by J. M. Paul
“Bullshit.”
“Tell me.” He holds my gaze.
The gap of silence between us is deafening and weighted.
My lips vibrate with the puff of air I release. I set my mug on the table and wring my fingers together.
“It’s okay to talk about it. Maybe it’ll help you deal with whatever’s upset you.” Connor places his hand over mine and squeezes.
Where do I even begin?
“At the beginning,” Connor says.
My head snaps back, as I was unaware that I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. My stomach clenches, and I pull my hand away from his to rub at my temples.
“You called me out the first day we met, and you were right.” I’m suddenly cold, so I sit back against the cushions and pull the warm throw blanket up to my chest but leave my arms outside the cover.
“I usually am, but about what this time?” He leans into the couch as well.
I give Connor a side-glare, and he laughs.
“When I said I didn’t like Christmas anymore, you said anymore suggested that I used to like it and that something changed my mind. You were right.”
“Ah, yes.” He nods.
“I used to love Christmas, probably more than you.”
“Not possible.” He shakes his head.
“You’ll have to take my word on that.” I smooth out a wrinkle in the blanket. “My parents were Christmas fanatics, like over-the-top crazy about Christmas.” I smile at the memories of them jumping around and singing carols at the top of their lungs to get us kids out of bed on Christmas morning. “They loved it so much that they planned their pregnancies, so their children would be born as close to Christmas as possible.” I look at Connor. “Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, one year apart.”
“What day did you score?”
“Christmas Day.”
“A girl after my own heart.”
Connor clutches his chest and trails his finger down my cheek. I fight against the urge to lean into his touch.
“So, as you can see”—I clear my throat—“the holiday was a big deal in our family.”
“Almost as big as mine,” he teases.
I smack his leg, and he grabs my hand and holds it. His thumb rubs gently over my wrist, and I gather courage to continue.
“Every Thanksgiving, after we cleaned up dinner, my family would take a drive to look at lights and sing carols. It sounds cheesy, but it was one of my favorite traditions.” The memory makes me feel empty, hollow. Like I’m trying to escape or reclaim one of my many ghosts.
“Long story short, the roads were bad, and a car came across the median, slamming into us. My dad lost control, and we hit a truck head-on, flipped, and smashed into a tree.” I shiver even though I’ve finally warmed up.
“Shit,” Connor whispers.
“It was bad. My sister broke her arm and ankle. I broke my leg, collarbone, and wrist along with having cuts and bruises.” My finger traces along an angry scar at the base of my thumb.
Connor lifts my hand to his mouth and places a soft, caressing kiss against the faint white line on my skin.
I gasp, and our eyes meet for several long seconds.
“When my sister and I came to, we were frantic and in pain. We tried to wake up my parents, but they were unresponsive.” I swallow back the tears that are ever present when I recall this moment.
“You don’t have to continue.” Connor’s thumb rubs circles against my knuckles, helping to steady me.
“We were rushed to the hospital. They worked on me and Eve but wouldn’t tell us anything about our parents. It was the second worst day of my life.” I sniffle and wipe my nose with my free hand. “Their injuries were severe. They were in a coma, both brain dead, and passed away about a month later.”
“Fuck, Noel.”
Before I know what’s happening, I’m sitting in Connor’s lap, his arms tightly wound around me, my face pressing against his chest.
“I’m so sorry.” He kisses the top of my head.
“Thank you,” I whisper into his neck.
When I tilt back, Connor stares down at me.
In that second, I can’t remember why I’m supposed to be sad, why I’m not supposed to enjoy the feel of Connor against me, around me. My focus zeroes in on him and his ability to make me forget everything I shouldn’t.
When his eyes stop assessing me and hold mine, everything I’ve worked so hard to hide is laid bare—open for him to see, take, and own if he wants it.
Connor pushes a piece of my hair back from my face. His finger traces the shell of my ear, trails down my cheek, and comes to a rest at my chin.
I lick my lips, and his pupils flare. Ever so slowly, his thumb outlines my moistened skin, and I pucker to kiss the tip.
“Noel.” His voice is gravelly, almost breathless, as if he’s asking permission to kiss me.
I’m leaning toward him, the draw too strong. He releases a gush of air and bends to meet me.
Just before our mouths connect, the door swings open, and a loud, “Honey, I’m home!” echoes into the room.
Moth to a Flame
I quickly scramble off Connor’s lap, and he winces at the sudden movement.
There’s fumbling by the door, a hiccup, and then a giggle. When Cami finally looks in our direction, I’m seated back in my spot, blanket covering my lap, and Connor is scowling in my direction.
Cami offers me a sloppy smile before she addresses Connor. “Hey, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
Her tone sounds kind of accusing, and it makes my heart and conscience shrivel.
I’m an asshole friend.
“I—” Connor begins, but I cut him off, “I had a rough day and … needed a friend.” I shrug.
Cami pouts. “You’re supposed to call me. I’m your person.”
“You are my person, but you were out with …” I’m not sure how to finish that statement since Cami’s friend with benefits is sitting next to me.
Cami’s eyes flash from mine to Connor’s and back to me.
“Friends,” she slurs.
I guess I’m not the only one who’s a liar—unless things didn’t go so well with New Guy from Harry’s.
Cami stumbles over to the coffee table and sits on it, so she’s facing me.
“How drunk are you?” I laugh at her clumsiness. Then, I scrunch my nose at the smell of liquor wafting from her.
“Psh.” She waves off the question and grabs my hands. “What happened?”
Connor clears his throat and grabs my forgotten tea.
“I’ll get you some coffee.” Connor squeezes my shoulder, and I flash him a thankful smile. “Cami, you want anything?”
“Bottle of water, please.” She winks at him. “So, what happened?” Cami repeats and squints like she’s having a hard time focusing.
“Eve called while I was at Harry’s.”
“What?” Her mouth hangs open, and I swear, I can see her tonsils.
“Yeah.” I nod. “My article was published, and she saw it.”
“But you’ve had several published. What made her call for the first time in”—Cami looks up to the ceiling and closes one eye—“two years?”
“It’s about struggling with the holidays.” I watch Buddy the Elf make an idiot out of himself for a few seconds. “I might have used real-life examples.” I shrug, trying to play it off.
“Shit.”
“Mmhmm.” I pull my hands away from Cami’s grip to scratch my chin. “She did a lot of yelling, and then I almost got into a head-on collision on the way home.”
“Double shit.” She closes her eyes and almost falls off the table.
“Whoa there.” I steady her.
“I think I just fell asleep.” Cami blinks, trying to keep her eyes open.
“Why don’t you go to bed?” I help her up.
“But I’m”—she yawns obnoxiously—“your person. Need to talk.” She sways on her feet.
“Yes, we’ve established that already.”
I laugh. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”
“Need to take … care of you. Shouldn’t be alone.” Her eyes are closing again.
“I’m here, Cami.” Connor hands me a steaming mug of coffee and wraps Cami’s limp hand around a bottle of water. “Sleep it off. I’ll take tonight’s shift, and you can pick up tomorrow.”
“I’m not a child,” I grumble.
They both ignore me.
Cami nods and pats Connor on the cheek—a little too roughly. “You’re a good guy, Con. You know that?”
“Of course.” He smirks.
“Love you,” Cami mumbles.
My heart drops into my stomach until Cami leans in to kiss me on the cheek, and I realize that her statement was meant for me, not Connor.
“Love you in case I die,” I voice our usual saying.
Her bleary eyes find mine, and she points her water bottle at me. “Yeah, that.”
I chuckle. “G’night, CC.”
“Nighty-night,” she slurs.
“I’ll be back in a minute.” Connor helps Cami make it down the hallway.
About ten minutes pass before he exits Cami’s room, looking exhausted.
“Want some coffee?” I ask as he enters the kitchen.
Now that my stomach and mind have settled, I realize that I haven’t had anything to eat, except a bowl of cereal this morning.
“Nah, but I wouldn’t mind one of those.” He points to the pan where I’m heating a grilled cheese with extra cheese.
“How is she?” I assemble another sandwich and plop it in the pan next to mine.
“Drunk.” Connor cleans up my mess.
A few minutes later, we’re both sitting on the couch, eating in silence.
“That was delicious. Thanks.” He stretches back into the cushions.
We watch television for a while, wrapped in companionable silence. I feel Connor watching me instead of the B-rated movie we turned on, and I steal a couple of glances at him. It’s weird to say, but he’s absolutely beautiful for a man. Strong jaw, sex hair, muscles for days, and a heart as big as any I’ve ever met.
Connor yawns. “It’s late. I should probably go.”
“Don’t want to overstay your welcome,” I say lamely because the last thing I want is to be alone. I’ve spent so much of my recent life—excluding my time with Cami—by myself. It’s a lonely place to set up camp.
“Are you saying, I’m not welcome?” His lips curl at the corners.
“Eh”—I wave at him and grin—“you’re an annoying human being.”
“Takes one to know one.” Connor playfully pinches my side.
I squeal and shove him away. “And it’s like we’re back in second grade.”
He chuckles and turns his attention to the condo. “Aren’t you guys going to decorate for Christmas? Put up a tree?”
I scoff. “What do you think?” I point at my pajamas that consist of a black sweatshirt with Bah Humbug written in shiny gold letters and black plaid leggings. “Christmas blows.”
Connor shakes his head and stands. “You can try to fool everyone around you, but you can’t fool yourself.” He kisses the top of my head. When he leans back, he cups my cheek and studies me. “Sure you’re okay? Want me to sleep on the couch in case you need someone or have a nightmare?”
His concern and his willingness to sacrifice crashing here in case I need him have my heart pooling in his hands.
I place my fingers over his and lean into his comfort for a second before I catch myself.
“No, I’ll be fine.” I pull away. “Sorry I dragged you away from work.”
“No problem. It’s one of the perks of being the boss man.” Connor grabs his coat on the way to the door.
I follow and almost crash into him when he suddenly stops and turns toward me. He doesn’t say anything, but his jade eyes take in every detail of my face as if he were seeing me for the first time. Staring feverishly at my lips, he licks his, and it sets something in me on fire.
When his gaze lifts to hold mine, his eyes contain so much heat; it’s like he’s burning me from the inside out.
He takes a step closer to me, but I push against his chest, halting his advancement.
“You should go.” My voice is weak and has absolutely no validation.
He brushes back the hair from my face and runs his thumb down my cheek until it caresses my lips.
“Good night, Connor,” I say when he finally pulls away.
“Night, Journal Girl.”
With that, he slips out the door, and it quietly clicks closed behind him.
My shoulders slump. I release a deep breath and lean my forehead against the wood frame.
That man is going to be the death of me.
If Connor keeps pushing me, I’m not sure how much longer I can fight him off. I’ve never been weak-willed, but when it comes to him, it seems like my armor is frail.
I turn the lights off and head down the hallway. Cracking Cami’s door, I peek my head in to make sure she’s okay. There’s light snoring coming from the direction of her bed, and I smile.
When I enter my bedroom, I go into the en suite to brush my teeth and prepare for bed. On my way to bed, I freeze mid-step when I hear a click coming from the living room. I listen harder, and there’s a thump.
What. The. Hell?
I crack my bedroom door open and peer down the hallway. A muted glow emanates from the living room, which makes the hair on the back of my neck stand erect. I swear, I turned off the lights. Remaining motionless, I wait. There isn’t another noise. The condo is silent, except for Cami’s muffled breathing.
Shaking my head at my overactive imagination, I shuffle down the hall, and when I turn the corner, there’s a large, dark form looming in the living room.
I barely shriek before a body lunges at me, placing a firm hand over my mouth. The intruder presses me back against the wall, imprisoning me with his body.
My heart pounds against my rib cage as my eyes try to focus on the burglar and then roam the premises, looking for possible weapons. I’m trembling as I suck in labored breaths.
“Shh, Journal Girl. It’s me. It’s me.”
At the sound of Connor’s voice, my body goes limp before my chest explodes with angry, territorial bees. I shove against him, but he doesn’t budge—he’s too strong—and presses me back even harder against the wall.
“You jackass! I thought you were a burglar.”
I wiggle against him to get an arm free and slug his shoulder.
He releases an, “Umph,” but doesn’t back away.
“Or some murderer who was here to make me into a skin suit or slice me up to feed to his dogs.”
“You have an active imagination.” There’s humor in his tone.
“I’m a writer.”
“Hmm,” Connor hums and shifts against me.
We both freeze as we realize how close we are. Connor’s eyes search mine, and I’m afraid of what he might find written there.
I gulp, trying to hide the fact that he’s brought my body to life.
“How’d you get back in here?” I try for angry, but it falls flat.
“You left the door unlocked.”
He’s staring feverishly at my lips, and I’m finding it hard to concentrate.
“What?” I hate that my voice sounds breathy and needy.
“I forgot my phone. I knocked, but you didn’t hear me. When I tried the door, it opened.” Connor slides against me, almost aligning our bodies perfectly for an activity a hell of a lot more satisfying than what we’re doing.
“Oh.” What. Are. Words?
“I want to kiss you, Noel.” Connor runs his nose along mine. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so damn long. Ever since the moment I found you sitting at my bar.”
I close my eyes and relish the feel of him.
He shifts, and his warm breath dances against my mouth. It’s intoxicating and overwhelming but oh-so enticing.
“We can’t.” My words are gruff and h
old absolutely no firmness.
“Why can’t we, Journal Girl? What’s holding you back?”
“Everything.”
I sober at the thought of his relationship with Cami and the masses of other women I’ve seen flock to his feet. He can have anyone he desires, and it seems like he takes whatever he wants from all of them. I refuse to be another notch on his bedpost. I deserve a hell of a lot better. Cami deserves a hell of a lot better from someone who claims to be her best friend.
I push away and start to move around him, but he yanks me back into place and pins me against the wall with his body again.
“Connor.” It’s a warning.
“There’s something between us, Noel. You and I both know it, and I won’t dance around it anymore.” His hand trails down from my waist to my hips, fingers flexing against the exposed skin between my shirt and pants.
Lust sets fire inside me, and I try to immediately squelch it, but I’m a weak woman, and I desperately crave the intimacy I’ve been deprived for longer than I want to admit.
“No.” There’s no authority in my denial.
“I want to devour that fucking mouth along with every other part of you,” he growls. “But, for now”—his eyes meet mine—“for now, I’ll abstain.”
I release a relieved puff of air until Connor bends to brush his lips along my cheek, around the shell of my ear, and down my neck to my collarbone where his teeth nip my skin.
I yelp and then melt into him. My hands slink into his soft hair, holding him against me.
Connor groans, his hands burning into me, our chests fusing us together in a way I’ve never experienced before. If he keeps his mouth on me much longer, I won’t be able to get him out of my system.
A spaceship decides to make a landing in my living room. When something buzzes against my hip, I realize it’s Connor’s phone ringing.
“Connor?” I should be embarrassed at how hoarse his name sounds.
“Shh.” He licks the small indent at the base of my throat.
“Your phone,” I moan.
Oh, the sensations he elicits in me.
One of his hands releases me to fumble around in his pocket. I hate that hand.
Bad, bad hand.
The annoying noise stops, and he’s grasping me once again.
