Three weeks later
Shut up already!
Brad—twenty-five, full-time firefighter—hasn’t shut his fucking mouth since I sat down at the bar forty-five minutes ago. He needs to shut up.
You need to shut up.
Somehow, by the grace of God, I manage to keep the words from actually spilling from my mouth, which is becoming increasingly more difficult with each dirty martini. Speaking of dirty martinis…
Raising my hand, I signal the bartender for another drink. In a matter of minutes I’m back to sipping while still staring at Brad’s mouth as he tells me about…shit. What the hell was he telling me about?
It’s too late. The Mississippi native with a sexy Southern drawl has officially bored me to death. My shoulders deflate, and I take another drink. This is pointless. As much as I’d like to rip off Brad’s clothes to see if his body is as chiseled as it looks, I just can’t get past the fact that he’s unable to hold my interest in a simple conversation.
It’s probably my fault. I’m the one who asked him to tell me about himself, and now I have to figure out how in the hell to get him to stop.
“Brittany.” Brad snaps his fingers and I look up, catching his gaze. He smiles a thousand-watt smile, and for a fraction of a second I reconsider my decision to ditch him.
“I’m sorry,” I say sheepishly. “I, uhh…I must’ve zoned out. What was the question?”
“He asked if he could take you out on a date.” My head whips to the right at the familiar voice. Looks like the night just got a whole lot more interesting.
Connor’s blue eyes lock on mine. “I take it you haven’t told him yet.”
I have no idea what he’s up to, but I decide to take the bait. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.” Raising my eyebrows, I wrap my lips around the rim of my glass and take a sip. Connor cocks a brow, his gorgeous eyes dancing with mischief.
“She doesn’t date.” He directs his words at Brad. “She fucks.”
My eyes leave Connor’s long enough to see Brad perk up in his seat.
“You don’t date?” Brad asks.
“I don’t,” I tell him.
“She fucks,” Connor clarifies.
Brad nods, his brown eyes now thick with lust. “She fucks,” he says slowly as though he’s trying to understand what Connor just said.
Connor grins. “But not you.”
“Why not me?”
Shifting in my seat, I narrow my gaze on Connor. “Yeah, why not him?”
“Do you want to fuck him?” he fires back, tossing a thumb toward Brad.
“Now wait a minute,” Brad says as he slides off his chair. In one stealthy and incredibly sexy move, Connor pushes his way between Brad and me, effectively blocking out our third wheel. His hands land on either side of my chair and he bends down until we’re eye to eye. As his breath fans my face, I wonder if he tastes as good as he smells.
“Have a drink with me?” he asks.
Holding up my martini glass, I give a little wave. “I am having a drink.”
Connor pushes against my legs and I automatically part them, allowing him to step in between. Heaven help me, he feels good settled between my thighs. I just wish we could resume this position later sans clothes. “Have a drink with me over there,” he says, nodding toward a booth.
“Like a date?”
He shakes his head, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Well, since you don’t date, I know better than to ask you out on one. It’s just a drink. Two, if I’m lucky.”
“Excuse me.” Brad steps around Connor, who throws up a hand.
“We’re not done,” Connor says dismissively.
Brad’s eyes widen and flick to mine. I need to put the poor boy out of his misery. As much as I’d love to spend a few nights with him warming my bed, it’s probably a lost cause. He’s too young, and I’m not ready to be classified as a cougar. Not yet anyway.
Setting my drink on the bar, I push up from my seat. Connor’s face falls when he’s forced to move back. I smooth my hands down the front of my blouse and step up to Brad. This is the part I hate.
Rejection. Been there. Done that. I’ve got a broken heart to prove it.
And that’s exactly why I need to do this now. “Thank you for the drink,” I say, knowing that honesty is always the best policy. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Connor grin. “I think you’re a great guy, but this”—I wave a hand between the two of us—“isn’t going to happen.”
I don’t give Brad a chance to reply, because giving him that chance also gives him hope … and there is no hope. Spinning around, I come face-to-face with Connor. “I’m ready for that drink,” I say. His grin grows into a breathtaking smile, causing my heart to stutter inside my chest. “Or two.”
Connor grabs my hand, and I snag my drink from the bar. He leads us toward a booth tucked in a corner where we slide in opposite each other. I glance toward the bar, thankful when I see a busty blonde sidle up next to Brad. I knew it wouldn’t take him long.
“Hi.” Connor’s smooth voice rolls over me, wrapping me up like a warm blanket.
Turning my attention to Connor, I smile. “Hi.”
“I’m starting to think you’re stalking me.” He smirks before quickly adding, “Which, for the record, I’m totally cool with.”
“Funny, because I was just thinking the exact same thing.”
“That I’m stalking you or that you’d be totally cool with me stalking you?” Connor’s playful words, coupled with my alcohol-infused state, cause me to let down my guard.
“Both.” I lean forward, placing my elbows on the table, and Connor mimics my position. His woodsy scent floats through the air and I take a deep breath, trying to memorize the smell. “Have you changed your mind?” I ask.
“Funny, I was just thinking the exact same thing,” he says, tossing my words back at me.
Lifting my glass, I take a sip. It’s the only way to keep myself from smiling like a fucking idiot, which is exactly what I want to do. “So”—I set my glass down—“do you come here often?”
Connor blinks several times, the look on his face telling me he wasn’t expecting me to say that. Honestly, it isn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was ‘hell yes, I’ve changed my mind,’ but I knew better. My heart remembers the sharp pain that lanced through it, effectively slicing it into thousands of tiny pieces. It remembers the sound of my cries as I begged Tyson to stay, to love me, to choose me. Worse yet, it knows I don’t have a heart left to give away.
“As a matter of fact, I do come here often. How about you?” he asks, absently peeling at the label on his beer bottle. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
“You haven’t,” I confirm, shaking my head. “I moved back a few months ago.”
“So you grew up here in St. Louis?”
“I grew up across the river on the Illinois side, but, yes, this is home.” I’m reluctant to give him much more than that because it’ll lead to talking about what brought me home, and that’s something I’m not ready to discuss. He doesn’t need to know my fiancé walked out on me, and he sure as hell doesn’t need to know it took me two years to pick myself up from that devastating blow. So instead, I decide to redirect the conversation. “Are you from—?”
“There you are,” Casey breathes. Sliding into the booth next to me, she pushes a chunk of hair out of her face. “I was looking everywhere for you.” She glances up and freezes when she sees Connor sitting across from us. Her eyes widen, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth. “You aren’t Brad, the firefighter.”
Connor laughs and shakes his head. “Connor, the tattoo artist,” he says, reaching his hand across the table. She slips her hand in his and this weird twisting sensation takes place inside my chest. I thought I had gotten rid of that green-eyed monster. Guess I was wrong.
I don’t like them touching.
Why the fuck don’t I like them touching?
My first instinct is to shove Casey out of the booth or accidentally spill my drink in her lap, but I quickly push the thoughts away because those are things a jealous girlfriend would do.
And I am not a jealous girlfriend. Plus, Casey is my sister…whom I love…dearly.
Hell, I’m not even a girlfriend.
But I do need to do something because she’s smiling and—shit—now he’s smiling. And they’re still touching.
Why in the world are they still touching?
“Where’s Mike?” My words are rushed, my voice clipped, but it does the job. Casey releases Connor’s hand and I sigh in relief. I should feel better, but I don’t. In fact, now I’m really pissed off at myself for getting jealous.
“Mike who?” Casey says, interrupting my thoughts.
“The guy you were just molesting out on the dance floor. Remember him?”
Casey tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. For a split second, I’m certain she sees right through me. And she might. Not only is she my baby sister, but she’s also my best friend and knows me better than anyone.
“Oh, right. Mike. He was no one.” She shakes her head and quickly waves me off, returning her attention to Connor. “So, Connor, how do you know my sister?”
I peek up at Connor. Please say you’re the man who’s going to be spending the night with me, I silently beg. “You two are sisters?” he asks, motioning toward us.
I nod. “We are.”
“I,” Casey says, pointing toward herself, “am the younger, sweeter, smarter sister. Oomph.” She grunts when I elbow her in the side and then she giggles. “You still haven’t answered my question, Connor.”
Connor takes a swig of his beer. “I’m her tattoo artist.”
“What?” Connor winces at Casey’s loud screech. I’m used to the sound, having lived with the crazy broad my whole life. “You have a tattoo?”
“Actually, I have two,” I say proudly, holding up two fingers.
“When did this happen?” she asks, looking from me to Connor and back to me. “And why am I just finding out about it now?”
Connor holds up his hands and slowly shakes his head. “Hey, I’m only responsible for the second one. I wasn’t the lucky son-of-a-bitch who got to pop that cherry.”
Warmth radiates up my neck, infusing my cheeks, and Connor’s heated gaze slides to mine. To avoid his penetrating eyes, I look down. My body tingles—literally fucking tingles—under the weight of his stare.
“I like you,” Casey states. “And you just made my sister blush, which I’ve never seen. I feel like you should get some sort of prize for that.”
Lips pursed, I look up. “I’m not blushing.”
“Right,” Casey says, drawing out the word while slowly nodding. A knowing smile slides across her face. “It’s just hot in here.”
“It is hot in here,” I argue.
Connor clears his throat. “I’m not hot.”
Casey’s head whips around and she points a finger at Connor. “Uh, yes. Yes, you are.” Connor grins at the compliment.
My head drops and I bury my face in my hands. I love my sister, but her inability to filter what comes out of her mouth can be a bit annoying. “Go get me a drink,” I mumble, nudging her out of the booth. She sighs but eventually gives in.
“Fine, but only because I need a drink.” I look up as Casey turns to Connor. “Do you want another beer?” she asks.
“That’d be great.” Connor holds up his beer bottle to show her what he’s drinking. “Just put it all on my tab.”
“Connor, the tattoo artist, you are too kind.” She flashes him a flirty smile and struts—yes, struts—toward the bar.
Connor nods toward Casey. “I like your sister.”
“You can have her.”
“I heard that,” Casey yells. “And you would miss the hell out of me,” she tosses over her shoulder before reaching the bar.
I shake my head and mouth ‘no.’ Connor’s answering smile is enough to make my insides go all soft and gooey, something I haven’t experienced in a long time. What I wouldn’t give to feel that every single day. What I wouldn’t give to know I was the one who put that smile on Connor’s face—the kind of smile that, if allowed, could mend broken hearts. The kind of smile that could make a girl hope for things she shouldn’t be hoping for, like white picket fences, blond-haired babies, and the promise of forever. Except…
Forever doesn’t exist.
Forever can be taken away.
Minds can change, and in the blink of an eye, everything you thought you had simply disappears.
Shit.
Why the hell am I thinking about forever? Surely his smile isn’t that potent.
“You can’t smile at me like that,” I whisper. Then I squeeze my eyes shut when I realize I actually said those words out loud. I’ve been so good about closing myself off, putting on my armor and shielding myself from feeling…well, anything.
But Connor is different. He’s a game changer. When I’m around him, I want to rip down all of my walls and try.
Try what? I’m not sure. Anything, maybe. Anything other than what I’ve been doing. And it’s not that I want to try with just anyone, I want to try with him.
“You don’t like it when I smile?” he asks, his husky voice invading my thoughts.
Opening my eyes, I glance up. His eyes are smoldering, begging me to give him what he wants. Who am I to disappoint? My head is screaming…
Mayday!
Abort!
Look away!
But my heart isn’t listening. “I love it when you smile.”
Connor’s eyes widen and he goes completely still.
Oh, God. Why in the hell did I just say that?
He’s probably confused with all of these mixed signals I keep throwing out. Hell, so am I.
Connor hasn’t said a word and he’s still watching me. I’ve seen that look before. I saw it on Tyson—several times, in fact—years before he ripped my heart out.
Fix this, Brit.
My eyes drift to the dance floor. I can’t help but feel like I’d be much safer out there in the midst of all those gyrating bodies than I am here sitting in this booth, looking into the eyes of this man who sees way too much. This man who makes me say stupid, stupid things.
Looking at him isn’t an option, because if I look at him, I’ll cave. So I do the only thing I can do—the only thing that will preserve what willpower I have left.
I ease out of the booth. “I’m going to go dance.”