hard anymore.”
“Milk jugs are the secret?” The little boy bounced.
“Mmm hmm. But now, here’s your part of our deal. You’ve got to promise me when you get big, you use those muscles to protect people instead of pushing them around. A deal’s a deal.”
“Hey, Dad,” the kid yelled, already running off. “We got any milk at home?”
Brick’s cheeks darkened when he caught her beaming at him. He’d probably hate the idea he came off like a big teddy bear after his exchange with the boy. She needed a distraction…to get him talking. Besides, turnabout was fair play.
“I’ve told you my story. You know about my family, my favorite burger joint, my eighth birthday. And I don’t even know your name. Doesn’t seem very fair.” She deliberately took another bite and waited for an answer.
His brow furrowed. “You know my name.”
“Your name is not Brick. No one names their baby Brick.”
“Oh.” He started tearing his napkin into thin strips. It wasn’t until he completely shredded it that he finally spoke. “Jonathan.” He cleared his throat. “My mother named me Jonathan, but nobody uses it.”
She tamped down on the satisfied smile threatening to take over her face. The last thing she wanted was to scare him off. It was a miracle she’d kept him here this long. “Speaking of calling you…” She pulled her phone out of her purse and slid it toward him. “Put your number in there.”