Taking Connor (3 page)

“Sorry,” he laughs when he sees me jump.

“I . . . uh . . .”

Skin covered in tattoos and a towel.

That’s all I see.

He’s only wearing a towel.

He looks really good in a towel.

Why is the towel so small?

Or is he really that big?

My eyes dart to the floor even though they’re begging to stare at him, but not before I let them drag slowly over the tattoos that cover his hard chest and midsection
.
His build is that of a matured man, not the cut and chiseled look of a man in his twenties. No, Connor is that special breed of male that has filled out yet remained hard; there’s not an ounce of fat on him. The corners of his eyes have a slight crease when he smiles and there’s the faintest of laugh lines next to his dimples. For a man in his mid-thirties who has been in prison for many years, he looks incredible. I cringe at that thought.
I’m checking him out. But how could I? This is my deceased husband’s cousin. I cannot check him out. That’s just wrong on so many levels.

“I brought these for you. I think they’ll fit.” I thrust the items in my hands toward him, still staring at his bare feet.

God, he has big feet.

Shit.

They’re really big.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Demi.

“Oh. Thanks.” He takes them, and I turn to go, my eyes still glued to the floor.

“Demi,” he calls my name, and I turn, and let my gaze move up, running over him against my will. The side of his mouth quirks ever so slightly, almost as if he noticed my perusal before it disappears.

I can feel the heat in my face and know my cheeks must be red.

He just busted me checking him out.

“I really do appreciate all of this.” With that he turns and just before his door shuts, unbeknownst to me still watching him, he jerks the towel from around his waist, and I get a shot of his ass. Yep. I just saw my incredibly hot cousin-in-laws ass.

There’s a small restaurant within walking distance of our hotel, so we head out, leaving the moving oven that is my car parked. Once we’re in the restaurant, we’re seated promptly.

“What can I get you?” A curvy redhead smacking gum obnoxiously asks as she grins at Connor. I can’t help the thoughts that enter my mind as Connor smiles back at her, a look of interest in his gaze.
Has it really been eight years since he’s been with a woman? Wow.
I’ve managed two years—well, more if you count the time Blake was sick—of abstinence, and that’s starting to weigh heavily on me.

“Four shots of Tequila and a Corona,” Connor orders.

“And for your wife,” the waitress darts her gaze to me. I fight the urge to raise my brows at her obviously fishing question. She wants to know if he’s taken.

“Oh, we’re not married,” I quickly correct her and immediately regret it. What does it matter if she thinks we’re married or not?

“She’s my sister,” Connor adds as he winks at her, and I shift in my seat as their eyes lock. Okay. I guess it does matter.

“Oh . . . well. Lucky sister,” she sighs. I can’t fight furrowing my brows and twisting my mouth.
Does she realize how dumb that sounded?

“I’ll have a glass of water and a Miller Lite,” I interrupt and grab my purse. “I think I’ll head to the restroom. Be right back.” I fly out of my chair and dart to the back of the building. It’s been a long time since I’ve flirted or been hit on, but I remember what it looks like. It’s not hard to see Connor is looking for some action, and I’d rather not be there to witness it.

I take my time in the restroom, applying ChapStick and looking at myself in the mirror. Compared to the young, voluptuous redhead serving us, I don’t look quite as . . . eye-catching, but I’m not an old hag either. Of course, I have no idea why I’m comparing myself to the waitress; it’s not like it matters to me if Connor finds me attractive anyway. Running my fingers through my black hair, I fluff it up around my scalp. My hair is long, and my figure is still holding up; my boobs are still perky, and my ass hasn’t gotten too wide with age. Not having kids probably helped with that. That thought makes me frown. If I had a choice, my hips would be as wide as the great outdoors after having babies. But I guess it wasn’t in the cards for me. Staring at my reflection, I will myself to look on the bright side. Maybe I am childless, but I have my health, I’m an attractive person . . . I think, and I’m only in my thirties. Maybe I’m not the young, fresh woman I was when I met Blake. He got my best years, no doubt. But I
am
breathing. I am a flesh and blood woman, and I know one day I’ll want to be with someone again. There’s just so much guilt I’m feeling and need to get over right now. Blake died. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like it’s okay to let another man touch me.

When I head back to the table, two shots sit in front of where I’m sitting, and two are in front of Connor. “I hope you don’t think I’m taking those,” I grimace as I sit.

“I do,” Connor grins. “One is to celebrate. I’m a free man, and it is
your
great misfortune that you picked me up today, so you must celebrate with me.” He nudges one of the shots in my direction, his dark eyes twinkling as I scrunch my nose.

“Blake obviously never wrote you about my low tolerance for tequila. It makes me crazy,” I laugh as I reach for the shot and turn it between my fingers on the table.

“Then we’re two birds of the same feather,” he jests. “Crazy is okay.” He gives me a pleading stare. “Please?”

I know I’m going to regret this, but when a man who just got out of prison after eight years asks you to take a shot with him, it’s hard to say no. So I plaster a smile on my face, nod in agreement, and raise my shot glass. “To freedom.”

“To freedom,” Connor repeats with a nod, and we tap our shots together before downing them. He immediately takes the lime and sucks it.

“Straight up, no lime. You’re a badass,” he laughs when he sees I’ve left my lime untouched.

“What can I say?” I shrug. “What’s the second shot for?”

Connor’s smile fades as he stares down at the shot in his hand. “It’s for Blake.” Lifting his shot glass, he says, “To you, Blake. The best man I’ve ever known.”

Tears sting my eyes as I lift my glass. “To Blake,” I manage though my words are strained, my voice hoarse with emotion. After we drink our shots of tequila, Connor smiles.

“I heard it was a nice funeral,” he murmurs, staring at his empty shot glass.

“It was,” I agree.

“I wanted to be there, but I wouldn’t have gotten released to go. Even if I had, it would’ve cost Grams thousands to get me there, and I would’ve been in a pink jumpsuit and cuffs with guards on either side of me. That would’ve only made things more difficult for everyone. Blake deserved a dignified funeral. Not one with his loser cousin drawing everyone’s attention.”

I swallow hard, trying to push down the thought of a man like Connor—so big and tough—wearing a pink jumpsuit. Shaking my head, I clear that thought. “He would’ve understood, Connor. He spoke of you all the time. You were his hero.”

“Some hero,” he grumbles as he wipes a palm down his face, his eyes laced with sadness.

Redhead returns and takes our order, and Connor and I fall into conversation. He tells me stories about growing up with Blake, the crazy things they used to do. Many of the stories are ones I’d heard from Blake, but I listen intently, enjoying Connor’s version of the events.

When our food is delivered, as Connor cuts into his country fried steak, he asks, “Tell me how you met Blake.”

I chuckle. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Not in detail. No.”

My eyes flit to my hand holding my beer bottle. The way Blake and I met wasn’t exactly your classic romance story. “I was a waitress. At Hooters,” I admit, trying to fight the heat crawling up my neck.

Connor almost spits his food out. His eyes travel down to my chest, before nodding. “You’ve got the body for it,” he adds, and my eyes widen. What an honest thing to say to your deceased cousin’s wife.

“Uh . . .” I struggle to move on. If Connor notices my shock, he doesn’t let on as he goes back to cutting his food. “It was his birthday. His friends brought him in for dinner. Drinks. He flirted with me but didn’t hit on me. His friends did. Big time.”

Connor chuckles softly. “So how is it you ended up going on a date with him?”

“They all left, and an hour later he returned. Alone.” I can’t help the smile that tilts my lips as I remember Blake with his easy smile and shaggy hair. “By that time, we were really busy, and all of my tables were full. He waited an hour and a half to be seated at my table.”

Connor grins widely. “That’s my boy,” he laughs.

“When I asked him what I could get him, he told me my phone number.”

“Confident bastard,” Connor chuckles.

“I told him no, but he stayed the remainder of the night and every time I came to his table he’d ask again, but in the end he left that night without my number.”

“Playing hard to get?” Connor questions before sipping his beer.

“No,” I answer honestly. “Do you know how many guys asked for my number during my shifts?”

“I bet,” he somewhat snorts a laugh through his nose.

“To make a long story short, he returned three more times and sat at my table all night asking over and over for my number. Finally, I gave it to him.” I shrug and take a gulp from my beer.

“What finally made you give in?”

I stare down at the bottle of beer in my hand and smile. “Blake was . . . refreshing. He wasn’t like other men I had met. Sometimes I think meeting him was a punishment, and sometimes I think it was a gift,” I admit.

“Punishment?” Connor asks, his voice going deep.

“It’s not fair to have known someone so great and have them taken away so soon.”

Connor nods in understanding before taking a sip of his beer. “There wasn’t one letter he wrote to me where he didn’t talk about you, ya know?” he says, and I frown. Blake adored me. I was so lucky to find that in my life even if it was only for a short time.

After we finish dinner, Connor insists on paying. I have no idea where he got the money from, but I don’t want to insult him, so I don’t argue. When I stand, he remains sitting and glances to the back of the restaurant. He’s looking for our waitress.

“You staying?” I question.

“Maybe for another drink or two,” he answers, his gaze meeting mine. “But I can walk you back.” He moves to stand, and I place a firm hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“It’s literally four hundred feet. I think I can make it,” I assure him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

With that, I leave wondering why I feel so . . . lonely. Clearly Connor is going to hook up with our waitress. And it will be a fun sex-filled night with no strings attached. I’ve never had a one night stand, but I can see the novelty of them. More so now than ever. My body wants something my heart isn’t really onboard to handle. Maybe I could do it. Find a one night lover, a faceless man to sate my need while protecting my heart simultaneously.

As I enter my hotel room, I decide to think about it a little more; not make any rash decisions.

When Connor emerges from his room the next morning, he looks like a brand new man. I look like death walking. His little hook up screeched all night as his headboard tapped against our adjoining walls.

“You okay?” he asks after taking a long stretch.

“Never better,” I mutter tiredly. His door swings open and our waitress from last night exits wrapped in nothing but a towel, her red hair billowing down her back. She smiles shyly at me, but when she looks at Connor, she bites her lip and gives him a knowing smile.

As she coils her arms around his waist, he looks to me awkwardly. “Uh . . . Demi I’ll meet you at the car. I’ll just be a minute,” he promises.

“By all means, take your time,” I mumble as I drag myself to my vehicle.

It takes ten minutes before I see Red walking barefoot across the parking lot to her car, carrying her shoes, and smiling ear to ear. They must have had a quickie. When Connor climbs in, he nods with a weird smile on his face. He knows I’m not stupid, and I know I’ve been sitting in a hot car while he either A, screwed Red’s brains out, or B, she sucked him off.