Taking Connor (18 page)

He snorts out a laugh, his eyes wide with mirth. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?” We’ve just reached the pool table, and he’s already signaling for our server to bring us balls so we can set up.

I cross my arms. “A bet?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Just a friendly bet between neighbors.

“What’d you have in mind?”

He reaches around and scratches the back of his neck, his bicep bulging as he does. Has he been working out since he’s been home? But where? “You owe me five dinners if I win?”

I laugh. “Joke’s on you. I’m a terrible cook.”

“Not in my book,” he argues as our waitress approaches with the balls. He orders a whiskey neat, and I decide I better stick with beer.

“So what do I get if I win?” I ask after our server has scurried off to fill our order.

“What do you want?”

I twist my mouth as I think about this. I’m definitely going to win. I’m awesome at pool. I better make it something good. “You have to cook
me
five dinners.”

He gives me a ‘Really’ look.

“That’s right, Mr. Stevens. Five dinners. One really should be duck with plum sauce.”

Smiling he counters, “Does it count if I take you out for dinner?”

“Is alcohol included?”

“Yes,” he answers as he chalks his pool stick.

“I’ll accept those terms.”

“Alright, your cockiness. You have to win first,” he jests.

“It’s in the bag,” I reply confidentially, chalking my pool stick.

“I like a woman with a little competitiveness in her.”

We play four games. I win them all. Connor is really good, though, and he came close to beating me a few times.

“Damn. Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asks as we place our pool sticks on the rack on the wall. “I think I’ll have to start calling you dead-eye.”

“High school. Dated a guy whose father owned a pool hall. It closed down a few years back.”

“I’m impressed.” Then he frowns in thought. “I think I was just hustled.”

“Definitely not,” I feign offense. “I told you I was good. And I fully intend to collect my reward,” I warn, pointing a firm finger at him. “And you have to cook at least some of the meals.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“Done,” I agree as we both chuckle. The bar has started to get busier since we arrived and the band performing this evening is doing their sound check.

“Shall we eat?” I ask.

“I’m starving. There’s a booth over there.” He points. As we’re making our way to the table, I hear, “Demi?”

Lexi rushes over and hugs me. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks as she pulls away. She’s dressed in jeans and a flowy white top, her makeup done to perfection. I usually only see the aftermath of a night of partying and hard drinking, so it’s nice to see her fresh.

“Connor and I came for dinner. What are
you
doing here?”

“I was supposed to meet a co-worker of mine for drinks, but she flaked on me. Called me right before I walked in.”

“Well come and sit with us. We just finished some pool, and we’re about to grab a bite.”

The evening starts off well. We eat and laugh, but then things seem to go downhill from there. At least for me anyway. Lexi starts ordering various shots and shooters for us. Connor takes two, then refuses anymore deciding to stick to water for the rest of the night. Me, I’m an idiot and get drunk in 0.4 seconds. I’m having a great time, but my happiness is only amplified seeing my sister so happy. I realize Blake’s death has hindered me socially, rightfully so. I mean, I lost my husband, of course I haven’t been up to going out and having a good time, but what I didn’t realize is how much Lexi has missed nights like this together. So when she drags me out on the dance floor, I let loose and try to enjoy myself and the time with my sister. Not long after we’ve started dancing, I notice Connor isn’t at our table. Scanning the room, I find him standing near the bar talking to a skinny blonde that looks like she’s twenty-five. When his gaze flicks from her to me, I jerk my gaze away and try to pretend seeing him near her doesn’t make me feel . . . something. Jealous? Really?

“You’re way hotter than her,” Lexi yells in my ear.

Of course, I play dumb. “Who?”

And as if she just read my mind, she scoffs, “God you suck at playing dumb.” I roll my eyes hating sometimes how well she knows me. “He keeps looking at you like every five seconds, ya know?”

“Who?”

She stops dancing and her look says,
are you still trying to play dumb
?

“Dude. You guys are totally attracted to each other. It’s really fucking obvious.”

I keep moving in rhythm with the song as I argue with her. “We’re just friends, Lex.

That’s it.”

“Yeah, friends that like to eye-fuck the fuck out of each other.”

“Whatever,” I fold. I’m too drunk to argue with her.

“He’s looking at you right now,” she says. And when I look over to where he’s standing, sure enough, Connor Stevens dark eyes are watching me even as he seems to be saying something to the blonde. My cheeks heat as I once again pull my gaze away.

“I know you don’t think my opinions hold much water, but I like him Demi. And . . . I don’t think it’s such a bad thing that you like him.” I’m a little stunned by her proclamation, but before I can respond, a slow song comes on and Lexi leaves me on the dance floor, running over to Connor. She whispers something in his ear, giving the blonde he’s been speaking with a smile that doesn’t quite look real, then she scurries off to the restroom. I turn away and begin to sway with the song, but can’t help looking back. Apparently, alcohol kills my self-control. My stomach twists when I see Connor walking toward me. Is he going to ask me to dance? Maybe he’s ready to go. Or maybe he wants to leave with the pretty blonde, and he’s coming to say goodbye to me. Oh, God, he’s dissing me.

“May I have this dance?” he asks as he approaches, an easy smile on his face.

“Did my sister tell you to?” I respond, trying my best not to slur.

“Tell me to what?”

“Dance with her drunk sister?”

“She told me to keep an eye on you. Make sure nobody messed with you. I thought you could use a partner,” he replies. When he holds out his hand, I take it, and he pulls me in, holding me close.

“You should be dancing with the hot blonde at the bar,” I mention.

A sober me would proceed to babble away, attempting to kill any idea of this dance being anything, but friendly. I’m not sober. I’m blitzed. And instead of talking, I step into his space and lay my head against his chest. He stills for a moment. I gather he’s surprised by how I just pressed myself against him, but it only takes a second for him to wrap his arms around me.

I danced with Vick a few nights ago, and it was wonderful, but it was nothing like this. The comfort I feel at this moment is something I haven’t felt in a long time. I know it’s all in my head, the attraction between Connor and me, but I let myself relax in his arms, closing my eyes I let him lead us. After a moment, his hand comes up and rests on the back of my head and to my complete shock, he kisses my temple. I breathe in deeply and exhale, letting all the worry melt away.

When the song ends, we stop moving, and I gaze up at him. The people surrounding us seemingly disappearing. His eyes are dark, and his expression is stoic; I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’d give anything to know. I have no idea what
I’m
thinking. All I know is I’m planted in this spot; I can’t move. When he brushes some hair from my face, I tilt my head toward his touch, seeking more. His hand freezes, holding its place against my cheek before he pulls it away and inhales deeply, his large chest rising with the effort.

“Would you like to head home?” he asks, not meeting my gaze.

I blink a few times as the moment dissipates. Looking to the floor, I clear my throat and answer, “Yes. That’s probably a good idea.” I don’t know what just transpired between us. Was it just me? Did I imagine all . . . that? Whatever it was. Either way, the high I’ve been riding all night dwindles away, and I’m left feeling disappointed. All I want to do is go home and crawl in bed.

Connor takes my hand and leads me off of the dance floor like I’m a child. We grab my small purse, and I scan the bar for our server as I dig through it looking for my debit card.

“It’s already taken care of,” Connor voices and I twist my mouth in annoyance.

“It was supposed to be my treat,” I point out.

With a sideways smirk, he replies, “Count it toward the meals I owe you.”

We say goodbye to Lexi, who swears she’s grabbing a cab and heading home. It’s dark out, but the night is warm, and I rest my head against Connor’s back the entire ride. Once we’ve pulled in the driveway and put the helmets away, we walk inside. Jeff hasn’t finished the plumbing and Connor wants to shower before he goes to bed. After an awkward moment, I hug him.

“Thanks for a fun night. I liked riding the bike.”

“I’ll have to take you out again sometime.”

“Well . . . night.”

“Night, Demi.”

Once I’m upstairs, I change into my night clothes and realize I’m still
really
drunk as the room seems to be spinning a bit. I’m going to hate myself in the morning if I don’t take some ibuprofen and drink a glass of water. Stumbling back downstairs, not bothering to turn on the kitchen light, I open my cabinet where I keep my pain relief medication, then go to the cabinet where I keep my glasses. As I’m pulling a glass down, I hear, “Oh shit.”

The glass falls from my hand as I whip around, and in the limited light from the moon shining through the kitchen window, I find Connor, naked, rushing back toward the bathroom until he hears the glass crash against the floor and turns back, using both hands to cover his manhood.

Damn.

He really needs both hands?

Stupidly, I move just as he yells, “No, no, no.”

But it’s too late. I step on the broken glass at my feet and slice my toe open.

“Mother freaker!” I hiss as I raise my foot and hop a little.

“Stay still, babe,” Connor orders. I lean against the counter and even grab a dishrag from the counter to get my gushing bloody toe under control. Connor turns from me and throws his clothes on the floor, keeping his jeans and stepping into them quickly. Funny how the pain of slicing open my toe seems to have disappeared as I stare at his ass. I feel like I’m like a horny teenage boy that just saw a girl’s nipple for the first time. What the hell is wrong with me? When he spins back around, his jeans are up, but unbuttoned, revealing that glorious V and the little bit of blonde hair that leads . . . down.

For the love of everything good and holy.
Couldn’t he just be ugly? Why, why couldn’t he have been super ugly?

“Stay right there,” he says. “Put that towel over it, babe.”

Snapping to, I find my toe still bleeding all over the place and the dishtowel in my hand. I was too busy staring at him and forgot what I was doing. As I wrap my foot, Connor grabs the broom off the porch and starts sweeping the glass in a pile to the side. Then he drops the broom, letting it smack the ground and comes to me. He lifts me by my waist as if I weigh nothing and places me on the counter. “Let me look at it.” I move my hands and can’t help but hiss a little as he pulls the towel away. “Damn, Demi. This may need stitches,” he tsks.

“No, no stitches,” I insist. “There’s a first aid kit in the bathroom closet upstairs. Will you get it? We can just butterfly it.”

After he covers my toe, he heads upstairs and returns with the kit already rummaging through it. When he pulls out the peroxide, I shake my head. “Oh, hell no. That’s going to sting.”

“It won’t feel as bad as an infection,” he argues as he twists the cap off of the bottle. “Can you put your foot over the sink?”

Twisting around, I manage to get in the right position and prepare myself for the burn as I pull the now blood-stained dishtowel away. I’m expecting him to give me a countdown or something, but nope. He just pours it right on the cut, and I yelp a little.

“No warning, Connor?”

He chuckles a little as he leans down and blows softly on my toe. His lips have that perfect round shape, and I forget the sting when his gaze moves up and meets mine as he continues to soothe my cut. Why is my mouth so damn dry right now? “I didn’t want you to overthink it.”

“Thanks,” I say, dryly, earning a laugh from him. He walks over to the freezer and pulls out the small bottle of Jack Daniels I keep. I don’t drink it often, but every once in a while I enjoy it.

“Do you mind?”

“Help yourself,” I motion. “But give me a sip first.”

“Sure you haven’t had enough tonight?”

“I’m going to feel like ass tomorrow no matter what at his point. Might as well give it my all.” As I take a long swig and choke on it, he turns me and pulls a chair from the kitchen table, taking a seat and placing my foot in his lap.

“You’ll get blood on your jeans,” I point out as I try to pull my foot away, but his firm grip prevents it. Reaching up, he grabs the bottle from me as he holds my ankle with his other hand, taking a much longer swig than me.

“They’re just jeans, babe.”

He goes to work butterflying and bandaging my toe as I think about how he called me ‘babe.’ He takes his time, only breaking to take swigs from the Jack Daniels, and when he finishes he pats my leg.

“All better.” I eye my toe now wrapped in gauze and groan in embarrassment.

“Thank you so much. I feel like such an idiot.”

“It was my fault. I didn’t mean to scare you. There weren’t any towels in the bathroom, and I thought I could sneak back to my apartment in the dark without anyone seeing me. I figured you were already passed out. Sorry you had to witness the live nude show,” he laughs as he rubs his head with one hand.

“Sorry you had to witness the wet T-shirt contest the other day, courtesy of J.J.” I retort.

He leans over as he tries to control his laughter. “I think he was my new best friend that day.”

I kick him with my good foot. “I might as well have lifted my shirt up and just showed them to you. I’ve probably scarred poor J.J. for life.”