by Jean Haus
Yes, the glimpse we just got into Gabe’s life is heartbreaking. But the idea of Justin growing up and being ignored by his parents saddens me too. I reach for his hand and brush my thumb over his bruised knuckles. “You’re probably right. Gabe’s life has been far less pretty than yours, but that doesn’t excuse your parents’ negligence.”
“Forget about my parents,” he says, gripping his knees. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m worried about Gabe. They’re going to slap me with a class C misdemeanor if anything, but Gabe is going to get nailed without a lawyer. This is his third assault charge. The only way I’m going to get him to accept my paying for a lawyer is if I get one and he represents us both.”
“Can you afford a lawyer?”
“Yeah, my parents may not pay attention to me but they shower me with money.”
His tone is bitter, but since he doesn’t want to talk about his parents I simply say, “Then that sounds like a good idea.”
Nodding, he stares out the window, but I’m aware he’s not seeing anything.
“Hey,” I say, and pull him toward me. “How about a shower, then some sleep? You’ll have time to consider everything later. You need rest now.”
He covers my hand with his. “Damn. I got lucky when I walked into your shop.”
I grin at him. “Damn straight.”
Chapter 27
Justin
I’m exhausted. I’m wearing a pair of pink running shorts that are too tight and too short. I look like an idiot. I’ve been arrested and spent the night, awake, in jail. But as I step out of Allie’s bathroom and almost trip over a basket of toys, I’m feeling happy.
I don’t have to wander far into the apartment to find her. She’s at her dresser, putting away clothes from a basket on the floor. The room is small, with a double bed and done in all white: walls, furniture, and bedding. Except for her vibrant paintings on the walls and the long brown-speckled curtains on the window.
“Hey,” I say softly, moving behind her.
She smirks at me in the mirror above the dresser. “Nice shorts.”
My eyelids lower.
“No, really.” She turns and runs a hand across my chest. Her fingers find the ring in my nipple. “I like them.” Her finger circles my ring as her smoky eyes wander over my body. “They don’t leave much to the imagination.”
The tiny shorts are about to get tighter. “You’re making my imagination run wild.” I jerk her toward me by the waist and lower my mouth to hers. Neither of us is slow. The kiss doesn’t build to hot. It’s instantly heated and fierce.
Desperate for the feel of her skin, my fingers seize the bottom of her shirt and lift it.
She pulls away and reaches for a curtain, drawing it closed.
The blinds had let the morning light in, but the closed curtains cast the room in shadows.
I yank the curtains open. “I want to see you.”
She yanks them shut. “Maybe I’m not ready for you to see me.”
Confused as all hell, I blurt, “What does that mean?”
“I’m a little shy?”
I tilt my head in thought as I recall our time together. “Not that much.”
She leans against the dresser, eyes downcast. “I’ve been pregnant.”
“Huh?” I shake my head in confusion, like a cartoon character, as I realize she doesn’t want me to see her in the light. “Allie, you’re smoking hot. Trust me. I’ve watched you for months now. For shit’s sake, I’ve been with you.” I open the curtains. “I’m dying to see you.”
“I’ve been pregnant,” she repeats softly, eyes still cast downward. “I have stretch marks, okay?”
I’m 100 percent out of my realm here. I can’t recall seeing any scars the last time we slept together. Though it was dark. And we were doing more touching than looking.
Her lips form a thin line and her fingers dig into the white wood at the edge of the dresser. “Trevor—he didn’t like them. He wanted to tattoo over them, but we weren’t together long enough.”
Ass. Fucking. Hole. I lean my forehead against hers. “Listen to me. You’re beautiful to me. Every single part. Any tiny flaw you have because you carried a baby is beautiful too.”
She blinks at me as if trying to believe my words.
I’d like to punch Trevor again. Twice. Allie’s never self-conscious. And she’s never been preoccupied with appearances. But this is obviously something Trevor made her feel inferior about. While she was just a teenage girl.
“You have to trust me about this,” I whisper as my fingers reach again for the bottom of her shirt.
She gives a slow and tentative nod, and lets me peel the shirt from her body.
With a plan of making this slow and sensual for both of us, I place my hands on her ribs—and she shivers as I turn her toward the mirror.
Her apprehensive gaze meets mine in the glass. My eyes sweep over her body. She’s slender but not too thin. Her pale skin is a lovely contrast to the bright ink on her arm along with the shine of the auburn curls falling below her shoulders. The soft swell of her breasts above her plain cotton bra lifts in a deep breath as I run my fingers up her arm and down the middle of her torso. There’s not a flaw in sight.
“Gorgeous,” I say, dragging my lips along her shoulder. She shivers again. I let her bra clasp loose then with a hook of my thumbs tug it off at each strap as she watches. “So gorgeous,” I repeat at the sight of her firm, high breasts.
As I cup her breasts, she falls against me with a soft sigh. Keeping one hand on her hardening nipple, I move my other hand to the button of her jeans and her gray eyes open wide. Not letting her back out, I unzip her jeans. She trembles. I push them down and they crumple to the floor at her feet.
Long waisted, with a sweet curve to her hips, she could be a swimsuit model, at least for the guy magazines. She’s much hotter than the ridiculous bone-ass-thin models in fashion magazines. Her flower-dotted panties ride low. Right above the red waistband, a faded slash curls inches below her belly button. Another faint scar is barely visible closer to her hip. Her gaze is fearful as she stares at the faint marks.
“You are so beautiful,” I groan. “And this”—my fingers trace a path along a shiny, thin puckered scar—“doesn’t take anything away from your beauty, and certainly not from how much I want you.”
When her body doesn’t release its tight line of tension, I kneel, yank her jeans free from her feet, and turn her sideways. Hands gripping her hips, I kiss and then run my tongue along each faint scar visible above the line of her panties. Releasing a sigh, her body finally relaxes and she thrusts her hands into my damp hair. My shoulders loosen. So intent on her response, I hadn’t realized the tight coil of my own body.
Finally, oh fucking finally, I slowly pull her panties off, and as soon as her feet are free, I press my lips and tongue to the place I’ve been wanting to kiss forever. She gasps and bucks, but I hold her still by the hips. When her climax hits, I watch her face in the mirror. Head back, lips parted, she’s more beautiful than I could ever explain to her.
I stand slowly, then quickly shed the pink shorts and even more quickly lead her to the bed. She still appears dazed as I lay her down. But when I reach for my wallet, miraculously—or not, since it appears Allie had made plans while I showered—on the nightstand, her hands come to my chest.
“Wait, wait. Let me touch you.”
Though I’m not sure how much longer I can wait, I lie on my side and let her hands slide over me. Her fingers trace my tattoos and the muscles on my chest. Her hands wrap around the hot length of me, and my eyes roll into the back of my head. The movement of those hands has me hissing through my teeth, “Get the fucking condom.”
Twisting toward the stand, she giggles. “Yeah, that’s what it’s for.”
I snatch it from her fingers, tear it open with my teeth, and pr
etty much slap it on. The curve of her mouth turns into an O as I push her onto the pillows and roll over her. Poised above, holding her face in my palms, I know it’s too early, too damn early yet, but my heart is overflowing. “I’m falling in love with you,” I say, entering her.
Her eyes widen into gray pools of shock, but as I deepen my angle, she gasps. I drink the gasp from her lips, her legs wrap around me, and we rock into mindless oblivion.
Chapter 28
Allie
With his arm around my waist, Justin falls asleep almost immediately. I stare at the ceiling while his words, I’m falling in love with you, echo in my head. After his breathing evens in a deeper sleep, I untangle myself, grab my robe, and flee into the bathroom.
I sit on the closed toilet and try to get a grip. My arms tighten around my knees.
Just have fun. Just date. Just get laid.
Why didn’t they tell me to jump off a cliff?
Because Justin’s words have me feeling like I’m standing on the edge of one.
Deep inside, I’m elated, because his words feel right. Yet I’m not ready for them, and I can already feel the weight of them crushing me. Between Ben and the shop and school, I have too much on my shoulders already. Now Justin’s heart has been added to the list. Though Holly keeps saying that Justin is a big boy and that I should worry only about myself, I can’t ignore his words.
And what about my heart?
I can’t even contemplate the issue of love. It’s too much.
I never wanted things to get to this point. It was supposed to be just fun. This sudden deep emotion is suffocating me.
Unable to deal with all the emotions swirling through me, I stand and turn on the shower. For over a half hour, I let the spray of water wash away my thoughts. By the time I step out, I’ve run through all the hot water and my mind is nearly empty. I put my hair in a bun and dab on a bit of makeup, then go change the laundry before getting dressed. I roam around the apartment, mindlessly straightening up and tinkering in the kitchen. I build a wall between those words and me, and try to relax. I pretend for the moment that they don’t exist, that they were never spoken, and that whatever is between Justin and me is just fun.
And instead of acting freaked out, I’m going to have fun for once, dammit.
Once the apartment is spotless and Justin’s clothes are dry, I toss his jeans and boxers at the end of the bed. He sits up still sleepy eyed despite having slept for hours.
His blond hair is a wild mess and his jaw is covered with a dark scruff. The white comforter around his waist contrasts with his coppery skin and the black tribal art and Japanese-lettering tattoos. He is absolutely delectable. Releasing a yawn he asks, “Where’s my shirt?”
“I thought you could hang out in your jeans until we leave.”
The ring in his eyebrow rises. “Oh, I’m your eye candy now?”
“Absolutely. No better eye candy around.”
He jumps from the bed and lunges at me. Laughing, I step into the hallway. “Get dressed. I started making lunch.” I leave him shaking his head and reaching for his pants.
Since I usually cook for Ben, my kitchen is stocked with kid basics. Holly rarely eats here and hardly ever shops. So after searching the cupboards and refrigerator three times, I decide we don’t have many choices besides grilled cheese and tomato soup.
I’m slicing cheese as Justin wanders into the kitchen. I pause to take him in wearing only jeans, with a strip of his boxers showing. Screw Todd. Tribal tattoos are hot. Justin is hot. I want to forget about lunch and have him instead.
He glances at the pan on the stove and the items on the counter, then bumps my hip with his. “Let me cook. You did the laundry.”
“How about you do the soup and I’ll make the sandwiches?”
His lips turn down. “Why do you get the good part?”
I set the knife on the cutting board. “Fine. I’ll make the soup.”
Picking the knife up, he says, “Prepared to be awed by my grilled-cheese-making skills.”
“I’ve already been awed by your spinach quiche.” I dig in a drawer for the can opener. “How did you learn to cook so well?”
“The housekeeper had weekends off. My parents were usually out and about.”
I pause from opening the can of soup and watch him butter a piece of bread. “All weekend?”
“My mother had luncheons and fund-raisers. My father had a car-collecting hobby that filled every weekend. He could spend all Saturday and Sunday searching through car dealerships in a hundred-mile radius. I went with him once. Once was enough. He also dragged me to a few boring car shows.”
“What about at night?”
“They usually met up for dinner at some fancy restaurant. Sometimes I went along. By the time I was thirteen, I opted to stay home. Something like grilled cheese”—he pauses from buttering bread and grins—“tasted better than seared foie gras.”
“What exactly is foie gras?”
He picks up the spatula and spins it. “The liver of a duck or a goose that’s especially fattened to make it a delicacy.”
My nose wrinkles. “Yuck.”
“Thought so too at thirteen, but I tried it again in France. It’s not too bad. Pretty good with a glass of red wine.” He flicks on a burner.
I shake the can of soup into the pot. “Ah, France,” I say dreamily.
“We should go someday.”
“Did you forget I have a son? And limited resources?”
He drops a sandwich in the waiting skillet. “I have resources, and why not take Ben?”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“Il pourrait être.”
The can in my hand nearly clanks to the floor. “You speak French?”
“Un peu, et pas parfait.”
He’s too hot, standing in my kitchen half-naked but speaking French? He’s hotter than hell. I almost fan myself. “What did you say?”
“First?” He pushes a strand of wayward hair from my bun behind my ear. “‘It could be.’ Then ‘A little, and not perfect.’”
Still dumbfounded by him, I spend a moment figuring out his responses. “Nothing’s easy with a five-year-old.” I stand next to him, brushing his arm with mine as I stir the soup. “Did you learn to speak it while you were there?”
He flips a sandwich. “Mostly. I took two years of it in high school but a month there was worth more than two years in the classroom.”
“So you don’t know Italian.”
“Le basi.”
I tilt my head in question.
“The basics.”
“Like?”
“Spaghetti, Parmigiano, prosciutto,” he reels off in a heavy Italian accent. “Chianti, Frangelico—”
My laugh cuts him off. “That’s all food and alcohol,” I say, nudging him with my hip.
He hip-nudges me back. “That’s the important stuff.”
We’re standing there grinning at each other when the apartment door opens behind us.
Though I’m startled that someone is coming in, I’m thinking it’s Holly. Turning, I drop the tomato soup–covered spoon and it clanks on the tile as my heart drops to the tile too.
My father and Ben stand in the doorway.
Justin steps away from me and crosses his arms over his naked chest.
“Dad! What are you doing here?” Oh, crap, crap, crap. Oh, big-time crap! Why didn’t he call to say that he was dropping Ben off early? Why didn’t I give Justin his dang shirt? Because I’m a hormonal idiot who’s now preoccupied with fun. I’m completely mortified by my father’s harsh expression at seeing me with a man. A half-naked man at that.
My father’s expression turns harsher as he stares at Justin. “Your mom and I have a retirement party this afternoon. She’s not cooking today.”
“Oh.” Why don’t pe
ople tell me this stuff? “Um—”
Ben tosses his backpack on the dining room table then points to Justin. “What’s he doing here?”
“Um…” My shocked brain is coming up with nothing.
My father’s jaw grows tighter.
Justin’s face appears serious. “Your mom called me over this morning to fix your leaky sink. She offered lunch as payment.”
Ben scoots onto a stool in front of the peninsula. “So you’re a…plumber? Don’t they wear shirts? Why aren’t you wearing a shirt?”
Justin twirls the spatula. “It’s in the dryer. Got wet while I was working.”
Ben’s forehead crinkles. “Where are your tools?”
“In the trunk of your mom’s car.”
Okay, Justin’s kicking butt here, at least with Ben. My father is a totally different story. Though I’m relieved Ben’s still clueless about us, the lies coming out of Justin’s mouth have me a bit worried.
“So you’re good at fixing things?” Ben asks, tilting his chin.
Justin nods with an air of indifference. “Almost the best.”
After adjusting his glasses, Ben jumps off the stool. “Then you gotta come to my room and help me.”
“You need something fixed?” Justin asks him but looks to me.
I nod an okay as Ben yells from the hallway, “Something super important!”
Justin turns the burner off under the grilled cheese. “Be right back.”
Once they’re gone, my father comes and stands on the other side of the peninsula. Obviously upset with me, he’s even more intimidating in his Sunday khakis and a button-up dress shirt. He usually wears jeans and a flannel over an old T-shirt.
“It’s not what you think. We’ve been dating for a while,” I say, wishing I could melt into the floor. If there’s one person I don’t like letting down, it’s my father.
He lets out a sigh. “I’m not judging you, Allie. It’s not my place, but haven’t you been down this road? I was hoping you’d wait for marriage this time around.”
Staring at the counter, I can’t think of anything to say. I wanted to wait, but Justin blew into my life like a new song I became obsessed with overnight.
