Never Been Kissed (32 page)

“Don’t sound so nervous, Sean.” She laughed and touched her rib to his in an awkward carnivore
cheers.

Nervous didn’t cut it. Nervous wasn’t even close to what he felt.

He felt alone. Alone like he always did when his brother started handing out money like it was a proper substitute for him.

Brody was going to leave soon. His brother was going to go. And he was paving the way with cash.

Oh God,
Sean thought. He was going to fail. People would mock. Laugh behind his back. And he was going to be alone.

“Sean?”

“What am I doing?” he asked, looking her right in the eyes with every bit of doubt he felt, because there was no one in his life he could share it with.

His brother didn’t care.

His father was sick.

His friends … not a one of them understood what he was going through. Except Cora.

“You’re being bold,” she said. “Courageous.”

“I don’t like being bold.”

Her smile was so understanding, so … knowing, and he reached out with his thumb to touch her cheek, the edge of her lip. What happened in the office today was orbiting back around.

“You know what’s going to make you feel better?” she asked.

“I do,” he said, thinking of her lips, the way she’d taken him deep in her mouth.

“Later.” She cocked her head, a delicious coy womanly gesture, and he forgot why he was feeling bad. “First,” she lifted the rib, “food.”

Right, food. It looked good, shiny and drippy, charred in places. But it wasn’t like he had a great record with
food. He’d nearly poisoned just about everyone who ate anything he’d ever cooked.

And all Cora had done was hand him a recipe card and stand over his shoulder, while he stumbled through grating ginger and rubbing chili powder on meat.

Cora was good, but was she miraculous?

“Trust me, Sean.” Her kiss was a delicious whisper against his lips, across his cheek. “Try it.”

He bit into the greasy, juicy, sweet, and spicy meat—an explosion of fat and the barbecue sauce he’d made. Meat fell off the bone into his mouth and his mouth flooded with saliva.

“Holy shit,” he breathed and took another bite. Juice dripped down his chin, he wiped it up with the kitchen towel on the counter. “This …” He had another bite, cleaned up the bone.

“It’s a little salty,” she said. “And could use more rice vinegar.”

“This is the best thing I’ve ever done!”

“I doubt that.” She put down the rib with only one bite taken out of it and cut the brisket; juices, bloody and greasy, ran out with every slice of the knife. “Let’s try—”

He grabbed the blackened chewy end piece and tore into it. “No, you’re right,
this
is the best thing—”

“It’s not bad,” she said, chewing her own piece. “You’ll need to serve it with extra sauce. It would be great with pickles.” She shot him a know-it-all look that did nothing but make him horny. But then, this meat made him horny. Success made him horny, too. “But it will be perfect for brisket chili. We can work on that tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agreed and put the brisket back on the cutting board. He wiped his hands on the towel and then put them on her hips. They felt good under his hands so he squeezed them. He squeezed them with intent.

The things I’m going to do to you,
his hands said.
Oh, the things I’m going to do.

She reached past him and grabbed the towel and he took the opportunity to slide his hands from her hips to the tensile strength of her waist, the smooth skin of her belly. She wore no fancy sweater today, no pristine chef whites with their taunting buttons. It was a T-shirt, which said Goodnight Moon, Goodnight Pie, and it sailed over her head.

“Oh God,” he groaned and cupped her breasts; the lace of her bra was rough under his fingers and he didn’t like that so he scooped it down under her breasts, the silk tore and he liked the violence, he liked the tremble of her breasts, he adored the shape and color of her nipple, the brown ridge of them.

His T-shirt, which said nothing, which was boring and smeared with barbecue sauce, sailed over his head.

“Your body is beautiful.” Her fingers ran down his chest, across the ridges of his stomach. He had the metabolic rate of a hummingbird, it was hardly fair, but there it was. Six-pack abs without ever doing a sit-up.

“I was thinking the same thing about yours.” He walked her backward. They bumped into the door frame and he rerouted them to the couch, where she pushed him down.

He sprawled back, arms and legs spread, and she fell on him.

Sean had never been accused of being smart. His gut made most of his decisions, his heart was bigger than his head, and his mouth was faster than everything.

All of that to say, he had no idea how to tell her how beautiful she was, how strong and amazing, and how fucking glad he was that they weren’t fighting anymore. That they were instead making out like teenagers on his couch.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and with a mighty twist shifted them so she was under him. With one hand he pulled her arms over her head and held
them there, while he kissed her throat, her breasts. He pulled the brown nut of her nipple into his mouth and used his teeth against her until she shook under him.

“Sean,” she groaned, straining against his hands, and he liked that so he held her harder, which if he could tell by the wicked tone of her laughter she liked, too.

“I owe you, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.”

“Then be quiet and let me repay my debt.”

He let go of her wrists and kissed his way down her stomach, she twitched and sighed under his lips. Quickly, he got rid of her pants, her socks and shoes, until she was lying there in pink silk underwear that was so beautiful, so pretty and feminine, he pressed his lips against her, right through the silk.

“Sean.” She sighed and curled her fingers in his hair. He licked her until he tasted the salt of her. The very essence of her. Sweet and salty and hot and delicious.

“Spread your legs,” he whispered against her and she shifted, one foot falling onto the floor. “Wider.”

He wanted all of her, every bit of her, and this was so unprecedented for him, to want someone, to need someone like this. Her leg slipped over his shoulder, cocooning him, wrapping him up in her.

And he liked that. A lot.

The pink silk vanished under his hands, and he parted her with his fingers, stroked her with his thumb. Made her come with his hands, before he bent his head down to make her come with his mouth.

“We’re even,” she breathed, tugging at him.

“This one’s for me,” he told her.

They did it all night, mouth and hands and bodies. They fell against the floor, found themselves against the wall. She straddled him when he sat on the edge of the tub.

And he didn’t know when, maybe after finishing the ribs
or before she told him about how her mother put herself through college and Cora through cooking school after Cora’s father died, maybe it was when he told her about going to the bar with his dad when he was a kid, how Ed let him pour the beers and clean up the glasses.

How ever since he was twelve he wanted to take over The Pour House and make it into the kind of place people felt at home in.

But at some point, he knew he wasn’t going to fuck this up. Whatever was happening with Cora, he was going to get it right.

“Where does Shelby live?” Ashley asked on Friday morning. It was raining again, water throwing itself against the window from gray gloomy clouds. It was a day for staying in bed, but she had plans.

Brody rolled over and sighed up at the ceiling. “I just need a few hours of sleep. Just a few.” But he was smiling, as much as he did.

“You weren’t complaining an hour ago.”

He turned toward her and brushed hair back from her forehead, his thumb across the scar.

“You’re funny when you try to flirt,” he said.

Yes, she was working on that. As well as talking dirty and getting used to this … to lying in bed with him, while the sweat dried on their bodies, while the memories of what had made them so sweaty were wrapped in paper and stored away to be taken out later.

She was getting used to his half-smiles, his casual touches. Just as she was sure he was getting used to hers.

“She lives out past the Peabody, County Road 12. I’ll drive you.”

“If it clears up I’d like to walk.”

“Are you forgetting the four photographers yesterday?”

Her statement had been sent out Sunday. The photographers not turned off by the words
senior programming
had shown up on Tuesday and taken a few pictures. They were more polite than Brody had been.

“I am.” She grinned at his scowl. “Because who cares. They got the picture and I’m sure they’ve moved on.”

He appeared dubious. “What are you doing with Shelby?”

“Oh, poor Brody, are you upset because I won’t be lying in bed all day waiting for you to come home and have sex with me?”

“Yes.” He was joking, he could hardly keep the pride out of his eyes. Out of his touch. His fingers slowly gathered the sheet, pulling it from her chest, revealing her skin in inches, starts and stops. Her heart started a thugging rhythm. “Are you meeting with her to talk about the senior programming?”

“Yep.”

His fingers stopped pulling the sheet. “Suddenly my mood is gone.”

“Senior art programs don’t get you hot?”

He rolled onto his back.

“Shuttle services?” She straddled him, the sheet over her shoulders. “Game nights?”

“Please stop. Honestly.” Brody missed his calling for the stage, he could have been the world’s best straight man in a comedy duo. She rewarded his comic genius with a long, slow wet kiss.

“Something is getting you hot.” She wiggled against his growing erection.

His hands cupped her hips, pressing her harder to him.

“Is it bridge?” she asked, kissing his neck. “Maybe some senior stretch classes?” She kissed his chest, her
heart thrilling at his laughter. Glee was a drunk bird in her chest, crashing around, making a ruckus. She kissed her way over his chest and down his belly.

She licked his erection and he arched up, his hand cupping her head, tangling in her hair.

“I know.” She shook off the sheet, grinning up at him. “Ballroom dancing. That’s what’s making you hot.”

He rolled her over, kissing her breasts, her neck, the skin of her shoulder. The man had incredible condom skills, he had the thing on before she stopped laughing, before she fully understood his plan.

And then he was inside of her, high and hard and perfect, and she wasn’t laughing anymore.

“You,” he said, grabbing the iron railing of the headboard.

And that was all he said until they both cried out their pleasure.

Wednesday morning, Brody put down the phone at the bar and looked around for a pen and a piece of paper. “What the hell, Sean?” he cried. “Don’t you have anything to write with?”

“It’s a bar, Brody.” Sean slapped a chewed-up pencil and a napkin in front of him. “Not an office. What do you need to write down anyway?”

“Gary said he’d come and look at the electrical—”

“Gary’s like seven hundred years old.”

Brody shook his head. “I still trust him more than I trust some guy from Masonville I’ve never met.”

Sean knocked on the bar, nervous tension just rolling off him. “Something on your mind, Sean?”

“Hey, we need to make an arrangement,” his brother said. “About this loan you’re giving me.”

Strange. Sean didn’t ever talk about arrangements. “I’ll pay for the renovation, help with some of the start-up costs with the food.”

“How much?”

“As much as it takes.”

“Give me a number.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re going to leave! You’re going to leave and who knows when the hell you’ll be back, or when I’ll hear from you, and this is my bar. My business. And I need to have some kind of control.”

No doubt Sean expected Brody to argue. He actually looked slightly nervous standing there. Brody wanted to
pat his shoulder, tell him it was all right, that he was, in fact, doing the smart thing.

Cora was good for Sean.

Or maybe it’s just your brother realizing he can’t count on you.

The thought, even though it was the truth, was uncomfortable and he shied away from it.

“Ten grand,” Brody said. “I can transfer the money to whatever account you want.”

Sean’s mouth fell open, and he was back to being the grateful younger brother. “That’s really generous, Brody; you know I’ll pay you back—”

“I know, Sean. I know. It’s okay.”

Sean nodded and they both looked away, toward the two-by-fours that framed the future kitchen. It looked good, like the beginning of something.

“Hey.” Sean braced his hands wide on the bar. “I had an idea—”

“Uh-oh.”

Sean didn’t make any snappy comeback and Brody glanced up, only to find his brother wearing a slightly disappointed look on his face.

“Tell me your idea.”

“A party. Cora called it a menu … thing. A reveal.”

“Sounds all right. When?”

“When can you get the kitchen done?”

“The kitchen isn’t getting done for a long time, Sean. Three weeks if you’re lucky, a month and a bit if you’re not.”

Sean screwed up his face. “Okay, that’s a minor problem. But I can put a grill in the back, do the prep at my house.”

Brody laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“The prep—you sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

Sean smiled. “Make fun if you want, but I’m good. Even Cora thinks so.”

“Well, if Cora thinks so.” Brody gave him a sideways teasing look but Sean didn’t stop his beaming.

“When do you want to have this party?”

“Next Saturday night. Saturday night is a good night for a party. It’ll give me some time to get things organized.”

“Do it. Let me know what I can do to help.”

Sean went back to polishing his glasses, sliding the fancy ones in the rack over the bar. Brody had plenty of work to do, but this was nice. It was good to see his brother so pumped.