by Marie Harte
With any luck, he’d manage to convince her to get to her knees. He groaned at the images accompanying that thought all the way home.
* * *
Hope spent her night replaying the evening with J.T. Through the rest of her Friday and into eventual sleep, where she yet again dreamed about him. She woke up with J.T. on the brain and wanted to slap herself for her lack of control with the man.
Staring at the ceiling, trying to concentrate, she again wondered how things had gotten so out of hand. She’d been trouncing him at a board game. Shared pizza, good times. Laughter. And then…he’d gone down on her? On a dare? A challenge? How exactly had she lost sight of her pledge to put herself first?
Well, technically I focused on me. I mean, his lips and tongue were on me. It was my orgasm, not his.
She flushed, needing to talk to someone. But as Saturday rolled around, she had no idea who to talk to. Ava, her brother’s fiancée, had provided useful advice plenty of times. As a clinical psychologist, Ava knew what she was talking about. But Ava knew J.T. as a friend, and Hope felt funny about sharing her feelings about him.
Mostly because she didn’t know how to define her emotions. She liked J.T. She was attracted to J.T. And…what? Confused, alarmed, shocked at how easily she’d fallen prey to his seduction. She still couldn’t pinpoint when she’d lost control of the situation.
Yet she couldn’t deny she felt a heck of a lot more relaxed since having had an orgasm. It had been too long since she’d been with someone else, and it had felt good. For once, a man hadn’t gotten off and left her to fend for herself. No matter what J.T. might think of their evening, she’d won in the end. Because that man packed a punch when it came to sex.
The safe thing, though, would be to keep her clothes on and her legs together. A bowling alley was just the thing. She’d interrogate him tonight, see what made him tick. Maybe figure out why she was so susceptible to his charm.
Yet, she didn’t just want to get one over on her mother with a pretend relationship. Hope wanted to know about J.T. He was her friend. A casual friend who’d seen her panties. Sure. But since they were done messing around, the friendship would continue to develop.
After making plans to talk to Noelle tomorrow—after Noelle’s big date with some French guy she’d met during her language classes—Hope spent her day doing chores, finally getting her laundry washed and dried if not folded. She showered and dressed, then waited for J.T. to arrive.
Nerves plagued her, and she couldn’t understand it. That same flirty need to get him to notice her reared its head, and she shoved the stupidity back down, where it belonged. J.T. had agreed to help her deal with her mother. Period. No dating, no sexual relationship, no longing for something deeper.
God. Why did she always do that with a guy? Start wondering what tomorrow would be like with him by her side?
That was her problem. A need to be partners with someone. Standing on her own two feet the past five months had been good for her. She’d grown. And not around her belly, thanks to workouts at the gym, and thanks to an emotional maturity that had come from being alone and being okay with that.
She cringed, remembering Greg and her other exes. Noelle liked to say that no one made mistakes; they had episodes they learned from. Apparently Hope had learned not to date the Gregs of the world. What would she learn from J.T.?
He rang the bell, startling her, and said through the door, “It’s me.”
She took her time opening it, because she didn’t want to look as if she’d been ready and waiting for him for the past forty-five minutes. Desperation be thy name. “Hello.”
He smiled, a grin that told her he knew something she didn’t. “Hello, Hope. You ready to bowl?”
“What? No button-down shirt tonight? Slumming, are we?” He slummed so well. The T-shirt he wore had shorter sleeves, showcasing the definition of his huge biceps.
She made her own muscle, stared from it to J.T., and sighed.
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I promise not to show off my glorious manliness around your tiny biceps.”
“Thanks so much.”
“Come on. We should get to the bowling alley.” He looked past her to the couch, then gave her a knowing look. “Where it’s safe.”
She felt foolish for not wanting him to come in any farther. But honestly, she worried more about her willpower than his restraint. “Safe? From what?” She snorted. “Your colossal ego toppling me over?”
“Oh, I’d like to topple you. Right over the back of that chair…” He sighed. “You have a great ass.”
“Seriously? This is you reining it in? Us just being friends?”
His amused expression turned into something more thoughtful. “Good point. Come on. Let’s go bowl a few and share some fries. In public. Fully clothed. Okay?”
He just had to keep picking at her. She blushed at the fully clothed comment, unable to forget he’d not only seen her in a thong, but he’d seen and kissed under it as well. Hope wasn’t the type to give it away on the first date. Not that she minded what other people did, but she’d never felt comfortable being so intimate so fast.
Until J.T.
“What color?”
“Hmm?” She followed him to his car and buckled herself in. “What did you say?” The look he was giving her didn’t do her raging libido any favors. She prayed her shirt hid the effect his nearness had on all the standing points of her body. “J.T.?”
Chapter 8
J.T. needed to rethink what came next out of his mouth. Asking what color underwear she wore tonight didn’t seem smart. Not if he planned to steer clear of the danger zone. And going down on Hope definitely counted as an iffy maneuver. He started the car and headed toward the bowling alley.
“Ah, what color ball do you like to use?”
She gave him an odd look. “I generally use a twelve-pound ball. I don’t really care what color it is.”
“Yeah.” He fiddled with the radio, needing to fill the silence so he could ignore the raunchy thoughts filling his head. Most of them involving Hope and that sexy perfume she wore, her rubbing it all over him, naked body to naked body.
“Did you do any tattoos today?” Hope asked.
He glanced at her, not surprised to find himself wanting to smile. Something about the woman always put him in mind of growing things, vibrant flowers, and happiness. Even sitting, Hope seemed animated, full of energy.
“Yep. That’s my job. Tattooing people.”
“What did you draw?”
She was probably searching for a safe topic of conversation. Yet the more questions she asked, the more he thought she might really be interested in his job.
By the time they arrived at the bowling alley, he’d had her laughing at a few of Grim and Vargas’s fights, Suke’s antics with Nao, and a client he’d turned away a second time for sheer stupidity.
“I swear, the guy comes in one more time, I might actually tattoo a pile of crap on his forearm and let him deal with the fallout of a pissed-off wife forever. A poop emoji for a tattoo? Who does that?”
“A guy who wants a divorce, that’s who.”
He grinned at her, in complete agreement.
They bowled a warm-up game, and it amused him to see her so competitive. She’d complained before about her mother’s inability to lose. Seemed like maybe Hope wasn’t as different from her mother as she thought she was.
“So last night, we learned all about me,” she said as he lined up to bowl. No doubt trying to screw up his spare streak.
“Oh, we learned all about you,” he said, bowled, and ended up in the gutter, just like his thoughts. Yeah, I learned how sweet that pussy tastes, how fine you look in a red fucking thong, and how your laughter makes me feel goofy good. Nothing safe there that he could add. Though by the blush staining her cheeks, he didn’t need to.
“Why i
s everything out of your mouth full of innuendo?” She bent over to grab her ball.
He groaned. “I’m sorry. It’s not easy, okay? I’m doing my best to stop remembering last night.” His voice lowered as he looked her over, from her lavender button-down shirt to the jeans that clung to her in all the right places. “I’m trying, but…I can still taste you.”
She blew out a breath. “Stop.”
“Okay, okay. I’m going to grab us something to eat. What do you want?”
She gave him a wobbly smile. “Surprise me.”
He returned with a pitcher of root beer and cheese fries. Nothing that could remotely be considered nutritious. He’d have to work extra hard at the gym to burn off the calories. But unlike Lou and Heller, who seemed to think anything not on the food pyramid a sin, J.T. liked to indulge. It gave him something to work off when hitting the heavy bag or doing dead lifts.
Hope gave him a big smile and drank the soda he poured for her. “I’d be mad at your unhealthy choices, but one, this is a bowling alley. And two, I’m beating you.”
He glanced at the score on the monitor above their lane to see she’d nailed a strike. He sighed. “Yeah, yeah, now shut up while I bowl.”
He hit a few pins, his concentration shot. He’d gotten lucky earlier, but ever since he’d confessed to still tasting her, he found that no amount of root beer and fries could dilute her essence. It was like she was inside him, which was both crazy and scary and weirding him the hell out. Yet he couldn’t stop himself from sitting right damn next to her while they snacked between bowling.
They finished the game and paused before their second.
“I won,” she said in a singsong tone.
He glared. “Smugness does not become you.”
She laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you in the next game. So while we’re on a break, tell me all about you. Wait, let me amend that. Tell me the important stuff that has nothing to do with sex.”
He feigned disappointment, which made her laugh again. That light, easy sound made his heart heavy. He wanted to just sit and stare at her for hours. God, I need to stop acting like a teenager with a crush.
“Aren’t you hungry?” she asked, pointing at the mound of fries he’d put on a plate but hadn’t touched.
“Yeah.” He forced himself to eat. “So, um, let’s see. I’m thirty-two, be thirty-three later next month.”
“Oh? When? My birthday is the eleventh.”
He smiled. “Mine’s the thirty-first. So you’re almost the big three-oh, eh?”
She didn’t need the reminder.
“Hey, it’s a good year.” He shrugged at her frown. “What? It’s just one year past twenty-nine. No biggie. I made it and am still going strong.” He made a muscle, pleased when she fixated on it, then blushed and glanced away at her food. Hope liked the way he looked. Hell yeah.
“Okay, you’re almost thirty-three. What else?”
“For the record, most of which you already know, I have one dad, Liam. My sister, Delilah. Try calling her that, and she hits you.” He sighed. “Little sister, what can I do? Then there’s my cousin, Rena, and my Aunt Caroline. I told you, she was my mom’s sister. My mom died when I was a kid, and my dad married Del’s mom, who was a bitch.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Mean to me, meaner to Del. She was all about getting high and screwing guys not my dad.” He shook his head. “But Dad wanted to keep Del, so he tolerated Penelope. Sad thing is Del looks a lot like her, but we don’t tell her that.”
After a moment, Hope said, “Liam’s with Sophie now, so obviously it didn’t last.”
“Nope. Penelope left us after a few years. Died in a car accident. It took Del a while to get over it, but I was fine. Dad too. I don’t think he ever loved her, to tell you the truth. He was so lost after my mom died that he wasn’t himself for a long, long time.”
And that had hurt. J.T. had lost his mother. He could only remember vague things after all this time, the scent of honeysuckle, her soft voice crooning a lullaby. But the melody never came together for him, and her face was a blur, the picture tucked away in a drawer at home his only reminder.
“I’m sorry.” Hope stroked his hand, squeezed, then let him go.
He shrugged. “It’s okay. It happened nearly thirty years ago. Hard to miss something you never had. Instead, I had hard-ass Liam Webster trying to keep me in line.”
“What a chore.”
He grinned. “No doubt. I grew up helping the old man around the garage. And I hated it. Unlike most boys, I didn’t want grease under my nails. I hated playing with power tools. I wanted to paint and draw even back then. But I will say I’ve always liked girls.” He batted his lashes, and she gave him a weak slug to the arm. “Ow. Quit trying to sabotage me for game two.”
“Yeah, like that hit is going to sink you. Dream on. You suck all on your own.”
“So cruel.” He dabbed an invisible tear. “Anyway, that’s pretty much all there is to know.”
“Bull. So your dad had you working at the garage that you hated. You liked art better, and…?”
“And what?”
“Tell me more. About your childhood, growing up. Those hints about you being a baddie during your teen years.”
“You like that, don’t you? The tougher and meaner the guy, the better, eh?”
She grinned. “You know it.”
He wanted to kiss her right then, right there, but refrained. Barely. “Right. So, ah, Aunt Caroline helped Liam raise me. She did her best, but I was a handful. And frankly, Dad ended up taking care of Rena and Aunt Caroline in between running off Aunt Caroline’s idiot husbands. She’s had five. Every one a deadbeat. And the guys in between were awful. Users, abusers, generally poor excuses for human beings. I have no idea why. Aunt Caroline is fine. She’s funny and smart, but so clueless when it comes to men.” Hope looked away, her discomfort obvious. “Hope?”
“I’m just like your aunt.” She dragged her gaze back to his, embarrassment shining in her eyes. “I pick losers too.”
“Aw, honey. No you don’t. You’re here with me, remember.”
She gave a weak laugh. “You must be the exception. That’s why I’m on a dating hiatus. I keep going out with guys who are all wrong for me.” She took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. “But that’s another story.” One he’d make sure they got to. “Finish telling me about you.”
He had no idea what she was digging for. J.T. wasn’t that deep. But what the hell. “I graduated high school, which was a miracle. I found it boring and knew I didn’t want college anyway, not that we could afford it. I liked wrestling, did a little bit of football. But then practice started getting in the way of my social life. ’Cause I was a social butterfly back in the day.” He wiggled his brows, and she laughed, relieving him that she no longer looked like she was going to cry. “I was done with school and started hanging with the wrong crowd. I might have gone to jail a time or two for being stupid. Some fights, a small count of shoplifting, which was BS because my buddy Troy stuffed a box of tampons in my jacket pocket as a joke and I got busted for it. Obviously not mine.”
“Obviously.” She snickered.
“I laughed until they locked me up. To say Liam wasn’t happy is an understatement.”
“Oh. Did he yell at you?”
“Ah, yeah. He yelled. And whooped my ass. Apparently eighteen is not too old to get spanked. My father is such a dinosaur,” he said with affection, loving the old man.
She nodded, her eyes wide.
“Anyhow, I took some time to find myself. Kept drawing, kept working for my dad, then figured out I wanted to tattoo people for a living. A lot of Dad’s friends had tattoos, and I was already thinking of ways to make them better. It took me a year of school, then two years apprenticing under this awesome guy. Anyway, that’s boring stuff. I traveled th
e country, taking jobs in different studios that weren’t too particular about licensing. My art got better and better, and I got serious. Came back to Seattle, started my own studio. I’m licensed here, all legit. Now I own Tull Paint & Body, and the rest is history.”
It was gratifying to see her hanging on to every word, and a little unnerving. Hope listened with intensity.
“So no ex-wives or kids?”
“Nope.”
“You didn’t want any?”
“You seem pretty fixated on my personal life.” He gave her a sly smile. “Interested?”
“Yes, because that’s what my mother will want to know.” She gave him a sly smile back. “I’m happy I won’t be lying when I tell her you saw the inside of a cell.” At his groan, she laughed. “I’m kidding. But I’m serious about the relationship part. What about that? You’re still a social butterfly, huh?”
“Nah. Not anymore. You ask Del, she’ll call me a whore. But then, she thinks dating more than two people in a year is loose. And not at the same time. I mean, one girl, then breaking up and going out with another. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a cheat.” He frowned. “I saw enough of that with Aunt Caroline’s husbands. Not for me. When I’m with you, I’m with you.”
She studied him. “Right. So, um, what else? What do you do for fun?”
He smiled.
She frowned and in a lower voice said, “Outside the bedroom.”
“You’re so much fun to tease.” He chuckled. “I like a lot of things. Bowling, for example. I still draw for fun. I like movies, lifting weights. I’m not a runner, but I don’t mind long walks, sightseeing.”
“Wait. Long walks? Like hiking or camping?”
“Hell, no. If it’s not a hotel or a real bed, I’m not interested. I’m talking about long walks in the city or a park. No tents involved. And not too much nature, or I’ll be jonesing for city streets.”
“Ah. Gotcha. Me too.”
He nodded. “Not a fan of bugs and sleeping on the ground by choice. I mean, it’s one thing if you don’t have a place to crash. I lived out of my car for a few months when I first got started, back when I was traveling out east. But as soon as business picked up, I was renting a room with a bed and indoor plumbing.”
