It’s been two days since I took her home.
I tried asking Hayes if he’s heard from her, but he’s pissed and won’t tell me if he’s spoken with her. I want to know if she’s okay. I haven’t slept since she left, replaying our kiss over and over. I’m having a nagging sensation I fucked up royally, keeping me from resting more than usual.
Breck wouldn’t even speak on the way to the orchard. She sprang from the passenger side of the truck so fast I couldn’t even open the door for her. With a half-assed wave, she hopped in the bed of the truck and struggled to toss her suitcase to the ground.
I tried to help.
Insisted even.
But she made up some bullshit about me doing too much for her already.
So I stood at my truck like a douche, watching as she dragged her heavy suitcase along the gravel, waving a hand behind her shoulder and then flipping me off as she closed the door behind her.
She was officially done with me.
I should feel happy, but I don’t. I feel like I have the flu.
My head hurts and my body aches. The only bright side to this shit-tastic morning is that Anniston and Theo are coming home. Thank God. I could use a few days to not think. To be told what to do and when. My brain needs something to think about, other than Breck.
“So how did it go with Breck?”
Anniston is snuggled in one of the patio chairs with her legs tucked under her and a cup of decaf coffee, wasting no time getting to the inquisition. After she cried and hugged us all, making sure we were all in one piece, she made a pot of coffee and asked me to join her outside.
“It went okay,” I say, taking a seat in the chair next to her.
“Just okay? You didn’t pick up any cooking skills you want to show me?”
My brow arches and I hope she can see the bullshit look I give her. Her intent with Breck was not to teach me how to cook. I know as much as the next man.
Anniston meets my expression, her forehead wrinkled with how high her brows are arched. She knows I’m not being forthcoming with her.
“What did you do?” she asks, sighing after a moment, leaning back in her chair as if she’s settling in for a long story.
I pop up out of my chair, my temper igniting from all the pent-up frustration over the last forty-eight hours.
“I was an asshole, okay! Is that what you want to hear?”
I pace around the patio, ten seconds from a meltdown, pulling at my hair before kicking the football Vic left out. I go through a myriad of sounds but none of them makes me feel any better.
It’s quiet when I finally turn around and face Anniston who has a stupid ass smile on her face.
It pisses me off.
“Why are you fucking smiling?” I grit out, fighting to keep from yelling and acting like an even bigger asshole than I already am.
My question only makes her smile bigger.
“Commander!” I yell, not able to hold it any longer.
Anniston chuckles. “Why, Major, I believe this girl has gotten in your head.”
I shake my head adamantly. “No.” There is no fucking way Breck is in my head. On my nerves maybe, but not in my head.
Anniston continues to smile at me like she knows something I don’t. “Huh,” she muses.
What the fuck is “huh” supposed to mean?
We’re silent after that, Anniston sipping on her coffee, staring out into the night, me pacing ruts in the grass. The cicadas are out, humming their rhythm. It’s peaceful in a world full of chaos. I pace for a few more minutes, willing myself to settle down and find neutral ground with Anniston.
“Where’s Theo?”
“He and Hayes are having dinner with a new prospect.”
I only saw Theo long enough for him to say, “I see you didn’t get laid. How pathetic.” After that, he and Hayes holed up in my office and then disappeared. I assumed it had something to do with their latest prospect for the Atlanta A’s.
“Hmm.” I say, not sure where I was heading with the conversation. I flop down onto the chair next to Anniston, huffing out a breath. “I kissed her,” I admit into the darkness.
I don’t see Anniston turn in her chair but I hear her.
“Oh?” she breathes.
I nod, not sure if I want to reveal any more.
“And was it good?”
I inhale another deep breath, readying myself for the tongue-lashing coming my way.
“I freaked out afterwards,” I say, shame coating every word like a dirty blanket over pristine sheets. “I pushed her away.”
“Well, maybe she’s into guys that play hard to get.” Anniston’s teasing tone snaps my head up from its pity party.
“Don’t joke,” I scold her. “This is serious, Commander. She may never come back.”
Anniston snorts out a laugh. “She’ll be back.”
My blood pressure rises and my face flames with embarrassment. “You don’t know that,” I say rudely, way more pissed at the idea of Breck never returning than I should be.
Anniston stares at me with a glint in her eyes, a smile peeking over her coffee mug. It’s the same smile she gives me when I do something that makes her proud. The question is, why is she giving it now?
“I know. She’ll be back. Then you’ll grovel and beg for forgiveness,” she says.
I stare at her, open-mouthed.
“What freaked you out, Gorgeous?” she continues like she didn’t just rock my world with her assuredness.
I shrug and swipe a hand through my hair. Sighing, I admit, “I don’t know. It caught me by surprise, I think.”
Anniston nods before grabbing her book off the side table and standing up. “Well, now you won’t be surprised.” She pinches my cheek before placing a kiss over the sting. “Goodnight, Cade.”
She leaves through the sliding glass doors, and I’m left alone in the dark to deal with my demons and lies. Kissing Breck didn’t catch me off-guard. What caught me off-guard was that I wanted more. I would have taken more had someone not opened the door.
The truth is, I need Breck.
And that scares the fuck out of me.
I’m an asshole, I text Breck.
Within a minute she responds, I agree.
After my talk with Anniston, I felt like I needed to apologize to Breck, not grovel as Anniston suggested. I disagree with that approach wholeheartedly. Apologizing seems a little less pussy than groveling. But maybe girls like it? I wouldn’t know. I’ve never even apologized to a woman other than Anniston.
I’ve never had a girlfriend.
The military was my girl. I lived for the adrenaline. For the adventure. For the honor. My dick was the only one with a weakness for a woman. Okay fine, I admit I enjoyed the hell out of it, too, but it was only ever sex for me. I never wanted to get to know them or meet their parents. I just wanted a wet hole, and I didn’t even care what hole it was.
I was simple like that.
I text her back, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was inappropriate.
Are you serious? I kissed you back! We’re adults. It wasn’t inappropriate, she fires back.
I’m not sure that texting her was the right course of action, given her curt responses. I won’t admit that I’m good with women. I never have been.
Why do you hate me so much? she asks.
Oh God. Is that how she feels? That I hate her? I don’t hate her. Far from it. I want her so much that I hate myself. I don’t hate you.
Three dots appear, showing she’s typing. Why is my stomach cramping? Am I nervous?
Then why did you ask me to leave every day?
Because I’m an asshole and don’t express myself very well is what I should say. But I go with a slight variation of the truth. You make me nervous.
Why? Is her only response.
My hand cramps from texting, something I’m definitely not used to doing for so long. Can we talk? In person? Tomorrow?
I want to talk to her about as much as I want to talk to the psychologist Ans makes me go to a few times a year. But I’m not a dick and I like Breck. Probably too much, and I don’t want her to think the reason for my behavior is her. It’s definitely me.
She still hasn’t texted back, and it’s probably for the best. It’s easier for her to think that I hate her and not that I really like her but won’t allow myself to form an attachment.
Anniston was the only exception.
She saved my life.
After waiting a few minutes without a response, I turn on the TV and find myself watching one of the movies Breck recorded—Kickass. I laugh out loud at a few scenes, and before I realize it, I’ve watched the entire thing. It’s well past midnight and I need sleep. Theo will be up and ready for a run in a few hours. Most of the time, I can fall asleep to the TV, but for some reason, what I crave tonight is the sound of Breck typing on her laptop. The repetition of her nightly blogging lulls me to sleep better than anything I’ve ever tried.
And I fucking need it desperately.
I roll over and check my phone to see if she’s texted back. She hasn’t, and knowing she had to think about meeting me hurts more than it should.
Great job, Cade. Now you’ll have to explain to Hayes and the rest of the guys why she won’t ever come around again.
My shoulders tense up and my body craves a run due to the anxiety coursing through me. I should sleep. Try to keep my body in a normal rhythm. Most nights, I force myself to sleep early and then I can stay awake if I need to in the wee hours of the morning, but at least I will have gotten some rest.
I pull the covers over my legs and punch my pillow a few good times before I lie back and stare at the ceiling. It’s going to be a long night.
I try remembering the way the key strokes sound but it doesn’t do the trick. Counting sheep or bullets doesn’t either. I’m definitely not going to go ask Ans for a sleeping pill, but honestly, I could use one right now.
After an hour of counting the blade rotations on the fan, frustration gets the better of me. I roll over with a groan, and when my phone chimes, I yell into the pillow. I spring out of bed as if my life depended on it, grabbing my phone.
Sure.
Fucking sure. I can deal with sure. I get back in bed with a grin on my face that I’ll never admit to and debate what to text back or if I should text back at all.
I’m going to text her back. It’s not like I’m sleeping.
Are you writing a review right now?
Her response is almost immediate. Yeahhhh …why?
I feel like a giddy teenager. I watched Kickass tonight. I give it four stars.
You low-balled it. I gave it five.
I smile. You see the best in everybody. Fuck. I mean you see the best in everything. The movie had opportunities for improvement.
I’m fucking sweating. Did I really type that shit? Where were you on that one, autocorrect?
Every movie is a five for someone, even if it has areas for improvement. Some reviewers will still view it as perfection.
I swallow, rereading her text repeatedly. Does she mean me or are we still talking about Kickass?
Some movies aren’t worth your time, I text.
That’s not your decision to make.
And now I know we aren’t talking about the movie. I’ll save you the time and spoil it for you. My script doesn’t end with a happily ever after.
She takes a minute to respond. I’ve always been more of a fan of the alternate endings.
Why must she be so goddamn stubborn? Why can’t she be quiet and complacent and find her a nice guy with some mental stability? Why must she keep feeding my addiction?
Why are you still up? I ask her.
Why are YOU still up?
And this is why my dick is hard. Arguing with her is like foreplay. It’s in my nature to respond to commands and not being able to shut that sass up has me rock fucking hard.
I can’t sleep. I text her.
Take something.
I scoff. No.
She sends me an annoyed emoji that makes me laugh. I admit, I’m used to hearing you type at night. It’s too quiet without you here.
It’s not a lie. I can hear Ans moaning in the next room and Hayes’ headboard is chipping away at the sheetrock across the hall. It’s like a pay-by-the-hour motel in here at the moment.
If you want, you can call me. I won’t talk and you can listen to my keystrokes. She responds.
I’m shocked at her offer. I really want to listen to her but I feel like if I take her up on this, I’m crossing a line. A big red line. I stare at the ceiling, hearing Anniston’s cries and Hayes’ grunts, and I realize for the first time how alone I feel. When she was here, I didn’t.
I press on her contact and listen to it ring. She picks up on the third one and doesn’t say a word. And then she starts to type, and my eyes drift closed. The only sound is her breathing and the tapping on her laptop.
And it sounds like home.
“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Jameson. It sounds like you’re saying a hot-ass chick—who can actually tolerate your broody ass—let you kiss her, and you…” His eyebrows shoot up his forehead, encouraging me to repeat what I told him. “I just need to hear you say it again so I’m clear what happened,” he clarifies, totally lying. All he’s doing with that shitty grin plastered on his face is aggravating me, but I give in and play his game because I need advice from another guy, and unfortunately today it’s Theo.
“I pushed her away afterwards,” I say again for his sick sense of humor.
Theo’s grin morphs into a look of horror. “How dare she! That bitch! Doesn’t she know she’s supposed to kiss your dick first?” His tongue goes to his cheek as his hand makes a back-and-forth motion at his mouth. “You’re right, Jameson. I would have pushed her away, too. A kiss on the mouth is a cardinal sin. You’re better off with a girl who knows what she’s doing.”
Deep breaths, Cade. You knew talking to him would be rough. Exhaling, I mutter, “How did you ever find a woman?”
Theo smirks and tosses me the football. “Jameson, your commander gets off on my mouth. Generally, it’s between her lips. Which lips, depends on how filthy I get.”
I am not surprised in the least.
I rocket the football back to him, completely choosing to ignore his comments about Anniston. I don’t want to know all the crude, sexual things they do when I’m not having to witness it firsthand.
“Look, Jameson, I don’t know why we’re out here in the heat talking about feelings. I don’t know if all this celibacy shit has increased your estrogen or what.” He tosses the ball back—in terrible form, I might add—and I snag it before it veers too far right and out of my reach. “But listen to me very closely. Fuck. This. Girl. Just fuck her. What is the worst that can happen? She realizes you’re a big vagina and never calls you again?” He grins, teasing me, and I throw the ball as hard as I can, hitting his left shoulder. He laughs, unfazed. “That would solve your problem, right? Her leaving you alone? Isn’t that what you want?”
Maybe.
I’m not sure now. I know I kept giving Breck a hard time about going home, but the last week was pretty good. I’d gotten to know her better and I actually grew to like her a little bit. Granted, her fuzzy socks and constant dancing and overall optimistic outlook on life got on my nerves, but overall, she’s beau—nice. She’s nice. And too good for a man like me.
“Geez, Jameson. Lighten the fuck up. It’s just sex. You don’t have to promise her a white picket fence and three kids. Just a good time—or bad. It’s been a while since you’ve given it a go, but either way, you can knock the rust off Jameson Jr. and stop depriving him of some action just because you’re being emotional and all of a sudden in touch with your feelings.”
“Talking to you is pointless,” I observe, slipping an earbud in one ear, intent on zoning out and going for a run to clear my head. I need to think. All this shit with Breck is stressing me out. Do I want to fuck her? Yes. Does she deserve to be fucked by a mess like me who can’t commit and can’t love because he doesn’t even love himself? No, she doesn’t. Do I want to be selfish and do it anyway? One hundred percent.
“Ugh, now I feel guilty like I should run with you or something,” he says, tossing the football out into the yard.
I shake my head, already trotting down the hill. “Please don’t. I’m good.”
Theo chuckles, ignoring my request for solitude, and sprints past me. “Come on, Jameson, let that testosterone loose and race me. Winner buys drinks tonight.”
Damn it.
I take off behind him, pushing hard to catch up. I never turn down a competition with Theo. It’s what we’ve always done; push each other to our limits. He’s pushing me out of my head, and whether I want to admit it or not, it’s working. We race past the barn, not laughing, not hearing the music pounding in our ears with each step. We go balls-to-the-fucking-wall with each stride until the only thing I can think about is winning.
What was supposed to be a simple race turned into an Olympic trial through the pastures. I don’t know how Theo has so much endurance. He has less mass to haul around than I do, making him significantly faster than me. I kept pace until the last quarter mile when he sprinted faster than a gazelle to the house, making it look as if he was playing with me the whole time. Now I’m in a worse mood than before.
Hands on my hips, my lungs are on fire when we make it to the backyard. The sight before me is comforting, a smile tugging at my lips before Theo ruins it with a shitty remark.
“Thank God you needed a girl chat and we didn’t have to suffer her wrath.”
We both stand, me catching my breath and Theo eyeing Anniston’s tits as she lays horizontally over Hayes and Mason as they do pushups. She’s casually filing her nails and barking out reps while the guys groan, their arms shaking from the weight of the up and down motion.
I send Theo an eat-shit look. “I did not need a girl chat. I simply asked for your advice, which was terrible by the way.”
Theo shrugs and starts toward Anniston but not before throwing back, “Terrible or not, you know it’s the truth.”
Ugh. Fucking Breck is a bad idea.
Entertaining anything with Breck is a bad idea.
Falling asleep with her on the phone was an even worse idea.
“Speak of the siren herself.” Theo chuckles, kneeling on the ground by Anniston’s head. “Showtime, playboy,” he says before biting Anniston’s nipple through her shirt and making her squeal.
For a second, I consider throwing a deck chair at his face. But the crunching of a van flying down the driveway stops me.
She came.
Like she said she would. And now I owe her an explanation for my behavior.
I rake in a few ragged breaths and wipe the sweat from my forehead as Theo shouts, “We’re back here.”
He laughs when I flip him off, knowing good and damn well he could have given me an extra minute. Breck appears around the corner in cut-offs and a Flash t-shirt, her high-top Converse shoes tying together her sloppy, yet incredibly cute outfit. She’s like my very own comic book nerd. Sexy and cute, just begging for me to prove how much bigger my hammer is than Thor’s.
“Hey, Breck. What’s up?” Anniston greets her first since her head is hanging off Hayes’ back.
“Hi. I’m sorry to interrupt. Cade—”
Hayes interrupts her as he pulls his head up and flashes her his trademark wink. I feel a growl bubble up but I hold it in so as not to embarrass myself more than I already have. Hayes wants his ass beat. Fucking with Breck in front of me is a death sentence at this point. I’ve all but pissed on her leg to claim her. Hayes annoying me after two days of hell is bordering on a murder charge.
“You’re looking scrumptious this morning, darlin. You got a hot date or something?”
Pink spreads across Breck’s cheeks, making her look sun-kissed. “Uh, no. It’s laundry day,” she blurts out, looking at me from under her long eyelashes.
I flash her an apologetic smile, refraining from making contact with Hayes, and nod to the back door. We need to talk and not out here with an audience.
Breck holds up a finger, asking me to hold on. “Anniston, can I speak with you for a minute?”
I feel sucker-punched when Anniston pulls up and looks between me and Breck, and says, “Sure.”