Near To You

by King, Asha

  Tracie grinned. “I have a framed article from the MHS Tailspin, Brady’s senior year—a feature you did on him when they finally won a game. Sits on my mantle.”

  It was sweet to know, yes, but not why she’d called Tracie in the first place. “Like I said on the phone, I wondered if you had a cell number I could use to reach him.”

  But Tracie shook her head, shifting her attention to the diaper bag where she pulled out a juice bottle for her daughter. “’Fraid I don’t.”

  Great. You wanted to meet me here why, then?

  “He was planning to call me in a few days, and then again when he got settled somewhere.”

  Nia’s heart sank. “When he does, could you...I don’t know, give him a message? Ask him to call me? I...” Tracie’s gaze was steady on her and she shifted uncomfortably. “There was a misunderstanding and I really need to talk to him.”

  Tracie rested her forearms on the table and leaned forward, frowning as she seemed to search for words. “The thing you have to understand is that our mother died. Two years ago.”

  Jesus. “I’m sorry—”

  But she held up a hand to stop any more sympathies. “She was treated when we were in high school, got better, but went into remission and it spread. Our Dad is weird and he basically stopped talking to us. He doesn’t want anything reminding him of her around.”

  Pieces of her conversation with Brady slid into place. “That’s when he quit his job.”

  Tracie nodded. “Death brings things into perspective. Me, I was happy for him. I thought he should do what he wanted. But he drifted around. His live-in girlfriend left him because he wanted to live simpler. Then he got it in his head he wanted to leave. I love my brother, I’ll miss him, but I told him he should do what he wanted—and if that involved just driving and seeing where he ended up, so be it.”

  Nia crossed her arms at her midsection, gaze falling to the abandoned cup of coffee in front of her. White threads of steam drifted up and she focused for a moment on that and let everything else readjust in her brain. Everything that had happened yesterday really meant something to him. He was even going to stay that morning, despite his initial resolve to leave.

  And then she’d mumbled the wrong thing and ruined it. Wonderful.

  “His furniture’s in storage and he has bins of other things at my place. Came by around noon and asked me to store a handful of things he ‘didn’t need’ in my basement...” She leaned over to rifle through the diaper bag again and pulled out a big hardback book, with a full color painting of the town’s river on the front cover.

  A yearbook. Silver inscribed date on the corner put it as from twelfth grade. Tracie set it on the table and pushed it to Niara, who gingerly raised it, dragging her fingers over the smooth surface.

  “Now, look who signed the first page.”

  Niara opened the front cover and immediately recognized her girly, cursive handwriting—it hadn’t changed much at all in years—among all the other signatures. Brady: Thank you for all your help this year—it’s meant the world to me. Have an amazing summer if I don’t see you, though I hope I will. You’re a gem. ~Niara.

  And if his sister was pointing this out to her, surely she was like Brady’s friend at the grocery store—she knew. All those years in school, everyone knew and didn’t think to tell her. And Tracie no doubt guessed why Brady was pissed and considered the yearbook he’d held onto all this time suddenly something he didn’t need.

  “Do you remember your yearbook staff photo? Page thirty-seven.”

  Niara flipped until she found the right one, in black and white with big, puffy letters at the top: YEARBOOK STAFF AND VOLUNTEERS. There was everyone smiling, Niara in the center of the photo looking bright and happy with a huge smile of white teeth, holding the painting that would become the yearbook cover that year. Off to the right stood a tall, wiry kid with dark hair, facing the camera and smiling though the photo had been snapped with his gaze on her.

  She felt ill. “You’re not going to tell him I asked about him.”

  Tracie reached for the yearbook and eased it out of Nia’s hands, then closed the cover and returned it to her bag. “If he asks? Sure, I will. If he doesn’t? Well...”

  Shit. “Do you think he’ll ever come back?”

  She glanced at her daughter and smiled brightly. “Can you do Mommy a favor, baby girl? Cover your ears.” Louisa giggled but didn’t let go of her cup, so Tracie reached over and pressed her palms over her little girl’s ears before she met Nia’s gaze. “Whatever this misunderstanding was, whatever you said—you fucked up, honey.”

  Chapter Seven

  The contractor swore he wouldn’t miss the appointment again, but Niara seriously doubted it.

  For three days, he’d put it off. And for three days, she’d gritted her teeth and not argued because there wasn’t anyone else in town to hire. Instead, she holed up in her house, obsessively cleaning and unpacking and keeping busy so her mind didn’t wander. She had her internet and cable at last, but the T.V. just provided idle background noise to fill the otherwise silent house.

  Deena had offered to come for a week-long visit; Nia had declined, but it was only a matter of time before her friend showed up at her doorstep intent on bringing her out of her funk. And to probably terrorize the locals.

  Nia left the bathroom after brushing her teeth but forewent dressing. If the contractor did show up, he could accept her as-is. She padded down the stairs and through the house in her pajamas and robe, yawning as she went. She hadn’t slept well in days, guilt twisting her gut all night as she tossed and turned. Maybe it was silly. She didn’t know-know him. But everything in her screamed that there was something there, something between them that would’ve been worth pursuing. Just being near him, a whole new world of possibility had opened up, like a light turned on in a room she hadn’t realized was dark.

  She rubbed sleep from her eyes and went straight for the coffee machine where her beverage of choice was brewed and waiting. Her feet dragged on the hardwood and she yawned again as she reached for a mug over the sink.

  And then stopped.

  There was a distinct sound like a mix between a pop and a click, steady and consistent with a few seconds between each one. Quieter than a hammer...what the hell? She left the mug on the counter and walked to the window, pulling the yellow sheer curtains back to look out.

  Her gut bottomed out as she stared for a moment, then left the curtain swinging in her wake as she raced for the exit.

  The porch door slammed behind her and Brady stood straight suddenly. He’d been leaning over a long, rectangular structure low to the ground with landscaping fabric around the frame, and had a staple gun in one hand.

  She stopped about six feet away and stared. “What are you doing?”

  “Box spring vegetable garden.” He wasn’t smiling and the worried feeling in her stomach didn’t abate.

  “I don’t mean what are you doing right this second—I mean what are you doing in my backyard when you’re supposed to be gone?” She had the distinct impression she was, once again, utterly failing at talking out loud, but nothing had prepared her for seeing him out there at nine o’clock in the morning.

  “I never left. I’ve been at Tracie’s.” He set the staple gun on the frame, plucked off his gardening gloves, and crossed his arms at his chest. His gaze was averted the whole time and he frowned. “Just tell me the truth. Did you ask me to stay because you knew I was leaving?”

  Make this count. She took a deep breath. “Yes. I wouldn’t have had the guts to otherwise. Because, as you might have noticed, I’m not good at this. I wanted you all morning, all afternoon, all night, the morning after, and I want you right goddamn now too. I want you over for dinner, and in my bed, and sitting on the porch swing with me, and out for coffee, and whatever else you want. That’s the truth.”

  Nia quivered, waiting, itching to go to him but afraid he’d brush her off.

  At last he met her gaze, a half smile tou
ching his lips. “I’ve always just wanted you.”

  She lost the fight and went for him; he met her halfway, pulling her into his arms for a searing kiss. His tongue caressed hers, mouth devouring. Heat swelled in her pussy, craving him immediately as her hands roamed his body, sliding under his T-shirt.

  Her lips left his as she gazed up at him. “I, um, wasn’t lying about the wanting-now part.”

  He grinned fully this time. The smile lit his eyes and eased any remaining worry she had, and he stripped off his T-shirt. “Happy to oblige.”

  She’d missed the feel of his skin but couldn’t take her time, wanting to touch everywhere at once. Brady’s soft lips were heaven, home, and brought crushing relief to her with each kiss.

  His hands slipped under her robe and grabbed her ass, lifting her up to wrap her legs around his waist. “We should head inside,” he murmured against her ear.

  Oh, Deena. Wonderful, wonderful Deena and her “just in case.” Nia held on with one arm around his neck and the other reached into the pocket of her robe to produce a condom. “I have a friend who makes me prepare for anything.”

  “Smart woman.” He plucked the package from her hand.

  “If I have my way, I’ll keep you far, far away from her.”

  He dropped to his knees, then eased her back; soft grass met her body and she didn’t care—not where they were, not about anything but the feel of him touching her again. Her camisole top was thrust up where her bare breasts waited and his lips descended, tracing delicious lines over her flesh.

  She worked at his jeans, popping loose the buttons, panting, aching, craving. “You could help me get our pants off,” she said with a sigh.

  Blue eyes turned upward, meeting her gaze, as his tongue darted out to circle her dark brown nipple into a hard, sensitive peak. Brady grinned. “Demanding.”

  Her lips fought a smile. “Impatient,” she corrected.

  He chuckled and the condom package crinkled; while she kicked off her pajama bottoms, he swiftly sheathed himself and ducked back down, immediately continuing where he left off by turning his attention to her breasts.

  Cool air from the river in the distance coated her skin and goose flesh rose. She whimpered, raised her hips, and when the broad tip of his cock probed her, she sighed at last. He groaned as he eased into her slowly, inch by inch driving past her wet folds. When he’d sunk in to the hilt, he met her gaze with desire-clouded eyes, tucked a stray hair from her forehead, and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

  She was home.

  Nia planted her feet on the grass and flexed her hips up, meeting each thrust. He pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to her throat. Her body was positively humming, throbbing, climax building with each plunge inside her until she thought she might burst.

  “Brady,” she sighed his name, “please.”

  Happy tickles danced down her spine as he breathed against her ear. “Yes?”

  Her voice came out raspy between shallow exhalations. “Now.”

  The plea seemed to be all he needed. He shifted his hand between their bodies and pressed firmly against her clit. She cried out and bucked, stars playing behind her eyes. Just as she came down from her orgasm, he gripped her hips and slammed into her three more times before groaning his release. He collapsed against her, limp, letting out a ragged breath against her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him, quite certain she never wanted to let him go.

  The endorphin induced haze over her brain rolled away and she vaguely heard the grass whispering under rapid steps; she tipped her head back, opened her eyes, and saw the horrified stare of a middle-aged man in overalls standing at the corner of her house.

  Brady looked up as well and muttered under his breath as the contractor—with apparently the worst timing ever—turned and hightailed it away from her backyard.

  Nia sighed. “Well. Since news travels fast, I might never venture into town again.”

  Brady grinned down at her. “I’ll build you a fence.”

  She smiled too. “I’d like that.”

  And she kissed him.

  About the Author

  Asha King likes good-looking men and hot books, and often strives to combine the two. She lives in the exotic land of Alberta, Canada, where she doesn’t ride a polar bear to work but does drink vast amounts of locally brewed beer and watches hockey.

  You can email her at Author.AshaKing@gmail.com and visit her on the web at: http://www.midnightkisses.com/asha.html

  Table of Contents

  Title page