by Sabre, Mason
“So do you,” she blurted, not meaning the kind he meant.
“I’m sure,” he said, climbing on.
She put her hands on his shoulders, eyeing the height of the seat before climbing on.
“Hold on to the thumb hooks,” he instructed.
Thumb hooks? Oh dear, okay. She reached in front of him and hooked her thumbs in his belt loops. “Like that?”
“Actually, they’re behind you,” he said, laughter in his tone.
Shame lit her face to a thousand degrees. “Oh shit,” she muttered. “Sorry, we usually hold on to the driver in America.”
“You can if you want,” he said. “It’s just safer to hold the thumb hooks. But I will be careful so ...”
So …? So what? Geeze. “It’s fine, I’ll hold the bar.” She reached behind her and held tight, not liking the feel of that position. He moved the bike off the kickstand and the sudden motion sent her arms flying around his waist in a death grip. “I swear I’m not wanting to grope you,” she half lied. “But this feels safer.”
“That works fine for me,” he said, sexy all over in his voice. Like it worked very fine for him.
“Okay, maybe I am a little nervous,” she admitted. “Don’t laugh at me.”
He chuckled, and this time it vibrated into the entire front of her body and under her fingers. “You’re doing great.”
Great. He was great under that tight shirt. She closed her eyes as her mind did an etch-a-sketch of every muscle her fingers felt. Lord, the press of his back into her body and the smell of his cologne seeping into her everything had her drunk. If he had no shirt on, she was sure she’d lick him like candy.
They made their way out of town and Rosie clung tightly to him. She was in love already; she could feel it. Stupid, stupid, Rosie. Falling in love just from the feel of his every muscle flexing as he maneuvered the bike; it was pure heaven. It was just the thing that would make any lonely, pathetic girl fall. It didn’t take much with her. A smile. A kind word. Any kindness, really. She was a mess. A mess that helped other messes. But her mess was not quite as messy as theirs and helping them helped her to keep perspective of her so called messes. She had it made compared to some of the people she helped. It reminded her she was blessed and she had no business whining or complaining or anything else resembling that. She had the right to help and that’s what she did. Now Josh would help with her. Lord have mercy, she’d not seen that one coming. One day she was socially shriveling up to nothing and today she was bear hugging the cutest guy in the world. At least in her world. Like, ever. She wasn’t sure why he even liked her and she didn’t even care that it might be because she was American. So what. She was ready to kiss the American soil if that was the case. God Bless America if that was the case.
They finally slowed and he turned into a small driveway. She spied a house at the end of the lane and her heart hammered with fear and excitement. Mostly excitement. No, maybe more fear. Where were they?
He slowed and turned his head. “This is my home,” he said loud enough for her to hear.
Her stomach cut flips. “Oh, wow. It’s beautiful. I love the country.”
“Do you want to stop?”
Oh dear. Mercy. “Yes, I’d love to.” Shit, shit, please don’t be a psycho. The odds of him being a psycho were not so high until her luck entered the equation. She was the one that got the freak accidents, the once in a lifetime crap events.
He parked the bike at the front of the beautiful home. She slid off the bike and began working on the helmet strap. He pulled his own off and hung it on the handlebar then climbed off.
He turned to her and smiled at finding her still fighting with the buckle. “Here,” he said, taking over. She fought her blush, feeling like that bobble head with the huge helmet. “There.” He carefully lifted it up and she quickly patted at her hair as he put the helmet on the back bar. He turned and gave her a grin.
“My hair must look lovely.”
“It does. I like what you did to it.”
“You mean what the helmet did?”
He laughed. “No, the cut. Brings out your pretty eyes.”
Her tummy jumped at the compliment and she smiled, lowering her head while pushing said hair behind an ear. Shit. Dumbo. She quickly removed it and fluffed it a little.
He reached and tucked the hair back behind her ear and she removed it again. He put it back and she swatted his hand with a laughing “Stop.”
“Why? I like your ears.”
Oh God, she loved him. “Well I don’t.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You notice a lot for a guy,” she said, looking around while trying to calm her nerves. He was touching her and she loved it and was terrified at the same time.
He chuckled. “I have this love affair with details I’m afraid.”
“Oh great,” she said lightly, wondering what other flaws he noticed.
“It is great sometimes,” he said, making her blush. Wow. She was sure she’d never gotten so many compliments in one moment. Or ever. Wasn’t she just perfect material for criminal activity.
“I won’t ask you in,” he said. “I don’t want to scare you. But we can sit on the porch?”
“I’m not scared,” she laughed and kind of lied. “I realize I probably should be but …” She made her way behind him to the porch and sat.
He sat next to her, and Rosie considered the distance between them. She wasn’t sure if there was a measurement ratio thing but to her he sat at a proximity that meant he liked her. And maybe even wanted her to know that. The idea had her heart racing a million miles an hour.
“I’m glad you’re not scared,” he said, sounding very genuine. “I guess you’ve learned to discern things in people with your job?”
She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I think, yes.” She eyed the cute smile he aimed at her. “What?”
“You’ve got cute ears,”
“Ugh,” she whispered, forgetting. “As long as you only see one at a time, I guess it’s okay.”
He laughed. “Let me see both.”
“No,” she cried.
“Come on, let me see.”
“God no, I look like Dumbo.”
He laughed. “I am sure you do not.”
“I am sure that I do,” she repeated exactly. “I know, trust me.”
“I do trust you, but not with that one. I have to see for myself.”
“Well, you’re not,” she laughed. “And I’m glad you trust me too; I could easily be a psycho.”
“Right,” he said, feigning worry. “And here I’ve brought you home where you can assault me.”
She sniggered at that. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Much.”
“I appreciate that.” He looked out into the yard with the amazing huge oak trees. “I have high hopes of working at the call center as a helper, not a victim.”
She threw her head back and laughed, then heard how obnoxiously loud it was. “Oops.”
“Oops?”
“My laugh is kind of way loud.”
“No it’s not,” he said, chuckling at her.
“Oh please,” she pfft. “Don’t’ try to tell me it’s not.”
“I think you have a lovely laugh.”
She let out another boisterous one at that term.
“What?” he said, smiling, his brows drawn in offense.
“Lovely?” She gave a tinkly, delicate laugh. “Now that’s lovely.”
“No, that’s pathetic,” he argued, to which she gave another booming cackle. “And that is lovely.”
“Okay, fine, call it what you want.”
“I will.”
She angled her smile at him and shoved his shoulder lightly with hers. “You’ve got spunk kid,” she said and it was his turn to really laugh. “Now see, that’s a lovely laugh.”
“No, no, no,” he argued, still chuckling. “Men don’t have lovely laughs.”
“Figures,” she said. “So what is a sexy laugh called here in Engla
nd?” She watched him blush. “Oh my God, you’re shy, that’s even more sexy! Or is it sexier?”
“Sexy,” he mumbled, looking around with that adorable smile that Rosie found absolutely breath taking.
She gasped in sudden realization. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know you had a sexy laugh.”
He only replied with a low chuckle and lowered head. “I don’t think I knew that, no.”
“Well, you do. How many girlfriends do you have, anyway?” She loved the way he looked at her, that pretty sparkle in his eyes. “Thirty-five? Forty?”
“Try zero,” he said, seeming tickled about it.
“Zeeeeeeeero,” she said, giving him a look of wide-eyed shock. “What is wrong with these proper bitches? You should have a hundred on a waiting list.”
“What about you? How many boyfriends do you have?”
She winced and drew her shoulders up. “Do pets count?”
He laughed. “No.”
She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Possibly … only … none. At this time. That could change any day.”
“I’m totally shocked,” he said.
“And smiling,” she informed.
“I am, yes. Because I’m shocked. And possibly a tiny bit glad.”
“Tiny bit?” she squealed then nodded. “I get it, I get it.”
“I doubt you do,” he said. “You’re one of the most oblivious women I’ve had the pleasure of meeting.”
“Oblivious,” she shrilled. “I am the most unoblivious person ever.”
“Sorry,” he disagreed with a shake of his head. “You are totally oblivious.”
“Well if I am, so are you.”
“I can definitely agree there,” he said, putting his palms behind him on the porch to support himself as he stared at her until she smiled.
“You’re skenning me up. It’s rude to sken at me.”
OH my God his laugh. Mr. Oblivious. “It’s rude not to,” he said finally.
“Oh my, do you rehearse these lines?”
He shot out single laugh and angled a look at her. “No. I’m really hitting it lucky with you.”
“You are definitely scoring big points.”
“Good.”
She swung her legs back and forth off the porch while staring at him over her shoulder, her smile hurting her face now at what he’d just said. That he was happy to be scoring points with her. That was kind of … a big deal.
Chapter Thirteen
Josh
He’d was sure he’d done wrong with the hand holding at the park, but now, as she was sitting with him on his porch, flirting with him and letting him flirt back, he realised it had been right. He’d just misread everything as usual. The brief moment she’d taken his hand, shit, his heart had sped up so fast right then from the feel of her small hand in his. It had taken everything to control the bike, his legs were shaking so much.
He didn’t know how they ended up here, he certainly hadn’t planned to bring her to his house. William’s shadows cast darkness in every damn corner of the place. As Josh sat next to Rosie, perfect, sweet Rosie, he saw them. Places out on the lawn. Weeds tangled in the corners, waiting to infect all the beauty with its poison. “Would you like a drink or anything? Coffee, Lemonade?” he thought he had some lemonade. He remembered seeing it.
“I’m okay, thanks,” she said as she hunched herself up briefly, in that way people do just as they relax. “Have you lived here long?” she asked him, leaning back comfortably.
“All my life really,” he said. “Well most of it. It was my mother’s house.”
“Was?”
He picked at the peeling porch paint under his hand. It really did need a fresh coat of varnish on it. He had bought this swing for his mother. A gift to her. She loved the garden, especially at night with a cold glass of wine in her hand. It was probably the only time she was close to being any kind of respectable woman when she was out there. The other side of her personality. The one who did wear summer dresses. The one who sat outside and tanned her perfect figure. The one who sat here until she was so blind drunk William would have to get her back inside and to her bed. “My mother is gone.”
“I’m sorry. I …”
“It’s okay. It’s my house now.” His house with all its secrets, all the defecated moments in rooms he still hadn’t dared to enter yet. All her shit. Her. She was inside, the rotting parts of her that he still hadn’t had the courage to face. Maybe later tonight when Rosie was home again ... maybe now was the time to get rid of his mother completely. “I am in the process of fixing it up. She let it go a little bit, that’s why the garden is just a weed bed.”
“I think it is beautiful,” Rosie said right away.
“Like you,” he cut in with a smile, and she blushed, instantly making him chuckle at her reaction. She laughed with him. A delicate giggle mixed with nerves and perfection.
“You’re so bad,” she said pushing against his arm.
“I’m trying.”
“I’d love to help you. With your garden,” she added with a mischievous grin. “If you’d let me.”
“I would love to let you help me.” He paused intentionally before asking, “So you like to garden?”
She nodded, her grin huge. “My mom has a garden back home. “I miss it so much. My dad worked for hours on it, well they both did really. He built her this gazebo so that she could sit out in the evening, even if it was raining.”
“You spent a lot of time there?”
A flash of something went across her eyes, but it was gone just as quickly. “Sometimes. My mother, she is a little … She likes things done her way sometimes.” She pressed her hands together and held them between her knees as she swung her legs back. She didn’t realise that it was actually him making the swing move, his feet on the ground, pushing it back and forth for her. Rosie leaned forward like she was about to spring off the seat, but she breathed in and glanced over her shoulder at him.
Shit, when she did that, his stomach knotted all the way to his damn throat. She could push fucking butterflies through his intestines with that look she was giving him. He smiled back at her, wanting so much to lift his hand to her face … just to touch her. The holding his hand out had been one thing, but this would be too far. “Do you want to take a walk around the garden?”
“I would love to,” she said.
He stopped the swing and stood. His hand twitched at his side, needing so much to hold it out to her again, but he didn’t dare. He clasped them together, instead, rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand—his comforting blanket when he felt awkward. It calmed him. Especially on those nights when his mother came home steaming drunk with one of her clients, and he knew he’d be in hot water if he dared to make a sound and let the bloke know she had a child. He’d learned how to comfort himself. How to hold himself just right. Sometimes he hugged up against the wall, just to feel the contact from something else.
He pulled his hands apart. That was a William thing. Poor, pathetic, lonely William. Not Josh. Josh’s mother loved him. They sat on the swing together in the evenings, watching the sun go down.
Rosie walked the perimeter of the garden and Josh walked next to her, hands clasped behind his back. It was a large garden. One advantage of living out in the countryside was the land that came with it. “Ohhhh, there’s a bridge,” she said as they neared the centre of the hedgerow. “Can I?”
Josh nodded with a smile at her child-like eagerness. “Of course.” The bridge led to a deeper part of the garden. The parts hidden where he had played as a child. “Careful, though. I don’t think that bridge has been used in many years.”
She stood at the foot of it, her hand on the rickety railing. The brook that ran the length of the town cut across his garden here. “It’s great,” she said. She stepped across the planks. Testing each one with her foot. Josh was ready in case any of them snapped or she slipped. Or she just wanted to hold his hand. But she made it over and pushed the brambles hanging down out of t
he way. “There’s so much space here,” she said fascinated. “You could make this into something huge.”
“It used to be clear when I was little. Since my mum … I haven’t been back here in a long while.”
They couldn’t get that far into the place. Mother Nature’s walls had closed in. Rosie reminded Josh of Alice, the way she moved the weeds out of her way. The way her eyes had lit up in innocent wonder. Just the sight of her made his chest ache. He knew there had been something special about her when he had spoken to her that first night. Then seen her through that door at the hospital. She crouched down to a spot at the side and William’s heart hammered in his chest. “Oh, wow,” she said as she pushed away the weeds. There was a board in front of her, carved in childish writing. Just a date and a paw print. “You did this?”
He nodded, afraid in that moment that he would say the wrong thing. He had forgotten about that. Well not forgotten, but he had locked it away to a place inside that couldn’t hurt him.
“Cat or dog?” She asked.
“My cat,” he said. My cat … It was his cat. Not hers. But she had taken it from him.
“Even the fucking cat can have babies,” she had screeched at him. “You don’t deserve them.” It had been cold that day. God damn cold. There was snow on some of the trees, but it hadn’t stuck to the ground. His cat, Bob, he had called him, had lived at the bottom of the garden. Only Bob wasn’t a him, he was a her, and she had been pregnant. William had helped her birth those kittens right out here in the dark with the threat of the brook swelling too much and breaking the bridge. But he had stayed with her. She’d had three kittens. Even back then he didn’t know how she had carried them. She had been a half starved mangy animal. It was lucky that she was alive. One of the kittens had died during the first night. When he had got to it, it was just a hard lump of fur, pushed out to the side. The two remaining babies had snuggled to their mother’s breasts and dug themselves into her knotted fur.
His mother had found them. Maybe it was a day or two after, he couldn’t quite remember that part. All he remembered was her expression, twisted with hatred. “I want those cats gone,” she told him. “And I don’t mean fucking given away. You drown those little bastards before they make themselves at home here.”
