by Molly McLain
“Feels good,” he grunts as I add a second hand, gliding up and down his length, circling, tugging. “Fuck, Crash.”
I lean in and kiss his chest, swirling the tip of my tongue around a nipple before I slowly make my way down his abs and lower to a squat in front of him.
Good Lord, he’s gorgeous. So long and thick and perfect. Saliva pools instantly on my tongue and I can’t resist leaning in to take a slow, savoring lick.
“Fuckkk.” RJ’s hips buck and his cock slides back along my tongue, gliding impatiently into my willing mouth. His eyes find mine as he pushes his fingers into my hair and I love the wild, almost lost look in his eyes.
He needs me. He needs what I can give him and, to me, there’s nothing sexier than a man in that very moment. Caught between maintaining control and giving in.
I hum to reassure him that I’ll get him there, too. I pull back just enough to swirl my tongue around his thick head, and—
He pushes me away.
“Stop,” he croaks, reaching around me to shut off the water. “I can’t do this.”
Um, what?
“I’m sorry.” He tugs me to my feet and quickly steps out of the shower, grabbing two towels from the closet. I barely catch the one he tosses at me before it hits the shower floor.
“RJ—”
“Get dressed, Crash. Or finish your shower. Whatever you need.”
What I need is for him to look at me and tell me what’s going on. Instead, he haphazardly dries himself off, his soaked jeans still dripping on the floor.
“I don’t understand.” I might not have a ton of experience when it comes to going down on a guy, but I didn’t think my skills were that lacking.
“Look, I just...” He throws the towel over his shoulder, scrubs his hands over his face, and groans. “Ben will be here first thing in the morning, okay?”
No. No, it’s not okay.
He turns for the door, pausing only for a moment. “Goodnight, Crash.”
Hello, humiliation.
Chapter Six
“Hey, Julianna, this is Andrew Bishop. Sorry for the last-minute notice, but Rush is held up with the weather. Any chance we can postpone the interview until later today? I’m still traveling to Minneapolis myself, so text if you get this and we can follow up when I’m off the road.”
Thank God for small miracles.
Head fuzzy and eyes burning from nonexistent sleep, I unplug my phone and tip-toe back to the living room just before seven o’clock. I woke to the sound of familiar ringing and almost face-planted on my sprint to the bathroom when I realized it was my phone, still on the counter.
Unfortunately, I missed Andrew’s call, but hallelujah for two consistent bars and a means to hopefully to get the hell out of here before I embarrass myself any further.
I push the shower incident out of my mind, as I scan Gretchen’s texts. She’s glad I’m safe, but she wants details about where I am and for a moment I consider telling her. Part of me could use all the advice I can get, but the other...well, the other part is just too damn humiliated.
Sighing, I send her a quick I’ll call soon and then thumb a response to Andrew. Later is fine. Unfortunately, the weather has thrown a kink into my travel too. Let me know what time you’re thinking and I’ll make it work.
The faster I can get out of here, the better. In fact, if I could do it without having to look at RJ again, even better. Sadly, that probably won’t happen. For God’s sake, the guy still has my car keys. My dignity, too.
Ugh, I need coffee. Coffee never tells me it can’t or it’s sorry. No, coffee just slides down my throat and—
Okay, not the best analogy.
God, I’m a mess.
Tossing my phone onto the island, I dig around in the cupboards until I find what I need and get the pot brewing. It hasn’t escaped my notice that my mysterious host is not-so-surprisingly MIA.
I heard him get up about an hour ago to use the bathroom and oh-so-considerately put some more wood on the fire. Like keeping me extra toasty could possibly make me forget his rejection.
You got off, didn’t you?
“Shut up,” I snap at the witchy voice in my head. Yeah, I had fun, but I would have had a lot more fun if I could have returned the favor. You know, female pride and all of that. It’s not just guys who care about that stuff.
Sighing, I push away from the counter and grab a brush from my purse. Then some Chapstick. Then a little perfume. I might give crappy blow jobs, but I’m not about to look like I spent all night worrying about.
You bruised my pride, RJ Scott, but you will not take my ego out, too.
Giving the girls a little plump, I adjust the tank top I slept in and head back to the coffee pot. The aroma dances up to my nose like a little genie and I swear I feel more empowered already. Like I got this. Like maybe I should make Mr. Sexy Beard realize what he walked away from.
Probably wouldn’t take much. He’s a guy, after all, and for the majority of last night, he was all about what I had to offer.
Food, the little voice cackles. Men love food as much as sex. Make the boy some food!
A cheek-splitting grin slashes across my face and yank open the fridge, quickly taking stock of my options. In no time, I’ve got bacon frying in a pan, eggs beat, and cheese grated. Then I chop some spinach and green onion, and whip up the prettiest, most Instagram-worthy omelet I’ve ever seen.
Maybe that’s an exaggeration, but it’s definitely the best looking one I’ve ever made. I snap a picture to commemorate the moment and then head to the back of the cabin to beckon my test subject.
I assume he’s holed himself up behind one of the two doors between the bathroom and the back door, because they’re the only rooms left in the cabin. The image of him sprawled out on a big bed in nothing but those black boxer briefs comes to mind just as I’m about to stick an ear to the first door and listen for life. And then I remember he went to bed hard.
Or did he?
My face goes warm and my breasts begin to tingle, just thinking about him sliding out of those wet jeans and taking matters into his own hands.
Big hands. Strong hands. Hands, that I know from personal experience, are very, very good at taking care of business.
Sweet mother of God.
I clear my throat and knock quickly. I don’t have time or the physical fortitude to let that fantasy play out until the end. At least not with any hope of holding onto the meager remains of my dignity, too. Wait, no. He took all of that last night.
I knock again when there isn’t an answer and am just about to try the other door when a noise behind the first catches my attention.
Not just any noise, but music. A song.
Shinedown. Just like yesterday.
Curious, I give the knob a brave twist when the door further down the hall flies open. RJ, dressed in navy pajama pants and nothing more, emerges with Eddie hot on his heels.
“What are you doing?” he demands, his eyes darting between me and the door.
“Snooping.” It’s the first thing that comes to mind, but I regret it the second his already icy eyes go even colder. “Relax. I was just looking for you.”
“Why?” He stalks forward, putting himself between me and the door and closing it again.
“Because I made your cranky butt breakfast,” I snap, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to ignore all of the bare skin and muscle just inches from my face. “I’ve second guessed that decision, though. I’ll just eat it myself.”
His brow creases. “You cooked for me?”
“Yeah.” And I was an idiot to think it’d soften him. Putting some distance between us, I bend to Eddie and ruffle his ears. “Is your dad always this moody?”
RJ grunts and, though I’m not looking at him, I imagine he’s scrubbing a hand around the back of his neck, debating whether or not he should apologize.
“I’m not hungry,” he snaps instead. “You wasted your time.”
For real? I rise again and
pin him with a glare. “Wow. Are you always this rude?”
His jaw pulses beneath that thick beard. “Are you always so presumptuous? You should’ve asked if I was hungry first.”
I laugh. “Oh, okay. My bad.” I must’ve imagined the sweet and charming guy he’d been last night. The intense and giving guy in the shower, too.
“I also don’t like people going through my shit.”
“Yeah.” I throw up a defensive hand. “I get it.” Only I don’t. In fact, I don’t get any of it.
He blows out a frustrated breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
Too little too late, buddy.
“I’m just...I’m a private person.”
And I’ve overstayed my welcome. Point made. “I need a shower before your friend gets here.” A proper shower.
“Julianna,” he calls after me when I turn away, but there’s no way I can stop.
Not with these stupid tears in my eyes.
***
Head up, shoulders back. Don’t let a man you barely know make you cry.
I must stand in the bathroom for an extra fifteen minutes after my shower, trying to talk myself into facing RJ again.
The sad thing is that I can’t even be mad at him for any of this. I jumped the gun. Let myself think I had it in me to play with fire and not get hurt. No, he didn’t need to go and be an ass over freaking breakfast, but I should have known better. He doesn’t owe me anything. In fact, I should be grateful for what he has given me, not pouting over what he hasn’t.
Just do it, Jules. Go. One, two, three...
I suck in a courageous breath and open the door. The cabin is just as quiet as it was when I hid myself away, the scent of bacon and coffee still as potent in the air.
One foot in the front of the other, I make my way to the main part of the house...
Where a note and a fresh omelet greet me on the island.
I’m sorry. Breakfast was amazing. I’m not sure this one is as good as yours, but I tried. Then, Took the mutt out to plow before Ben gets here. Be back soon.
Wait, what?
I drop onto a stool, blinking back more silly tears as I take in the lopsided, yet delicious smelling omelet he’s made for me in return. An apology.
Wow. I push my wet hair back from my face with both hands and sniff. I can’t even with this guy. I just...can’t.
Outside, a loud thump sounds and I carry the plate to the window as a big, dark gray, extended cab truck with a plow reverses and scrapes some of the more than ten or so inches of snow away. He repeats the motion, going forward and backwards again until he’s cleared a decent sized area in the front of the cabin. When he starts on the long driveway I took a chance on yesterday, I stuff the last of the omelet into my mouth and sigh.
It should take a hell of a lot more than an omelet to win my forgiveness, but he also looks really hot out there, being all manly. He also washed all of the dishes I dirtied, so that has to count for something, right?
God, I’m such a glutton for punishment. What I should be thinking about is getting ready for Ben to pull my car out so I can get my butt to Minneapolis, not how long I can put off the meeting with Rush, just so I can spend more time here. With a man who makes my head spin like a Tilt-a-Whirl.
My phone beeps on the island and I pick it up to see a text from Gretchen.
Hello, woman. You’re too quiet.
Sorry, I send her back. You know how I said I was fine? Well, I am, but my car isn’t. I put it in the ditch. Still waiting to get it out. Good news is that Rushton got caught in the storm, too. Connecting with him later today.
My friend’s response is immediate. WHAT? Where are you?
Just outside of my hometown.
With family? At a hotel? Where?
I can’t tell her I’m at a stranger’s cabin, so I compromise. A friend’s place.
Thank God. I was ready to get in the car and come save you.
LOL No saving needed.
Hey, I’m just headed into a meeting. Want me to update Oscar?
NO! Don’t get his boxers in a bunch over this. Andrew and I are working it out.
I think you like Andrew, she replies and my nose scrunches.
I am so not into guys like that.
Just think—you and Andrew, me and Rush. Double wedding.
OMG NO! Go back to work, you weirdo.
She doesn’t respond, but I can picture her giggling as she joins her team in the conference room.
The heavy pounding of feet outside the front door snags my attention before it opens and Eddie comes bounding in. RJ is behind him, looking a lot timider than his anxious, jumping dog.
“Hey!” I laugh as the furball leaps at me, his cold, snowy paws dampening my T-shirt and leggings. “You’re getting me all wet.”
“Eddie, down!” RJ snaps his finger and points at the floor. The dog cowers, but not in fear. No, that wagging tail is just biding its time for round two. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s okay. I had dogs when I was a kid. I’m used to it.”
He lifts his chin and I see he’s swapped the raccoon for a more conservative black beanie. Of course, it suits him—he’d look good in anything—and I’m right back to thinking he’s one of the most handsome men I’ve ever met.
“Get your plowing done?” I ask, unsure of what he expects from me. Unsure of what I expect from him.
He shakes his head. “Ben just called to say he’s on his way. Thought I’d let you know.”
“Oh. Okay. Um...” I guess that’s my cue to get my things ready. To leave. “Thank you. For everything.” I turn away from him, because...well, tears. Again.
“Hey...” Cool fingers wrap around my wrist and I freeze, aside from blinking as quickly as possible so he doesn’t catch me being a stupid girl. But then he tugs me back to him and it’s all I can do to keep it together. “I’m sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He’s cold, but I don’t push him away when he dips his head and buries his face in my neck. “You didn’t deserve that shit show earlier.”
I nod. I can’t do more.
“You didn’t deserve last night, either.”
A small, shaky sob bursts from my throat and he spins me to face him, gathering me in his arms once again.
“Goddammit, Crash.” His arms fold around my shoulders, holding me like he wishes he’d never let go. Like my silly tears actually mean something to him. “I just don’t want to be that guy, you know?”
What guy? What the hell is he talking about?
He presses his lips to my hair. “I don’t want to be that regret. Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure I already am.”
Oh, that guy. I shake my head, tears slipping from my eyes. “You’re not.”
“You don’t think so now, but it’ll come.” He sighs, but doesn’t loosen his hold. “You’re not the kind of girl who can fuck a random guy and go on her merry way, Crash. I knew that, but I let myself get carried away with you anyway.”
Huh? I pull away and frown up at him. “What are you talking about?”
“The first stories you shared with me were about your sister and your exes. If you were the kind of girl who didn’t care about meaningless hook-ups that shit wouldn’t still bother you like it does.”
“Who’s presuming now?” I step back, shaking my head. I’m grateful for the explanation, but I could do without the psychoanalysis.
He tucks his hands into his jeans and shrugs. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
“You’re wrong.”
“No, I’m not.” His knowing smile makes me want to slap that furry cheek of his. Would probably hurt me more than it’d hurt him, though. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with feeling like you do, but I’m not interested in being another shitty memory for you.”
“You could have been a good one.”
“You really think that’d be the case?” He tips his head to the side and suddenly I feel so freaking
small. Like a child under his scrutiny. I told him personal things and now he’s using them against me.
“I don’t like you right now.”
“Magnify the hatred you have for me right now by ten.” He lifts his hands. “That’s how you’d feel if we would have taken things further last night.”
“You know, I really love when people tell me how I feel.” I walk backwards to the living room, suddenly pissed all over again. “Then again, you’re obviously right, so I shouldn’t be upset, should I?” Turning away, I shove the clothes I dried yesterday into my bag. “All I can say is thank God your friend is almost here.”
“Dammit, don’t be like this.” He follows after me, but keeps his distance. “I don’t want you leaving upset.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t want to stand here and be lectured either. You think because you made me come you know me?” The bitter laugh that rolls in my chest actually hurts. Or maybe that’s my heart. “Fuck you, RJ.”
He opens his mouth, surely to tell me why I’m wrong once again, when a horn honks outside and Eddie runs to the door.
This time, Ben’s timing is impeccable.
Chapter Seven
“That’s not good.”
Standing in the driveway, Ben and I stare at my car, now pulled from the ditch. Not only are my two front tires flat, but my passenger side fender is pushed back into the wheel well.
“You think I would have felt that happening when I went in.” I tip my head to the side to survey the damage from another angle. It’s not any prettier and it’s definitely not drivable.
“Happens.” Ben, a tall, lanky guy dressed in head-to-toe Carhartt gear, shrugs. “The driver’s side tire is sliced from going over the edge of the culvert. No repairing that one.”
Thank God for car insurance. “How quickly do you think I can get it fixed?”
“Got a friend in town who can probably take care of the tire problem today, but you won’t be driving until that front end is fixed. That could take a couple of weeks.”
I laugh. Loudly. “A couple of weeks? You’re kidding.” I have minutes at this point, before I do something to take the edge off my foul mood. Something like push RJ’s arrogant ass into the hole my car just came out for no reason other than he’s standing there, looking like he knows what’s good for me.
