by Kendall Ryan
In the morning, I wake curled up on my side, feeling warm and secure, more comfortable and well-rested than I’ve been in a long time.
With my eyes still closed, I stretch out one of my legs, and it brushes against something firm—firmer than a pillow or a comforter would be. I stretch my leg further, almost beginning to straighten out, when I feel something warm and firm behind me, and then something heavy across my side and over my chest.
The haziness of sleep slowly slips away from my brain, and I realize what’s happening.
It’s Connor. I’m cuddling with Connor. Or rather, Connor’s cuddling me. He’s pressed against my backside, spooning me in his sleep.
Suddenly, I’m completely awake, but I’m not about to do anything to stop what’s happening yet. His breathing is still deep and slow, which means he’s still asleep, which means I get to savor this for a few moments longer.
The feel of his strong arm draped over my waist, his broad, muscular chest pressing into my back, the scent of his aftershave—it’s all a rush. It doesn’t take long until I’m aware of how accessible my most sensitive parts are to his hands. How easy it would be for this position to become something more.
He stirs, taking in a deep breath and flexing his biceps against me. I sigh and stretch too, pretending like I’m waking up as well. I turn just in time for Connor to groggily open his eyes. When he realizes where he is—what we’re doing—he pulls away, and I instinctually mirror his movements.
“Shit,” he says, his voice raspy with sleep. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. But I’m sorry too. This is awkward.”
Why do I always babble so much when I’m around him? Why can’t I be as cool and smooth as he is in situations like this?
Connor doesn’t respond, merely grunts in response.
It’s probably too early to have a full-on conversation about this. But still, for the rest of the morning, I can’t get the feel of his arms around me out of my head. Or his scent. Or the image of how sexy he looks in nothing but a T-shirt and a pair of boxers.
Even if nothing ever happens between us, something tells me I’ll be thinking about last night for a long time.
7
* * *
CONNOR
“Birthday shots, birthday shots!”
With four shot glasses crammed haphazardly between his fingers, Caleb approaches our pool table with a goofy smile on his face. Judging by the color of the liquor, or lack thereof, it’s either tequila or vodka. No limes, though, so either Caleb half-assed the order or he’s entirely forgotten how much I hate vodka. Either could be true.
Despite his egging on, Hayes and Wolfie kindly don’t join in on the ridiculous chant. Caleb distributes each glass before holding his aloft, the rest of us following suit.
“Here’s to another dirty thirty, my man. Cheers!”
If I sighed any deeper, I might deflate entirely.
Yes, it’s my birthday, and yes, I know I should be living it up, celebrating with my friends, and I am—I’m here. But my brain is still back at home, a big part of me wishing I was chilling on my couch with my little girl and the sports highlights on TV.
As of tonight, I’m no longer a twenty-something with nothing but time to lose. Now I’m a thirty-year-old single dad who feels out of place in smelly bars with shitty pool tables. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful my friends got me out of the house tonight. It was overdue. And with Jessa at home, it’s nice knowing Marley is fine without me every now and then.
With Caleb on a mission that can only end with us suffering from hangovers tomorrow, I’m sensing there’s an expectation that I’ll let loose like I used to. To them, Crazy Connor isn’t such a distant memory. But to me, those days feel like a lifetime ago.
We toss back our shots, and I shudder from the sharp, acetonic flavor of cheap vodka. Jesus. That’s nasty.
“You couldn’t have gotten the good stuff?” Wolfie grumbles, quickly chasing the bitterness away with a gulp of some dark imperial stout.
“Look, I asked for middle-shelf. There’s a strategy to this. Start with the nasty shit, then slowly move on to the good shit—it makes it harder to quit. And it makes it so, so much easier to get our birthday boy wasted.”
“One, that’s backward as hell. Two, I’m not here to get drunk,” I say grumpily, lifting my glass of ice water as proof. “Marley’s at home with the nanny, and I don’t want to come home smelling like cheap vodka.”
“The nanny.” Hayes chuckles to himself, raising his pint glass to his smirking mouth.
“The hot nanny,” Caleb says, punctuating his unnecessary addition with a belch.
Classy.
Even Wolfie smirks, one eyebrow crooked. “Like we all don’t already know her name.”
“Okay, fine,” I say with a shrug. “Marley is at home with Jessa.”
“Oh, Jessa. Riiight, Jessa.” Caleb smacks his palm to his forehead in a mock eureka moment. “I forgot her name, ’cause you didn’t mention her in the last, I dunno, five minutes.”
“Shut up,” I grumble.
I get it. They all think it’s hilarious that I haven’t fucked the insanely attractive nanny. I only bring her up a lot because she’s taking care of my daughter, and these dickwads wouldn’t understand the relationship between a parent and his child’s caretaker. It’s crystal clear to me, as long as I ignore the burning desire I feel for her every time we’re in the same vicinity.
“You’re one to talk, Caleb.” Hayes juts his chin toward Wolfie. “We were just talking about you and Scarlett.”
Caleb freezes with his shot glass in midair. “What about her? What about us?”
“It just seems like your friendship has . . . what was the word you used?”
Hayes nudges Wolfie, who very matter-of-factly grunts out, “Evolved.”
“No, it hasn’t.” Caleb scoffs, swearing as the cue ball drops into the pocket.
I didn’t see this turn of conversation coming, but I’m suddenly very interested. And frankly grateful the focus isn’t on me anymore.
“I always thought she had a thing for you,” I say, leaning over the corner of the table to clap him hard on the arm. I snicker when he scowls at me.
“No, man, it’s not like that. Scarlett and I are strictly friends.”
“Of course.” Hayes nods solemnly. “Well, let me remind you that I’m Maren’s confidant, who happens to be Scarlett’s confidante, and word travels—”
“I’m getting more shots,” Caleb says quickly, tossing his pool cue to me before turning on his heel and storming back to the bar.
I glance at Hayes and Wolfie, and the three of us exchange a knowing look. Let’s drop it.
I check my watch reflexively, noting the time. I’ve already been out for a couple of hours. It would be best if we wrapped this up soon so I can get home and relieve Jessa of her babysitting duties.
“Thinking about the nanny?” Wolfie asks, leaning against the pool table while Hayes takes his shot.
I’d bristle at the question, but coming from Wolfie, I know there’s no subtext behind it.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I say with a sigh. “I feel bad staying out late while she’s waiting for me at home.”
Hayes makes a face, pursing his lips as if to stop whatever he’s thinking from tumbling out of his mouth.
Son of a bitch.
I give him a challenging look. “Whatever you’re thinking, just say it.”
Caleb returns with more shots, for once reading the damn room and keeping his mouth shut.
“That just sounds like something I’d say about Maren,” Hayes says, giving me a knowing look.
“And I’d say about Penelope,” Wolfie adds.
I scrunch my eyes closed and run a hand through my hair. When will my friends just leave well enough alone? “That doesn’t mean anything.”
“You’d tell us if there was something going on, right?” Hayes asks, his brow furrowed.
What a bunch of gossips.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
Absolutely nothing. Certainly not the fact that we slept in the same bed the other night, and I woke up curled around her soft, sweet curves. Definitely not how I contemplated for just a moment about pressing a kiss to the back of her neck and grinding my raging hard-on against her ass, desperate to take this thing we have to the next level.
“We talking ’bout the hot nanny again?” Caleb whispers conspiratorially, passing shot glasses to Hayes and Wolfie before holding one out to me.
“Man, I said I was done drinking.” I groan, shaking my head.
“You never explicitly said that.” Caleb shrugs, nodding toward the shot glass in his outstretched hand.
All eyes are on me as they wait for me to do one of two things—either admit that I’m into the nanny, or down this shot. And God knows I’m not about to confess my dirty little secret just yet.
I grab the glass from Caleb’s hand and throw back the shot in one painful gulp. They all watch silently, waiting for me to recover from the taste of literal gasoline.
I raise a single finger, my voice hoarse as I croak out, “One more, two at most.”
Caleb hoots in triumph while Wolfie and Hayes exchange a fist bump.
Sorry, Jessa. Looks like it’s gonna be a long night after all.
By my fifth shot, I’m officially drunk. My tolerance is at an all-time low, thanks to months of only drinking the occasional beer or glass of wine.
After arranging our rideshares, Hayes shares a car with me, which is more of an effort on his part to make sure my drunk ass makes it safely to my front door. I struggle to stay vertical during the car ride. When our driver pulls up to my house, I pull myself upright.
“That was fast,” I mumble, smoothing my hair back with one hand.
Damn, I even smell like I’m drunk. A real class act, Connor.
“You knocked out for a bit there.” Hayes chuckles, his gaze trained on his phone. He’s probably texting Maren all about my reckless night of drinking. “Need me to get you inside? Dismiss ‘the nanny’?”
I shoot him a lazy glare and open my door. “I got it. Thanks.”
“See you tomorrow, bud.”
I shut the car door, swaying a little as I watch the headlights disappear down the road.
It takes me roughly ten years, but I manage to unlock the front door, kick off my shoes, and wander to the kitchen. Leaning against the fridge, I force myself to drink two full glasses of water. Since stumbling through the door, I’ve made some noise, so it strikes me as strange that Jessa hasn’t poked her head in here yet.
Something could be wrong, though I sincerely hope not. Maybe she just fell asleep? It is pretty late.
The lights in the hall are dark. Marley’s nursery is dark too, except for the single star-shaped night-light on the shelf. I tiptoe into her room and gaze down into the crib.
Marley’s sleeping peacefully, all warm and cozy in her little monkey onesie. She’s so fucking cute that I have to shove down the urge to scoop her into my arms and press a kiss to her cheek. But I leave her be, knowing it’s not worth waking her up and spending the rest of the night comforting a grumpy baby.
The guest room across the hall is also dark, the bed untouched. I know Jessa would never leave Marley alone and just go home . . . so the question is, where the hell is she? It’s then that I notice my bedroom door is slightly cracked open, a sliver of light cast onto the hallway carpet.
As I give it a gentle push, the door opens silently. And there she is, curled up on my bed, her limbs tangled in my favorite gray cotton blanket.
A soft-cover book rests on Jessa’s chest, rising and falling with each slow breath. In the lamplight, her eyelashes cast dark shadows across her freckled cheeks, and all those gorgeous mahogany curls spill over my white pillows.
I don’t know how long I stand there like a creep, staring at her, but I know I could watch her for hours. She’s beautiful like this, with all the formalities and professionalism forgotten. Even more beautiful because she’s in my bed.
I try to be as quiet as I can, softly padding across the floor to kneel next to the bed.
Damn. She looks so peaceful. I really don’t want to wake her. But even my inebriated brain knows that I have to.
When I caress the back of her hand with my fingertips, Jessa blinks awake, her eyes heavy with sleep. The smile that sprawls across her warm, rosy lips is so easy and trusting that it makes my chest tighten.
“Hey there,” she murmurs, tilting her head to get a better look at me.
“Hey,” I say softly, smiling genuinely for the first time all night.
She chuckles. “Sorry for stealing your bed.” Her voice is raspy with sleep and, if you ask me, sexy as hell. “I thought I’d hear Marley if she woke up since you share a wall. Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”
“That’s okay.”
She props herself up on one elbow and drags her fingers through her bed head. The strap of her tank top hangs loosely on her shoulder, and it’s harder than usual to wrench my gaze away. I watch as two fingers tuck under the strap, lifting it back to its rightful place, only to remain on her shoulder and caress the sleep-warmed skin there.
Fuck. Those are my fingers, not hers.
“Thank you,” she whispers, the words falling from her lips like melted butter as her blue eyes search my face for something like clarity.
You won’t find that there, Jessa. All you’ll find is a tormented man, telling himself to take his damn hand away.
But I don’t. And she doesn’t pull away. Instead, she leans into the touch, and now my whole palm rests on her arm, my thumb rubbing circles against the freckles dotting her shoulder.
“Did you have a good time tonight?” she asks, biting her lip in a way that has me leaning into her against all logic.
“Yeah.” I struggle to pull in a breath, my gaze hooked on that hypnotizing mouth of hers. “Did you?”
She smiles. “Yes, it was fine.”
“That’s good,” I whisper.
I should ask Jessa something about how my daughter did, or if she went to bed okay . . . but all I can do is keep staring at her mouth.
The words hang in the air for less than a second before I take a chance and close the distance between us. Jessa’s breath hitches, and I feel her hand grab at the front of my shirt, pulling me in.
And just like that, we’re locked together in a breathless kiss. Her book falls to the floor with a faint thud, no match for the pounding of my heart in my ears.
Her lips are warm and so unbelievably soft against mine, opening to my tongue with an eagerness that I feel right against my pants zipper. My hand slides up her neck to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to deepen our kiss and eliciting a whimper from deep in her throat. Her moans are sweeter than a goddamn daiquiri, and I’m drunk on the taste of her—
Oh my God. I’m drunk.
Ashamed, I pull away, our lips parting with a wet pop. My hand drops from her curls to clench the sheets between us. My eyes closed, I take a few slow breaths.
Jessa unknots her hand from my shirt and whispers, “Are you okay?” The concern in her voice is almost heartbreaking.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I manage to choke out. “I’m drunk. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that.”
“It’s okay,” she says softly, reassuring me.
She runs a hand through my hair, which does nothing to calm the tension in my jeans. Throwing off the blankets, she scoots off my bed and grabs her book from the floor.
“I’d better get going. Happy birthday, Connor. I hope this year is the best one yet.”
She pads away, her footsteps growing quieter until I hear the faint latch of the front door. I stand up too quickly, my head swimming for the moment it takes me to ground myself in the present.
I just made out with Marley’s nanny. I just made out with Jessa. And it felt incredible.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
8
* * *
JES
SA
“Hey, Scar, remind me again where you want this box to go?” Maren calls out from down the hallway.
Scarlett’s mouth screws up to one side while she thinks, scanning the room. “Um . . .”
A small smile forms on my face. “Any day now, Scar. These boxes aren’t exactly as light as a feather.”
Scarlett shrugs. “Sorry, I don’t know. Just drop it in here, and we’ll figure it out together.”
Maren huffs loudly and grunts her way into the living room to join us, setting the box down with a loud thud. She wipes the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and glares at Scarlett.
“Next time, if you’re going to be indecisive, you can carry the box full of old trashy tabloids. Why are you lugging those things around with you, anyway?”
Scarlett ignores Maren’s little jab and continues organizing flatware in the kitchen.
Maren looks at me, her eyes wide, and I get the message. Can you believe her? she’s trying to tell me, but I know better than to get between old friends. Especially old friends who are getting testy because of the stress of moving. And quite possibly hangry too.
But I’m about to move several thousand miles away, so I know a thing or two about that particular kind of stress.
“I’m hungry. Are you guys hungry?” I ask, keeping my tone light and chipper so it’s not obvious I’m trying to distract them.
“Starving.” Scarlett groans and throws herself across the olive velvet couch.
“I could eat.” Maren picks at a stray thread fraying the hem of her shorts as she agrees.
“So, what are we thinking? Chinese? Thai? Mexican? Pizza? I saw a place around the corner that looked pretty good.”
Both of their faces light up at my last suggestion.
Maren’s stomach growls, and she places her hands over her belly, a look of surprise sneaking across her face. “Okay, maybe I’m hungrier than I thought.”
“That pizza place is the bomb,” Scarlett says. “My old place isn’t far from here, and I’ve eaten there many times.”
