by Blake, Remy
“Not this again,” he says on a groan.
“What?” I feign innocence. “You walked right into it.”
Making people uncomfortable is something I love to do. Making them squirm or blush, I’ve always been known to find the most awkward topic of conversation and insist on talking about it. With Cole, it’s sex. More specifically, his sex life.
“I already told you it’s like talking to my sister about sex. Can we not do this every time we’re together?”
“But I’m not your sister,” I protest. “And we can. You never answer me when I ask, so I have to keep on asking until you do. Do you top?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m not having this talk with you.”
“Come on,” I whine. “What’s the point of dinner between friends if we can’t be honest with each other?”
“Oh really?” He takes a long swig of his beer, and I can tell from the twinkle in his eyes I’m going to regret challenging him. “Well, Beauty, I think it’s your turn to loosen those lips.”
“I’m not talking until the waitress comes around with those delicious sausages they’ve been handing around.”
“Yeah, sausage in my mouth helps me talk too.”
I stick my middle finger up at him. “What do you want to know?”
“When was the last time you had a sausage in your mouth?”
Loud laughter erupts between us, and I feel indebted to him more than ever for always knowing how to navigate his way around me.
“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “But I think you were right.”
“Naturally, but what about this time?”
“Things have been different,” I admit. “I have been closing myself off, and I do need to get out more.”
He looks at me thoughtfully. “Remember when we first moved here, you told me how you’d researched the area, and found out what was good and what wasn’t?”
I nod, because I do remember. I tried so hard to treat this like a fresh start, and not a jail sentence.
“Have you done any of that stuff? Crossed all the awesome things to do and see off that list?”
The question doesn’t need a verbal answer, we both know the truth.
“Whatever it is, Beauty, let it go. Live a little.”
Live a little.
Three words that sum up exactly what I haven’t been doing. Unknowingly, I’ve let Anthony steal a whole lot more than money from me. I was still giving him the best pieces of myself, and he didn’t deserve them.
They were mine, and I was well within my rights to take them back.
5
Connor
I roll over with a groan and a tongue licks my mouth. Forcing my eyelids to raise, I find my six-month-old Pit Bull, Tank, lying on the pillow next to me. I bark out a laugh and then grab both sides of my head to stop the stabbing pain. I fucking hate hangovers, but I love whiskey, so it’s a trade off.
“Tank, what are you doing in my bed?” He has his own dog bed in my room. It’s large with extra thick padding to keep him comfortable. He and I picked it out together. He loves going to the pet store.
Placing his head on my chest, he stares up at me with his adoring gaze. I can do no wrong in this guy’s eyes. Even staying out until three a.m. and making him wait for his last trip outside is forgivable. I meant to be home earlier, but good intentions fly by the wayside when I get together with my friends. And since Tank is the only one I could be disappointing, and he loves me no matter what, it’s all good.
Glancing at my clock on the nightstand, I notice I’m running behind schedule. “Okay, bud. What do you say you let me have a quick shower and then I’ll take you for a walk?” Tank jumps up at the magic word. “Not yet, bud. Give me a few and then you can piss on every fence post we see.”
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve showered and downed four ibuprofen. Sliding on my sunglasses, I lead Tank out the front door for our usual jaunt around the block. His nails tap against the cobblestone sidewalks in our tree-lined historic neighborhood as we stroll along. When we get near the Georgetown Waterfront Park, Tank gives a tug on his leash, pulling in that direction.
“Tankman, not now, buddy. I need to hit the gym. If you’re a good boy while I’m gone, we’ll take a special walk tonight.”
“Hi,” a sexy blonde calls out as we approach. “Cute dog,”
“Thanks. You hear that, Tank. She thinks you’re cute.” He’s a chick magnet.
She giggles and I smile. When we pass by her, I spin around and walk backward to see if the back view is as good as the front. I’m slightly disappointed. Turning forward once again, we continue on until we’ve taken the final left turn bringing us back to our home. Climbing the front stairs, I take in the stately brick exterior of the four thousand foot brownstone. The black shutters flanking each window match the front door and complement the red brick. And the black wrought iron railing on my stairs matches the fencing that runs in front of all the houses in this neighborhood. I’m lucky that I have an end residence and only have neighbors on one side of me. But these brownstones were built in the late eighteen hundreds when they didn’t cut corners on construction. I’ve never once heard anything through the walls. And they’ve never complained about Tank barking when we play.
Once we’re inside, I shut Tank into the den where he stays when I’m not home. I can’t bear to crate him. Keeping him in one room is difficult enough, even though I gave up my man cave for him. He also ate the ottoman on my favorite leather recliner and chewed the edge of the area rug my mother bought for the room. I’m sure she paid a pretty penny for it because Trudie McAdam wouldn’t know a sale if it bit her in the ass.
He and I have an agreement. If he messes with my custom pool table, we’ll be shopping for a crate ASAP. So far, it seems to be working.
“Tank, be good, bud. I’m counting on you.” I stare at him to drive the point home and I swear he smiles at me.
* * *
I'm two minutes in on the heavy bag when I see her. She’s impossible to miss with her dark chocolate hair twisted up on top of her head, those long, tanned legs, and a nice rack. And that body is impossible not to recognize, even though she’s wearing a lot less clothing than when I usually see her in my Spanish class.
I bite back a smirk. I’m pretty sure she's watching me. I throw a hard and fast jab-cross combination. The bag swings like a pendulum between us and I steal a few shielded glances. Yep, she’s not just watching me, she’s shamelessly checking me out.
"Are you waiting for this?" I ease the bag still and smile.
I notice her body freeze before slowly thawing out. "Me?” She points to her chest, briefly drawing my eyes downward to the deep V between her tits. “Um, no. I mean… I wouldn't know how to do any of that." She smiles back, carefully standing just off the edge of the floor mats surrounding the boxing area.
"Would you like me to show you a few things?" I try my best not to sound like a complete douchebag. But she’s seriously hot. Too hot to let this opportunity go to waste, even if she’s my professor. “Come on. You teach me in class, and I can teach you here.”
“That seems like a really bad idea.” Her eyes scan the room, almost like she’s checking to see if we’re alone. Surprising me, she cautiously steps over, glancing up at me. “Are you sure?” I get hit with the full force of her dark lashed, brown eyes and imagine she’s asking me to teach her something entirely different.
"It would be my pleasure, Ms. Martínez.” I flash her my most flirtatious grin. “Here, move closer and give it a shot.”
“You can call me Harper.” She chews on her bottom lip self-consciously and edges toward the bag. She watches it as if it might move on its own.
“Don’t worry, it won’t bite.” But I will.
“If you say so. Here goes.” She folds her fingers into fists.
She barely makes contact with the bag over the next five minutes as I show her how to throw a few basic punches.
"You're going to have to let loose and real
ly give it some power." I try to encourage her.
"Here try this." I slip in directly behind her, totally expecting her to push me away, but she doesn’t. I roll with it and gently guide her hips with my hands to help her rotate as she punches.
My pulse kicks up a level at her closeness. She feels as amazing as I’ve imagined. Her gorgeous curves were made for my hands to hold. Watching her for ninety minutes twice a week in class is no easy feat, and after touching her it will be damn near impossible.
“Good. Much better,” I reassure, squeezing her hips. She really is making progress. Must be my excellent instruction. Next time, I’ll give her some gloves and see what she can really do.
“I haven’t seen you here before. Did you just join?” I’m sure I’d have noticed her.
“Yeah, I’m new to the area,” she explains. “I only moved here at the start of the school year.”
“I can show you around if you need a guide. I’m a native, so I know all the best spots.”
“That’s nice of you to offer–”
My ringtone interrupts the rest of what she was going to say. Fuck. Releasing her hips, I step back and tug my cell phone from my pocket. Glancing down, I see my grandfather’s calling. Fuck. I can’t let this go to voicemail. Gramps is one of my favorite people in the world and the reason why I even bother dealing with my father. I always answer for him.
“Excuse me, I have to take this call.” I walk to the bank of windows on the back wall and swipe my finger across the screen.
“Hello.”
“Connor.”
“Hi, Gramps.”
“I’m just checking in on you; making sure you’re okay. I spoke to your father earlier and he was pretty worked up.”
“He told you about my Spanish grade?” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I shake my head. It’s one fucking grade.
“Yes, son, he sure did. I figured he probably took a nice bite out of your hide over it too.”
“Don’t worry about me, Gramps. I can take it.” I don’t want him wasting time being concerned about the way my father is. Gramps is getting older and he doesn’t need the stress in his life.
“I know you can take it. That doesn’t mean you deserve it. You’re a good man and you should be treated better. I hate that it’s my own son acting like a jackass.”
I chuckle. “Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“I’ll say whatever I want and he can deal with it.”
“How’s Gram doing?”
“Aside from being a saint for being married to me?”
“Yeah.”
“She’s great. She’s busy baking an apple pie as we speak. Why don’t you swing by and grab some later?”
“I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for checking on me.”
“Take care, son. Stop by when you can.”
“Will do. Talk soon.”
“Bye for now.”
Shoving my phone back in my pocket, I turn toward the heavy bag. I can’t let my father’s displeasure ruin the fun I was having before Gramps called. Unfortunately, Harper is gone. Shit. Glancing around the large room, I don’t spot her anywhere. Where the hell did she disappear to? Leave it to my father to screw up what seemed to be a sure thing.
* * *
“Connor, over here.” A hand raises and fingers crook calling me to a table in the back of the bar.
Weaving my way through the crowd of standing patrons, I shout out greetings to the guys I know and aim smiles at a few of the hotter girls. When I reach the table with my friends, I pull out the vacant stool and drop onto it. “Jesus. It’s a Wednesday. Why are all these people here?”
“We’re here.” Grady shrugs. “How are they any different?”
“Don’t disagree just for the sake of disagreeing, dude. That’s fucking annoying.” I whack the back of my hand on his bicep.
“You’re fucking annoying,” he retorts with a grin twisting his mouth.
“I’m not in the mood to listen to the two of you bickering like an old married couple.” Reid shakes his head. “We’re here to blow off steam, right? Which is probably why everyone else is here too. The end of the semester is rapidly approaching and everyone’s in a panic about their grades.”
“Except for Connor.” Grady hooks his thumb my way.
“What are you talking about?”
“You party harder than either of us and never worry about failing. You must be an undercover nerd and we just don’t know it.”
“Get the fuck out of here. I work for my grades.”
“Bullshit,” Reid cups his hands over his mouth, announcing the word. “I think you have a secret tutor we know nothing about.”
“Funny that you should mention this. I just failed a big exam in Spanish and I’m trying not to panic about it.” I thrust a hand through my hair. “I got a fifty-five. I think I’m fucked.”
“Oh, dude, that sucks. What are your parents going to say?” Reid looks worried for me. He knows how diligent my parents are about tracking my grades online.
“Oh, dear old Dad already summoned me to the estate for a dressing down.”
“Damn. How’d he find out so quick?”
“He has eyes everywhere and people on his payroll. He probably has someone checking my grades online for him. It doesn’t matter that I’m an adult. If he wants to find something out, he won’t let anything stand in his way. He probably knows my login info too.”
“What are you going to do about your Spanish class?”
“I’m going to get a tutor for it. What else can I do? Failing isn’t an option.”
“You’ve still got plenty of time,” Reid reassures.
“Hey, maybe you can ask that sexy-ass teacher of yours,” Grady chimes in.
His recurring obsession with mentioning Harper sets off an uneasy feeling in my chest. I know she’s hot, and I know everybody else does too, but after seeing her at the gym, and having my hands on her, my brain can’t seem to register that nothing more will happen between us.
“Maybe that’s a bad idea,” he continues. “She’s probably the reason you failed in the first place.” I’m almost certain Grady is right, because when I pay attention in class, it’s not to the content; I focus on Ms. Martínez’s ass. And when I concentrate on what she has to say, I’m really just soaking in the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard. Ultra feminine, there’s a slight hint of an accent from her Latino background. Add in that she’s a dead ringer for Eliza Dushku and it isn’t a surprise I’ve found myself in this situation.
The fact that I did so poorly might be her fault, not mine. A warm-blooded male can only take so much stimulation before he’s distracted. I bite back the grin my ridiculous thoughts provoke. Then again, there might be some truth to it because she does make my head spin and my dick hard every time I’m in her class.
“Dude, between sexy Spanish señorita, and you going to class hungover every other week, did you really think you’d pass?”
“How do you know?”
Grady laughs. “Who do you think you’re out drinking with the night before class?”
The waitress silently drops off three beers before moving on.
“I hope you don’t mind, but we ordered you a Sam Adams. It’s all you ever drink when we come here,” Reid explains.
“No, it’s great. I can use this after the day I’ve had.” I raise the bottle and tip it back, taking a deep pull.
“What’s on tap for this weekend?” Grady questions.
“There are a couple of parties that might be worth stopping by,” Reid mentions.
“Don’t count me in. Thanks to your observation that I drink too much, I might have to study or do some extra credit to salvage my Spanish grade.” They both laugh at me, like I’ve told them a funny joke, but there’s some truth to my words. Whatever it takes, I’m going to have to put the effort in.
6
Harper
What the actual fuck, Harper?
The ringing phone brought me out of my stupor, remin
ding me why this is a very bad idea. When I walked out of the yoga studio, waiting for my friend to finish talking to the instructor, I’d unintentionally stumbled at the sight of Connor. As I tried to work out where it was I’d seen his face before, curiosity quickly turned into a shameless gawk.
Connor had been hitting the punching bag as if it weighed nothing, his arms straining and his muscles flexing with every jab. Focused and sweaty, his six foot three frame became more appealing by the second. It’s hard not to notice a body a man works hard to maintain; from his broad shoulders down to his exposed calves, he’s a bulky package of dips and grooves in all the right places.
I stiffened the second he noticed me, but the sexy smile that spread across his face after had me unable to look away. It was magnetic. The way it changed his face from the broody guy I’d often seen in my classroom, to the beautiful one in front of me. I was caught up in a spell I wasn’t ready to break.
Instead, I tried to seem uninterested and capable. I could still remain somewhat in his presence but keep a safe and responsible distance, couldn’t I?
When he offered to ‘show me a few things’ I had to bite back the smart-ass retort waiting on my tongue. Telling him that I had four older brothers who made it their life’s work to teach me how to punch, seemed a little too personal and a lot out of line.
I should’ve walked away, but my legs and my mouth had other plans as my brain struggled to catch up. Before I knew it, I was throwing really bad punches while he coached me with lines of improvement.
He was laying it all out there for the world to see. His hungry gaze, his wandering hands. Every single word was enriched with a flirtatious undertone that I had no intention of warding off. Instead, when his hands gently held my hips, I relished the attention, enjoying the reminder of what it feels like to be wanted.
I could sense his surprise the minute I didn’t reject the gesture, his relief just as palpable as his eagerness.
