Nevermore
Copyright © 2019 by Wrenn Montgomery
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Printed in the United States of America.
This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.
ASIN: B07XM9P7MC
Cover Design by Kat Savage
Edited by Christina Hart
Formatted by Carrie Gray
First Printing
Copyright
Dedication
One - Raven
Two - Emmett
Three - Raven
Four - Emmett
Five - Raven
Six - Emmett
Seven - Raven
Eight - Emmett
Nine - Raven
Ten - Emmett
Eleven - Raven
Twelve - Emmett
Thirteen - Raven
Fourteen - Emmett
Fifteen - Raven
Sixteen - Emmett
Seventeen - Raven
Eighteen - Emmett
Nineteen - Raven
Twenty - Emmett
Twenty-One - Raven
Twenty-Two - Emmett
Twenty-Three - Raven
Twenty-Four - Emmett
Twenty-Five - Raven
Twenty-Six - Emmett
Twenty-Seven - Raven
Twenty-Eight - Emmett
Twenty-Nine - Raven
Thirty - Emmett
Thirty-One - Raven
Thirty-Two - Emmett
Thirty-Three - Raven
Thirty-Four - Emmett
Thirty-Five - Raven
Thirty-Six - Emmett
Thirty-Seven - Raven
Thirty-Eight - Emmett
Thirty-Nine - Raven
Forty - Emmett
Forty-One - Raven
Forty-Two - Emmett
Forty-Three - Raven
Forty-Four - Emmett
Forty-Five - Raven
Forty-Six - Emmett
Forty-Seven - Raven
Forty-Eight - Emmett
Forty-Nine - Raven
Fifty - Emmett
Fifty-One - Raven
Fifty-Two - Emmett
Fifty-Three - Raven
Fifty-Four - Emmett
Fifty-Five - Raven
Fifty-Six - Emmett
Fifty-Seven - Raven
Fifty-Eight - Emmett
Fifty-Nine - Raven
Sixty - Emmett
Sixty-One - Raven
Sixty-Two - Emmett
Sixty-Three - Raven
Sixty-Four - Emmett
Sixty-Five - Raven
Sixty-Six - Emmett
Sixty-Seven - Raven
Sixty-Eight - Emmett
Sixty-Nine - Raven
Seventy - Emmett
Seventy-One - Raven
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
For both of my nanas—the one who taught me to escape into reading, and the one who taught me stay and fight.
The drink in my hand sloshes over for the third time as a busty blonde bumps into me from behind—again. Biting my lip, I count backwards from ten in my head. Patience has never been my strong suit, and patience for drunks is probably at the bottom of my list of attributes.
The guy beside me is a looker from what I can tell, and the blonde’s had her sights set on him all night. The “accidental” contact, where she conveniently brushes up against his broad back—also bumping me in the process—is a signature move. Unfortunately for her, he’s not paying her a bit of attention. He’s been engrossed in his phone for the last hour.
I guess this end of the bar is where the loners hang out. It’s the furthest corner away from the band playing eighties music, opposite the bathrooms. Here, there aren’t as many people walking by, minimalizing the risk of unwelcome conversation. This end of the bar screams “I’m not here to talk” but girlfriend in the tube top isn’t getting it.
The barstools are close together, and I lean over just a smidge so he knows I’m speaking to him without me having to make the effort of turning toward him. Tossing my hair over my shoulder, I keep my voice low and say, “I bet if you let her know you’re not interested she’ll probably find someone else to take her home.”
There. I’ve done my good deed for the night. Maybe I can save tube top girl from any further embarrassment.
“I’m sorry?” He turns to look at me and my breath hitches.
For a moment I’m stunned by the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen. Then I snap myself out of it. “The girl behind us. She’s bumped into you about twelve times in the last thirty minutes and it’s not that crowded in here. She’s trying to get your attention, and I can appreciate that but a good portion of my twelve-dollar drink is now on the bar top instead of in my glass.”
“I didn’t pick up on that. When she comes back, nudge me and I’ll end it.”
I take him in for the first time, even though he’s been sitting beside me for most of the night. Button-down shirt, gray slacks, dress shoes. His hair is short, military style, but I can tell he’s got a little product in it, like he’s trying to look nice without looking like he cares. He’s dressed as if he just came from work, but there’s a roughness there. His face holds sharp angles, and his eyes are somehow sad under that striking green.
“You’ll end it?” I ask him, grinning. “What are you? An Avenger?”
He chuckles, and his breath smells minty, mixed with the distinct bitterness of the beer he’s been sipping all night. “Nope, definitely not an Avenger. Although super powers would be awesome. I just mean if she comes back, I’ll let her know I’m not interested.” He looks back down at his phone again and turns it face down, then taps the bar and catches the bartender’s eye to signal for another beer. “However, you may want to do the same with the guy sitting down there at the corner. He’s been checking you out all night.”
I don’t even glance in the direction he’s shrugging toward. I noticed the same guy earlier, and that’s partially why I’ve been trying my best to throw out “I’m unapproachable” vibes.
“Wait, so you don’t notice someone physically making contact with you over and over, but you noticed the creeper at the end of the bar checking me out?” I try to keep my tone light, but it concerns me that even he noticed the guy that’s been making me uncomfortable all night.
“Yeah.” He rubs his jaw and I notice the stubble that’s growing there. “I don’t really have an explanation for that. Just felt someone looking at me all night, but every time I glanced up he was staring at you. Just thought you should know.” He turns his attention back to his phone before placing it face down again.
Maybe he’s a cop. No, surely a cop would notice someone knocking into them constantly. But then again, he seems really distracted by his phone and the lack of whatever he’s been waiting for.
A girlfriend? Missed plans? Recent breakup?
This is what I do. I psychoanalyze everyone. I want to know what makes them tick, why they do what they do. People watching is my favorite thing to do, hence why I’m in a bar alone on a Friday night when I have zero desire to be hit on or picked up by anyone.
I glance down at my own phone and see it’s almost eleven PM. An early night for most, but I know nothing good happens for a single girl in a bar at this hour, so I gather my things and finish off my drink in one sip.
“You’re not going down there, are you?” he asks me. “Tell me you’re getting the creepy vibe from him, too.”
&nbs
p; I pause before I answer, unsure of how or why it would matter to him either way. “Nah, I’m heading out. Nice talking to you, and best of luck with whatever you’re waiting on.” I nod toward his phone and stand up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see the creep from the end of the bar mirror my movements. An uneasiness spreads at the base of my spine. I’m probably overreacting, but when I glance over, he’s staring right at me, no smile, no hint of an “Oh, I’m just coming over to try to flirt” type vibe. He looks like he’s stalking his prey, and while I’m hoping I’m just overthinking it, I slip my hand into my purse to grip my pistol as I start to walk away, providing myself with a little reassurance.
“Let me walk you out. I’m not trying to pick you up, but for my sanity please pretend like you’re leaving with me. I don’t feel good about that,” the handsome stranger before me says, his eyes flying to the creep then back to me.
The vivid green makes my heart race for reasons unknown to me. I don’t even like green eyes. Mainly because I don’t know where mine came from.
“Okay, yeah. That would probably be best,” I hear myself say.
This is so unlike me and it’s a little unsettling. I pride myself on being independent and able to take care of myself. I go out like this almost every weekend. Otherwise, I’d stay home and read twenty-four/seven with no human interaction, and my psychology-centered mind needs just enough interaction to assess to keep from going crazy.
Mr. Green Eyes rises with me, putting his hand at the small of my back to make it appear like we’re a couple.
Goosebumps break out across my skin under his touch. I could puke at the way I’m reacting to this stranger whose name I don’t even know. I mean I’ve “known” him for about ten minutes and brushed elbows with him, but now I’m leaving the bar with him. Even if it is just a sham, this is not up to par with my usual standards.
We walk forward as one unit, our movements fluid like we’ve been a couple for years. I can feel the creep’s stare as we pass; his disappointment is almost palpable, and a shiver runs through me.
It feels like it takes thirty minutes to weed through the people to get to the door. I catch the eye of the tube top girl and see the pout on her face when she realizes her potential catch of the night is leaving with me.
Ten steps later and we’re on the sidewalk outside of the bar. The cold air hits me like a dose of reality and I shiver again.
“I’d offer you my jacket but I forgot to grab one before…I just forgot to grab one.” He shrugs as he speaks like it doesn’t matter to him either way.
I’m dying to know what event made him leave the house without a jacket in the middle of February. He’s intriguing me, but I’m going to blame that counselor mindset again.
“Oh it’s fine. I just live across the street anyway. Thanks for walking me out.” I’m fumbling on my words and again I want to eye-roll at my own damn self.
Yes, he’s attractive. His eyes are something out of a sci-fi movie. He’s chivalrous but not coming on to me, which is a blessing since he just had to “save” me from a potentially dangerous situation. And he could totally play the damsel in distress card right now if he wanted.
He groans and squeezes the space between his neck and shoulder. “You live across the street?” He glances over his shoulder toward the bar. “Let me walk you over there. I don’t know if he’s watching and if he sees you going off alone…I’d just rather be safe than sorry. Again, I promise I’m not coming on to you.”
Every bone in my body wants to resist and assure him I can walk the five-hundred feet to my home. I hate accepting help from anyone. But a small rational part of me knows he’s right, and what harm could it do? Plus, the fact that he doesn’t seem too eager to be helping me is actually making it easier to say yes.
I nod and start crossing the street at the corner right down from the bar. I can feel him trailing behind me. He’s not walking beside me, and I appreciate that consideration on his behalf.
We approach the bookstore and I pull my keys out of my purse.
“You live in a bookstore?” he asks.
“Above it. I own the bookstore. Makes the commute easy.” I keep my answers short, not wanting him to feel obligated to make small talk with me.
“Interesting.” He pulls his phone out again and sighs as he shoves it back into his pocket.
I’m still fumbling, only now with the doorknob, which always sticks no matter how much WD-40 I spray on it. “Yeah, super. All right, well thank you again for…this. I mean it. And I have a hard time saying thank you, so…”
My voice trails off as the old oak door finally gives and the smell of old books and ink wafts out with the heat that blasts us. I start to cross the threshold and I feel his hand close around my upper arm.
As I turn to him, his lips crush mine. Soft, giving not taking, and expertly maneuvering around any objection I could throw out.
He kisses me for a good ten seconds. I don’t kiss back, but I don’t stop him either.
He breaks the kiss and I stare at him, stunned.
“I’m really sorry. Really. Damn. I just promised you I wasn’t hitting on you and then kissed you anyway. I just…you looked so…I don’t know. Let’s blame it on the bookstore,” he says.
I know I’m standing here gaping like a fish with my mouth opening and closing, body buzzing, all rational thoughts gone.
What the hell did the bookstore have to do with it?
“I mean, do you want to come inside and see it if it does that much for you?” I ask him.
His eyes lock with mine again and suddenly we’re inside the bookstore.
He slams the door closed and throws the lock.
I don’t even bother turning on the lights to the main level. His hands are all over me and I can’t remember where the light switch is right now anyway. I lead him behind the cashier’s desk and push on the false wall that opens up to the staircase.
“Are you the Avenger? Is this your lair?” he asks, managing to gasp the words out in between the collision of our lips.
I chuckle and spin around to take the stairs two at a time before I change my mind about this entire ordeal. I can’t even blame this on alcohol. I had one drink, and the majority of it ended up on the bar.
It’s those eyes.
I don’t even like green eyes.
I’m not sure what the hell I’m doing.
I was minding my business, nursing my shitty day with a drink. I tried to ignore the gorgeous dark-haired woman next to me while biding the time until I could go back to my apartment.
But when I noticed the guy at the end of the bar staring at her, alarm bells went off in my head—and not the jealous kind. My years of military service and recent law enforcement have taught me to trust my instincts, which of course turned into walking her home. Which now has me following her up the stairs to her apartment, watching her ass bounce with every step she takes.
I have no business being here. I was just trying to kill time while my girlfriend—ahem, ex-girlfriend—was getting her shit out of my apartment. And while this does count as passing the time, I probably shouldn’t be having a one-night stand with this sexy librarian-esque woman in front of me. But I’ve started it now, and I’m not a quitter. And damn, she’s gorgeous. Plus, I’m still waiting on the text from my neighbor to tell me the coast is clear.
As we reach the top of the stairs, her loft apartment comes into full view. There are some clothes thrown here and there, and it’s definitely lived in. I can tell she’s not a type A personality, but it’s clean and everything seems to have a place, like she’s somewhere between a slob and a neat freak. A stark difference from Jenna.
She spins and wraps her arms around my neck, then she begins to walk backwards, leading me toward the king-size bed in the far-right corner.
I reach for her shirt and tug it over her head.
“Wait,” she says.
I pause, because if she doesn’t want this I’ll high tail it out of here. I�
��m not into pressuring women to do anything they don’t want to do. “Do you want to stop?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes. “No, I just need to know your name first. I have standards.”
I chuckle and try not to feel as relieved as I do. “Emmett,” I say, in between planting kisses on the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. I feel her shudder under my touch.
“Emmett. Nice. Do you want to know mine?”
The way she draws out my name makes me grin. I’ll never get tired of this southern accent around here. “If you want to tell me.”
She seems to think for a second before answering, “I don’t.”
I nod and make to continue my work with her belt, pausing and looking up at her to make sure I have permission.
She nods and grabs at mine in response.
This girl isn’t like most of the ones I’ve met in my time here. Of course, I’ve been holed up with Jenna for the last six months and haven’t exactly been paying attention to the opposite sex, but I’ve had my fair share of girlfriends and one-night stands and this woman is an enigma.
Her jeans are down around her ankles now and I see she’s wearing navy boy-shorts. They’re cute, and they cup her ass nicely, but they don’t say “I’m trying to get laid tonight” the way a black thong does. It makes me wonder why she was in the bar alone on a Friday night, but I guarantee this closed book isn’t going to tell me anything, and who am I to ask? We both know what this is.
She kicks her jeans off and unhooks her bra, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her perfect breasts.
I try not to stare but I can’t keep my hands away. The second I place one of her nipples between my thumb and forefinger her head rolls back and a moan escapes her lips, sending a shock wave straight to my cock.
She pushes my pants down so I’m standing in my boxers.
Her eyes gleam as she reaches out and wraps her fist around me through the thin material. “Nice.”
I push her backwards gently so that she falls onto the bed behind her, her dark hair a stark contrast against the white sheets. I’m hovering above her, both of us down to just our underwear. I press my pelvis against hers so she can feel how hard I am, and I kiss down her neck toward her chest.
Nevermore Page 1
