Taking Connor (22 page)

But deep down I know that’s not true.

My love for Blake could never be compared, but I know I can still feel those kinds of feelings for someone.

I know this because I feel them for Connor.

Add in the tortured dynamic of forbidden love and I’m your modern day Juliette.

“I’m still waiting,” Vick whispers as he softly brushes his lips against mine.

“Waiting for what?” I mumble against his mouth.

“For you to be ready. I’ll wait until you tell me you’re ready, okay?”

I kiss him quickly and pull away, turning to the sink and washing my hands. I don’t want to discuss sex right now. I don’t want to even think about it, so I don’t answer. Vick watches me for a long moment, waiting for my response, but to his credit lets it drop and starts teasing me about my painting skills. We turn on some music and share a bottle of wine in the living room before he heads home. But when I go to bed that night, I wonder if maybe I’m just scared. Is that why the thought of having sex with Vick feels so . . . foreign? Granted, I wasn’t scared with Connor the other night, but I was drunk, and alcohol can definitely take the edge off.

I roll on my side and punch my pillow a few times as if it’s the pillows fault I can’t sleep. The truth is, the Vick sex thing isn’t what’s keeping me up. It’s Connor. Of course, it is. He’s angry with me, and it bothers me so profoundly that my insides ache. I hate myself for playing dumb and acting like I was too drunk to remember what happened. After another hour, I jerk the blankets back and head downstairs to get a glass of water. Standing on my tiptoes, I peek out the kitchen window. Connor is cleaning up the garage, his shirt off, and all I can do is stare. His hands are tinted with grime and oil from working on the bike, and his face is scruffy with a few days old beard. I reach my hand up and rub my neck, feeling tension gripping my muscles. I gulp my water, my gaze never leaving him as he sweeps the floor, the muscles in his back flexing as he moves. I have no idea how long I watch him, but I can’t seem to look away, even when my hand drifts down and my thumb dances over my hardened nipple straining against the fabric of my shirt. He walks to the back of the garage, out of sight, and I close my eyes trying to remember the feel of him against me. Letting my hand drift down further, I slip it under the band of my shorts and panties until I reach my core. The moment I touch my clit a thrill so intense shoots through me it makes me lurch forward and moan. But it’s short lived as the glass in my hand slips and breaks in the sink. Cursing, I snap to and back away. Another glass lost to me fantasizing about Connor.

Shaking my head, I leave the glass and rush back upstairs. These feelings are insane. I shouldn’t want him this way. It’s wrong. I know it is. And I realize now, maybe I am in need of physical contact. Maybe I do need to feel a man intimately, and somehow in my desperation, I’ve warped thoughts into a fantasy that Connor is that man.

Lying back down, I take a deep breath. Vick is amazing. He’s incredibly handsome and funny. Maybe I’m not in love with him . . . yet, but that might come with time. And so what if it doesn’t? I’m not a mutant. We all need sex. Would it be so terrible to share that with Vick knowing he may not be my next great love? I don’t think so. And maybe, just maybe, he could sate me; scratch that itch.

Maybe if I make love to Vick, just maybe I will stop wishing I could make love to Connor.

I wake up with a new outlook and determination. I’m going to embrace my sexuality. I’m going to stop making sex about love and happily ever after’s, and I’m going to open myself up to the idea of fulfilling my physical needs. Tonight is the night. I’m ready. And I know Vick is too. Tonight I will make love to a man after three years of hardly any physical contact. My stomach is in knots, but that’s normal . . . I think. Right?

I spend the day cleaning my house and going through my closet and drawers, getting rid of old clothes, anything to keep my mind occupied, so I don’t overthink tonight. When the afternoon rolls around, I lay out my sexiest dress and pull out my laciest bra and panties. As I get ready, I take my time, hoping I can make myself look halfway as good as my sister would. Lexi would be ideal to help me with this, but I don’t want her to know I’m planning on going all the way with Vick tonight. She’d probably climb on my roof with a megaphone and announce it to the world. But even without her help, I manage just fine. In the end, my dress fits like a glove, my legs look stellar in heels, and my dark hair is curled perfectly, draping softly over my shoulders and down my back. I’m not sure what to do about the fear in my eyes. More eyeliner maybe? Saying the words,
I want to have sex with you
, to Vick, seems impossible. I’d probably choke on spit trying to. I’m hoping the outfit will be enough—that it will do all of the talking for me. Vick and I agreed to meet at a little restaurant on the edge of town tonight at 7:00 pm. Around 6:30 pm, I head downstairs and look out my kitchen window to make sure Connor was nowhere in sight.

Coast is clear.

My clutch pressed tightly to me, I scurry out the back porch and down the stairs. I’ve just rounded the corner of the house when I stop in my tracks. Connor is leaning against a white car, arms crossed as he stares at a woman who is flailing her arms and talking animatedly. I don’t know if I should just try to sneak around them or go back inside to give them privacy. She’s a beautiful woman with long blonde hair and a short, but thin figure. Is this an ex of his? Or maybe a woman he hooked up with giving him hell for not calling?

I shake my head and roll my eyes. I thought more of him than this. Is he sleeping with multiple women? What about Roxy? Would I have been another notch on his belt? My heart aches at the thought, but I thank God nothing more happened between us. At least I’m not this woman. With that thought, the blonde’s head whips toward me and her brows rise as she slowly looks to Connor.

“Is this her?” she asks, jabbing her thumb toward me. I narrow my eyes in suspicion. What has Connor gotten me dragged into? A jealous lover’s quarrel?

“Look,” Connor says, sternly, as he stands to his full height causing the woman to step back. “You’ve said your peace. I’m sorry for your troubles, but coming here isn’t the solution to them. I’ll pass along what you’ve told me. You should go.”

I’m standing like a statue, watching them, wondering what I should do. But however direct Connor’s statement to this woman might have been, she’s not taking a hint. She turns on her heel and marches toward me.

“You’re sleeping with my husband, aren’t you?” she asks as she stops in front of me.

“Lady,” Connor warns as he moves to step between us, blocking me from her. “You need to go.”

All I can do is stare wide-eyed, unsure of what I’m being accused of. Sleeping with her husband? Is she talking about Connor? No, there’s no way he’s married.

She raises her left hand modeling a small diamond ring. “Vick,” she says, simply. “He’s my husband, and you’re fucking him.”

My mouth drops open as my stomach flips.

Vick?

Vick is married?

“Three years,” she adds as she drops her hand. “I’m pregnant with our second child.”

My heart hammers in my chest as I stumble back and catch myself against the side of the house. Connor quickly turns and pulls me up, holding me as I process.

Vick is married.

Vick is married.

Vick has a kid and one on the way.

Vick is married.

Even witnessing how this news has knocked the wind out of me, blondie continues. “Told him I was pregnant two months ago. When I woke up the next morning, he’d cleaned out our savings account and took off. His mother wouldn’t tell me where he was until I threatened to never let her see her grandkids.”

I move my gaze to her and see she’s watching me. I’m giving her exactly the reaction she wanted. Vick may be a deadbeat husband and father, but that’s not my fault. She came here to punish him by hurting me. She knew telling me would ruin any chance he had with me, which is one hundred percent true, but her method of doing this was harsh. She didn’t have to hurt me to hurt him. Or maybe she did, but she could’ve been nicer . . . or more delicate.

Connor turns back to her. “You’ve said your peace. Now go,” he orders her.

Blondie backs away and shakes her head. “Should’ve known he’d go for the first easy piece of ass in town,” she jabs.

Connor lurches forward, but I grab his arm, stopping him. I know he wasn’t going to hurt her, but he was probably about to yell some choice words. Stepping around him, I look her in the eye. “We haven’t slept together. I’m not sure if that’s what you want to know or not. But you have my word we haven’t done anything beyond kiss.”

Her blue eyes run up and down me, her distaste of me evident. “Women that wear dresses like that are looking for more than kissing.”

My fists clench at my sides as I fight to maintain calm. I don’t need to stoop to her level. I don’t need to insult her. I don’t know her, and she doesn’t know me, which makes this whole conversation ridiculous.

“You can leave now,” I answer with a patient smile. “I’ll let Vick know you stopped by.”

Shaking her head again, she spins around and climbs back in her car and takes off. As soon as her car is out of sight, Connor turns back to me, an unsure and sad smirk on his face. His shirt is dirty with oil and grime, and sweat covers his brow, but he looks handsome as ever.

“I tried to get her to leave before she got to you,” he manages.

“I know,” I answer numbly. Looking down at myself, I’m surprised I’m not more upset. I mean, I was going to sleep with this man tonight, and I just found out he’s a married liar. I’m angry he lied. I’m embarrassed I was so easily swindled. But deep down I’m so grateful. However rude his wife may have been, she saved me from making a huge mistake. I look down at my dress and sigh, my eyes tearing up. I’m such a fool. How could I have been so naïve? Not wanting to get emotional in front of Connor, I blink my tears back and take a deep breath,

“Looks like a waste of a good outfit,” I pout, hoping to ease the awkwardness radiating from me.

“Give me five minutes,” Connor says, as he turns and heads for the stairs to his apartment.

“What?”

“We’re going out tonight. Give me five minutes to get ready.”

He disappears inside his apartment, leaving me standing in stunned silence.

We’ve been sitting at the bar for two hours, and I am mostly drunk. The bartender has just placed a glass of water and chicken fingers in front of me. When I glance at Connor, he smiles, not looking at me.

“Eat,” he orders.

I nibble on the chicken fingers and gulp the water. I fully intend to drink more beer, but I figure it’s best not to argue with Connor about the food and water.

Another two hours pass and I’m wasted. Lexi showed up and joined me in a Vick hating rally where the more you drink, the less hate you felt. Connor has kept close all night, watching us, sipping beer and warding off women trying to catch his eye.

When Lexi takes a bathroom break, I join Connor at the bar again.

“I think every woman in this place wants to go home with you tonight,” I murmur. I know I shouldn’t say things like this to him, but I’m too drunk to care.

He chuckles and looks at me. “Not every woman,” he mumbles and sips his beer.

That was a stab at me. Does he feel like I’ve rejected him? The urge to defend myself or address the giant elephant in the room rises, but I fight it back down. Acknowledging that night might only make it worse.

“Why don’t you talk to one?” I say, jutting my chin in the direction of two blondes that won’t stop staring at him.

He sighs and runs a wide palm down his face. “They only want to fuck me because I’m a convict.”

I scowl. “How would they know that?” I ask.

“Everyone in this town knows, Demi,” he huffs before chugging down the rest of his beer and motioning to the bartender for another.

“They do?” I question, baffled. “No one has breathed a word to me.”

“That’s because they’re scared you’ll tell me.”

My heart hurts a little with this news. Connor is so . . . good. I hate the thought that people sum him up as one thing: bad.