by B. N. Toler
“I’m the same weight I’ve been for years,” I assure her before sipping my sweet tea.
She purses her lips and sits beside me. She’s managed a nice spread on the table of store bought fried chicken and potato salad. She was never the best cook, but she always made sure we had a decent meal growing up.
“I hear you’re involved with someone. I love having to find out my daughter is dating a man from Mr. Grenier of all people.”
“It was the first date. And I’m sorry I didn’t call you immediately to make you privy to my personal life. But yes, I guess we are dating. His name is Vick.” I know she already knows his name, but I tell her anyway.
“He’s a house painter,” she grumbles looking up at me, her fingers working at ripping meat from the chicken breast in her hand. “Not exactly the best career.”
I shake my head. “I don’t care.”
“I know,” she surmises before stuffing the meat in her mouth. After she chews and swallows, she adds, “And what about this Connor?”
“What about him?”
“When will he be moving out?”
I finish chewing the potato salad in my mouth before answering. “He has an open invitation to stay.”
Mom leans back in her chair and wipes her mouth. “He needs to move on and find his own place. He shouldn’t be mooching off of you.”
“He’s not,” I argue after wiping my mouth. “Blake had everything set up. You know that. I don’t have to worry about anything.”
Shaking her head, she lets out an aggravated sigh. “Blake was a good man, but for the life of me I’ll never understand why he put you in this position.”
“He didn’t put me in any position,” I clarify, sternly, looking her straight in the eyes. “Connor is a good man, and I’m happy to help him.”
“Demi,” she sighs as if exhausted with my naivety.
Standing, I take my paper plate to the trash and toss it. “I know you’re worried about me, but please stop this,” I beg. “I’m a grown woman. I’m not an idiot. Connor may have made . . . mistakes in the past, but people can change, mother. He is a good man, and I’m telling you right now, if you meet him and show him anything but the utmost respect, I will be very angry.”
Pursing her lips in annoyance, she starts working on her chicken again, not looking at me. “Between you and Lexi, I don’t know who is worse.”
I smile a little. It’s time to give Lexi a taste of her own medicine. “Well, Lexi is dating this really nice guy named Bob.”
My mother’s gaze flies to mine. “She is?”
“Says he’s the man of her dreams. Next time you see her, ask her to show you a picture. I think you’ll love him.”
I stay a bit longer, and we both dance around the subjects my mother really wants to discuss and stick to the more mundane ones; her next hair appointment, bingo night, etc. And when I leave, as we hug, she says, “I’ll stop by soon.”
Guess there’s no avoiding it, eventually my mother will meet Connor. God, help me. And Connor.
When I get home, the garage is closed, and I see no sign of Connor. For some reason, I feel restless. Being around my mother always puts me in a mental tizzy. Add to that I still haven’t heard from Wendy, and I’m worried that I may have damaged our friendship irrevocably. Connor cut the grass a few days ago, but it looks like it’s starting to get a little shaggy, so I decide to change into some old cutoff jeans shorts, a tank top, and pull my hair in a messy knot on my head, and gear up for a little exercise.
Colorado experiences hot days, but, fortunately, there’s no humidity. But even without humidity, sweat blankets my skin as I pull out the old push mower and wheel it to my starting point. After a few pulls, the machine roars to life and I begin walking straight lines. Connor takes a lot more pride in this task, mowing at angles and making the lawn look like a golf course. Me, if I can get it cut without completely screwing it up, I’m happy. When I finish the front lawn, I move to the back and continue my boring straight lines. About halfway through, the mower starts sputtering and shuts off, having run out of gas.
“Son of a biscuit,” I groan. Hearing the sound of someone chuckle, I whip around and find Connor is leaned over the bottom railing of the stairs to his apartment, watching me. He has a lazy smile on his face, and I try not to stare, but he looks so damn delectable. The easy smile against the hard body and tattoos, there is something positively divine about it. Suddenly it feels a lot hotter out here.
“Didn’t hear you pull in,” I note as I walk toward him.
“I know. I would’ve cut it, ya know?”
“Yeah, but I kind of wanted something to keep me busy. A little exercise never hurt.”
“Well, let me put fuel in it at least.” He walks in the garage and comes back out with the gas can. After he fills the lawn mower, he stands and smiles at me. “There you go.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“So, I know we said dinner tonight. I was thinking, wanna head into town for a bite?”
I had planned on making meatloaf, but the day is hot and heading out for a cold beer sounds amazing. “Um, yes, but it’s my treat,” I remind him. “I owe you for the childcare this past weekend.”
“You don’t owe me, but fine,” he folds. “Any chance you’d ride on the bike with me?”
My brows rise. “I’ve never been on one.”
This time, his brows rise and another beautiful grin spreads across his face. “Really?”
“Really,” I confirm.
“Well, I understand if you don’t want to. We can drive.”
I look over at his bike in the driveway and feeling shame deep inside, I realize I want to ride the bike. But the only reason I want to, maybe, is because I want to feel what it’s like to sit that close to him and wrap my arms around his body. Damn, I’m a head case. “No, I’d like to ride the bike,” I finally say.
“Okay, then.” He nods. “Leave around 6:00?
“It’s a date,” I slip out, then shake my head. What did I just say? “I mean . . . not a date. It’s a . . . dinner or whatever.” Shut up, Demi. Stop the madness.
Connor chuckles and walks past me. “See you at 6:00.”
We meet in the driveway at 6:00 pm on the dot. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a black tank top. Connor is wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.
“Well aren’t we adorable, matching and shit,” he jokes as he puts on his helmet.
I laugh. “Should I change clothes?”
“Hell no. You look hot.” Rounding the bike he approaches me with another helmet and I pray my arms, neck and cheeks haven’t taken on the shade of a beet after his compliment. He slips the helmet on my head and begins tightening it around my chin. “You’re adorable when you blush, you know?” he murmurs. There went that.
“It’s hot out here,” I reply lamely.
“It’s not that hot,” he replies with a grin.
“You know Colorado has no helmet laws,” I point out, hoping to change the subject.
“And anyone who rides without one is a fucking idiot,” he mumbles.
“True,” I agree.
After he finishes with the strap, he taps my nose with his index finger. He turns and climbs on his bike, hitting the kickstand. The muscles in his arms flex as he mans the bike and I decide I really like motorcycles. After a moment, the Harley roars to life, and he steadies it to one side, looking at me. “Use this little step and climb on.”
With a deep breath, I follow his instructions and climb on, scooting myself forward so that my body is flush with his. His hands reach around, grabbing mine and pulling them around his firm mid-section. “Hold on tightly to me, okay?”
“Okay,” I shout over the engine. He walks the bike back, turning it around and then slowly takes it down the driveway letting the weight create a momentum that makes us roll.
At the bottom, he turns his head and smiles. “I think you’re going to love this.” Then, he opens the throttle on the bike, and we take off. I
didn’t realize my strength until this moment. I don’t think I’ve ever held anyone or anything so tightly in my life. I’m pretty sure I’m about to crack one of his ribs. The wind and the sound of the engine are loud, but they feel good. What I’m struggling with is the feeling of no control. I have no way to stop this bike myself. At any moment, we could veer off the road and go flying into the trees. When we come upon the first stop sign, Connor pats my hand, before resting his upon it and squeezing gently.
“I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” His words hit me. I believe him. And just like that, my hold weakens a little, and I inhale deeply through my nose. Well, that was a mistake. He smells like hot, dirty, sex. Why, oh why does he have to be so . . . everything? I mean, couldn’t he have been like some thugged out misfit with missing teeth? No, of course not. He just had to be the incredibly hot, kind, good and bad combo with tattoos.
By the time we make it to the restaurant, I’ve calmed down a bit. When I climb off the bike, I can’t help first rubbing my cheeks, then my ass. They’re both numb.
Connor laughs as he pulls off his helmet. “You’re just not use to it yet. We’ll have to ride more often.”
He helps me undo the strap of my helmet, and I run my fingers through my tangled hair. Note to self: Tie hair back next time on the back of a bike. We walk into the Sandbox, a cool little place that serves the best wings and has some form of live music every night. They also have six pool tables in the back. I’ve only been here twice, with Lexi, but I love the atmosphere. I wonder if she’ll meander in tonight.
“You want to grab a table and eat or would you rather play some pool first and have a drink?”
I am a little hungry, but a game of pool sounds fun. “You rack ’em,” I tell him. “You’re about to get your ass kicked.”
He snorts out a laugh, his eyes wide with mirth. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?” We’ve just reached the pool table, and he’s already signaling for our server to bring us balls so we can set up.
I cross my arms. “A bet?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Just a friendly bet between neighbors.
“What’d you have in mind?”
He reaches around and scratches the back of his neck, his bicep bulging as he does. Has he been working out since he’s been home? But where? “You owe me five dinners if I win?”
I laugh. “Joke’s on you. I’m a terrible cook.”
“Not in my book,” he argues as our waitress approaches with the balls. He orders a whiskey neat, and I decide I better stick with beer.
“So what do I get if I win?” I ask after our server has scurried off to fill our order.
“What do you want?”
I twist my mouth as I think about this. I’m definitely going to win. I’m awesome at pool. I better make it something good. “You have to cook me five dinners.”
He gives me a ‘Really’ look.
“That’s right, Mr. Stevens. Five dinners. One really should be duck with plum sauce.”
Smiling he counters, “Does it count if I take you out for dinner?”
“Is alcohol included?”
“Yes,” he answers as he chalks his pool stick.
“I’ll accept those terms.”
“Alright, your cockiness. You have to win first,” he jests.
“It’s in the bag,” I reply confidentially, chalking my pool stick.
“I like a woman with a little competitiveness in her.”
We play four games. I win them all. Connor is really good, though, and he came close to beating me a few times.
“Damn. Where’d you learn to play like that?” he asks as we place our pool sticks on the rack on the wall. “I think I’ll have to start calling you dead-eye.”
“High school. Dated a guy whose father owned a pool hall. It closed down a few years back.”
“I’m impressed.” Then he frowns in thought. “I think I was just hustled.”
“Definitely not,” I feign offense. “I told you I was good. And I fully intend to collect my reward,” I warn, pointing a firm finger at him. “And you have to cook at least some of the meals.”
“How many?”
“Three.”
“Two.”
“Done,” I agree as we both chuckle. The bar has started to get busier since we arrived and the band performing this evening is doing their sound check.
“Shall we eat?” I ask.
“I’m starving. There’s a booth over there.” He points. As we’re making our way to the table, I hear, “Demi?”
Lexi rushes over and hugs me. “What the hell are you doing here?” she asks as she pulls away. She’s dressed in jeans and a flowy white top, her makeup done to perfection. I usually only see the aftermath of a night of partying and hard drinking, so it’s nice to see her fresh.
“Connor and I came for dinner. What are you doing here?”
“I was supposed to meet a co-worker of mine for drinks, but she flaked on me. Called me right before I walked in.”
“Well come and sit with us. We just finished some pool, and we’re about to grab a bite.”
The evening starts off well. We eat and laugh, but then things seem to go downhill from there. At least for me anyway. Lexi starts ordering various shots and shooters for us. Connor takes two, then refuses anymore deciding to stick to water for the rest of the night. Me, I’m an idiot and get drunk in 0.4 seconds. I’m having a great time, but my happiness is only amplified seeing my sister so happy. I realize Blake’s death has hindered me socially, rightfully so. I mean, I lost my husband, of course I haven’t been up to going out and having a good time, but what I didn’t realize is how much Lexi has missed nights like this together. So when she drags me out on the dance floor, I let loose and try to enjoy myself and the time with my sister. Not long after we’ve started dancing, I notice Connor isn’t at our table. Scanning the room, I find him standing near the bar talking to a skinny blonde that looks like she’s twenty-five. When his gaze flicks from her to me, I jerk my gaze away and try to pretend seeing him near her doesn’t make me feel . . . something. Jealous? Really?
“You’re way hotter than her,” Lexi yells in my ear.
Of course, I play dumb. “Who?”
And as if she just read my mind, she scoffs, “God you suck at playing dumb.” I roll my eyes hating sometimes how well she knows me. “He keeps looking at you like every five seconds, ya know?”
“Who?”
She stops dancing and her look says, are you still trying to play dumb?
“Dude. You guys are totally attracted to each other. It’s really fucking obvious.”
I keep moving in rhythm with the song as I argue with her. “We’re just friends, Lex.
That’s it.”
“Yeah, friends that like to eye-fuck the fuck out of each other.”
“Whatever,” I fold. I’m too drunk to argue with her.
“He’s looking at you right now,” she says. And when I look over to where he’s standing, sure enough, Connor Stevens dark eyes are watching me even as he seems to be saying something to the blonde. My cheeks heat as I once again pull my gaze away.
“I know you don’t think my opinions hold much water, but I like him Demi. And . . . I don’t think it’s such a bad thing that you like him.” I’m a little stunned by her proclamation, but before I can respond, a slow song comes on and Lexi leaves me on the dance floor, running over to Connor. She whispers something in his ear, giving the blonde he’s been speaking with a smile that doesn’t quite look real, then she scurries off to the restroom. I turn away and begin to sway with the song, but can’t help looking back. Apparently, alcohol kills my self-control. My stomach twists when I see Connor walking toward me. Is he going to ask me to dance? Maybe he’s ready to go. Or maybe he wants to leave with the pretty blonde, and he’s coming to say goodbye to me. Oh, God, he’s dissing me.
“May I have this dance?” he asks as he approaches, an easy smile on his face.
“Did m
y sister tell you to?” I respond, trying my best not to slur.
“Tell me to what?”
“Dance with her drunk sister?”
“She told me to keep an eye on you. Make sure nobody messed with you. I thought you could use a partner,” he replies. When he holds out his hand, I take it, and he pulls me in, holding me close.
“You should be dancing with the hot blonde at the bar,” I mention.
A sober me would proceed to babble away, attempting to kill any idea of this dance being anything, but friendly. I’m not sober. I’m blitzed. And instead of talking, I step into his space and lay my head against his chest. He stills for a moment. I gather he’s surprised by how I just pressed myself against him, but it only takes a second for him to wrap his arms around me.
I danced with Vick a few nights ago, and it was wonderful, but it was nothing like this. The comfort I feel at this moment is something I haven’t felt in a long time. I know it’s all in my head, the attraction between Connor and me, but I let myself relax in his arms, closing my eyes I let him lead us. After a moment, his hand comes up and rests on the back of my head and to my complete shock, he kisses my temple. I breathe in deeply and exhale, letting all the worry melt away.
When the song ends, we stop moving, and I gaze up at him. The people surrounding us seemingly disappearing. His eyes are dark, and his expression is stoic; I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’d give anything to know. I have no idea what I’m thinking. All I know is I’m planted in this spot; I can’t move. When he brushes some hair from my face, I tilt my head toward his touch, seeking more. His hand freezes, holding its place against my cheek before he pulls it away and inhales deeply, his large chest rising with the effort.
“Would you like to head home?” he asks, not meeting my gaze.
I blink a few times as the moment dissipates. Looking to the floor, I clear my throat and answer, “Yes. That’s probably a good idea.” I don’t know what just transpired between us. Was it just me? Did I imagine all . . . that? Whatever it was. Either way, the high I’ve been riding all night dwindles away, and I’m left feeling disappointed. All I want to do is go home and crawl in bed.
