I clicked the unlock button, just before it was too late and watched him scramble into the car and buckle himself in.
With tears in my eyes, I ran around to the driver’s side and let myself in, instantly starting the car to let it warm up. Behind me, Cameron rocked in the backseat.
I patted down my coat, looking for my cell phone to keep him occupied to only realize all my pockets were empty. I didn’t even have any identification on me.
That’s when the tears I was trying to hold back tripped over my eyelashes and poured down my cheeks. I was messing up everything I touched in my life at an alarming rate. Way too fast to stop. I felt like I was holding on to the edge of my seat, on a wild rollercoaster with a busted safety belt.
In the backseat, Cameron rocked faster.
I looked down at the time on the dashboard. It was eight o’clock. His classes started at eight fifteen, his normal routine was getting to school by seven thirty. I screwed up by drinking and not hearing my cell phone alarm. God only knew where my cell phone was at that moment.
I pulled out quickly and drove like the devil himself was in the trunk. As soon as I was on the boulevard, Cameron seemed to calm down a smidge. I drove even faster, praying nobody pulled me over.
When I drove up to the school with one minute to spare he jumped out before I totally stopped, stumbled twice, straightened, and rushed inside.
Idling in the drop off lane, surrounded by all the other late hysterical parents, I sobbed.
It took me twenty-five minutes to drive back to Ryan’s at a normal, legal speed and a few more to drag my ice cold feet across the sidewalk and back up the stairs to his apartment.
Inside was warm and quiet; Ryan was still asleep.
Unzipping my coat, it melted off me and dropped to the floor. I stepped over it on burning painful toes and ran for the shower. I needed warmth poured all over my body. I would have preferred a creamy thick oatmeal bath, but I didn’t think Ryan would have any of that bottled up just laying around.
I walked through his apartment as if in slow motion, a heavy stupor fogging my thoughts. It wasn’t until I was standing in the shower—steam rising up around me—water practically scolding my skin—did I finally feel warm enough. Little by little, my muscles relaxed, and I resolved in myself what my next steps were. After I stumbled out, I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror while raking a comb through the tangled knots of my hair, wondering what I could be if not a cop.
My reflection offered me no answers, so I tiptoed into the living room where I’d left my bag.
Rummaging through my clothes, I realized there was nothing clean left. I was so upset when I packed my bag I hadn’t thought about anything I really needed. It didn’t matter. After breakfast and a polite friendly thank you, I was heading back to my place to clean and be alone. Probably, pathetically forever, where I could sit and wonder what the hell I did to deserve this shitty crap that kept happening to me. Ryan would tell me it was my bad choices and lack of respect for myself, and the messed up part was that he’d be right.
Ryan would have been a good choice, not someone like Harris who called me hot and hid me for months. Jumping into a relationship with someone without even asking if they were married was not a good choice. It was a mistake I would never make again. And if I were really honest, I would probably say I knew something was wrong in my gut. I knew it wasn’t right—all the hiding and sex only on job time, but I chose to ignore my instincts. Well, it wouldn’t happen again. Ever.
Would I ever get my happy ending?
I’ve been watching everyone else have them. Where was mine?
Maybe a happy ending for me didn’t include a guy. Maybe it’s just me, strong enough to be on my own, picking up the shattered pieces of my heart and starting over, stronger and better than before. Maybe a happy ending is really just being happy with yourself, and living your life with your head held high.
Near the couch was Ryan’s laundry bag of clean clothes he never had the chance to put away yesterday. Probably because of my stupid drunk antics. I cringed thinking he actually cleaned up my vomit. I pulled out a shirt, one of Cameron’s small ones, and a pair of Ryan’s boxer briefs and slipped them on quickly. I looked like an idiot, but it beat standing in the middle of the living room butt-ass naked as the day I was born.
I opened the refrigerator, scanning the contents. There were eggs, milk, juice, bacon, cheeses, deli meats, two different kinds of bread, and fresh fruit. For a bachelor, he took really good care of himself. My kitchen was always empty—save for the half empty cartons of Chinese food you’d find in the back of the fridge, a ton of empty pizza boxes, and a few bottles of wine. I felt my lips twist into a frown. I wanted to adult like this, compare this place to mine, and I wasn’t adulting at all.
I was scrambling the eggs and pancake batter was bubbling on the stove, when Ryan stumbled out into the kitchen and burst out laughing.
“What?” I asked, dropping the spoon and folding my arms over my chest. “I had nothing clean, and Cam’s shirt is the first thing I grabbed. I didn’t want you coming out here with me just in a towel. Again.”
A ghost of a smile slipped over his lips. “You have pancake batter on your nose.”
“What? Oh, really?” I said, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at my nose.
“Forehead too,” he chuckled, with a smirk.
I let out a loud huff and swiped a towel across my forehead. He was right, of course, there was pancake batter all over my stupid face. I threw the towel down, furiously. “Stop looking at me and laughing, okay?” I turned around and flipped the pancake over with one of his spatulas and half missed the pan. The perfectly cooked pancake was wilting over the side of the frying pan, sizzling in the flames. “Son of a bitch!” I growled as hot pancake batter splashed up onto my face and neck.
“Brooke—”
I slammed the spatula against the counter. More batter flew through the air. Squeezing my fists tight, I spun around to face him. “I’m really, really very sorry about last night, Ryan.” His eyes squinted at me, lit with some stupid twinkle of laughter, and a loud snort escaped from the corner of his snarky mouth. I felt the flush of my cheeks and the sweat beading up across my forehead and just above my lip.
My chest caved, and I pulled at the collar of Cameron’s too tight shirt. I tightened my lips and straightened my spine, which only caused Ryan’s too big boxer briefs to slide a little over the curve of my hips. I yanked them up with a hand on each side until they stayed. “I can’t even begin to tell you how mortified I am about getting sick in front of you last night and having to have you take care of me. I…I…took Cameron to school, and I made breakfast to, you know, to thank you for everything you’ve done.” I scratched at my chin, which was becoming increasing hot, along with my face, neck, and ears.
“I think you are a very nice person, and really, I thank you for everything. And after I most likely burn the shit out of breakfast I will be out of your hair and back to taking care of myself. Just…from now on, I’ll do better.”
“Really?” he asked, with a glint in his eyes.
“You are infuriating,” I blurted.
“That’s a great compliment, thanks,” he said, taking a step forward and leaning against the counter.
Was that sarcasm?
I was so twisted around and confused, I didn’t even understand why I was getting so flustered. It was just…well, the minute his eyes were on me, I was so embarrassed and so, God, I wanted a do-over. I wanted to go back to him kissing me that night and for me to not push him away.
Too late, right?
My heart dropped to my stomach, and I looked away. “I feel like a fool.” The words slipped out before I could think them through.
“I can’t get you out of my head, either, Brooke.”
Every inch of my skin tingled and buzzed with each word he’d said. I had to blink my eyes a few times to focus. “What?” I whispered.
“You are stunning, standing here in my br
other’s shirt and my underwear. Absolutely, undeniably the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. And I can’t, God knows I’ve wanted to, but I can’t stop thinking about how much I want you.”
“Want me?” I asked, curious about the words, thinking I was hearing him wrong.
He slipped in front of me, reached behind me, and shut off the burners to the stove. He stayed there, leaning over me, not quite touching me, but close enough that the heat of his body mixed with the heat of mine.
I couldn’t think straight. I knew there were a thousand questions I needed to ask. There should be a thousand questions, yet my tongue stayed silent.
His body shifted slightly, his hand brushing over the back of one of mine.
“Come back to bed,” his whispered words fell softly against my neck.
“Are you married?” my voice croaked, holding my ground, but gently swaying toward him.
“Nope,” he smiled, licking his lips. “Very single.”
“Dating someone?” my voice cracked, as my hands fisted at my sides.
“No.” His hands gradually reached up, his fingertips falling gently on my waist.
“Martinez?” That’s right! He was going to go on a date with Lydia. I wasn’t going to deal with someone who—
“I cancelled it,” he shrugged, pressing his fingers into my skin and pulling me up against him. “There’s only one woman I want, Brooke, and it’s you.”
I had somehow lost my knees.
I barely knew where my body was, then his arms were around me, like silk against my skin. Suddenly, he was carrying me through the hallway, back toward his bedroom.
He had left music playing inside his room, a slow song that I lost myself in—in the rhythm of the sounds, and him—in the way he looked at me. He set me down gradually; our eyes locked together, our breaths just falling over the edge of steady.
He tugged on the hem of the shirt I wore, lifting the fabric inch by inch, taking his time unwrapping me. Cool arms seemed to press against my skin, my breasts swollen and heavy, hardened into peaks. His gaze crawled over my flesh, as he sank to his knees in front of me and slid down the boxers until they pooled around my ankles.
I’d never been so intensely aware of my skin than when his eyes took me in completely bare for the first time. A slow smile spread across his lips as he placed his hands around the back of my calves and haltingly slipped them softly up to the back of my thighs. I could feel my own heartbeat, strong and fast in my throat, my legs tingling and numbing from wanting him to touch me more.
Then, his fingers splayed wide, pressing into my skin and his mouth was on me instantly. His lips latched on to me, his tongue flicked out over and over and my body gave in to his mouth and I came, and I came, and I was still throbbing when he pressed me back onto his mattress and sank inside me like he was always meant to be there.
Our hands were frantic, his trusts strong and hard, our lips aching and pulling, at each other’s. His mouth moved over my neck, his teeth raking into my skin, and I wrapped my legs around him tighter, my body, my mind, my entire heart falling off the ledge. Every muscle in my body trembled and convulsed as I exploded around him, pieces of me lost forever in his room. His body stiffened and his trusts became harder and faster, both of us moaning with the sudden build up until he whispered my name on a harsh moan and something in me, maybe my heart, burst open in my chest, and I came again.
Breathless, he rolled off me, both of us panting and swearing under our breaths.
For a moment, he lay silent, staring up at the ceiling. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see any regret cross his face. Ryan held the same expression as Harris did the first time he had me please him in his office. A heavy sigh from a downturned mouth. A pained expression as his eyebrows gathered in. I wondered if Harris had thought about his wife at that moment, the vows they’d took, and how ugly of a person he really was inside. I wondered what Ryan’s regrets were. Whatever they were, I wouldn’t allow him to have them long. I slipped from under the sheets, feigning the need to use the bathroom. I couldn’t let him think I was a clinger, but God, please don’t let him regret me. That was the single most intense experience I’ve ever felt in my life.
I closed myself in the bathroom and leaned heavily on the sink. My insides felt like molten hot lava and as if my outsides were made of electric fire.
I never wanted this feeling to go away.
Shit, this was my problem, wasn’t it?
One time with someone and I fell head over heels in love with him.
I was a stupid, living, breathing cliché.
Balling up the towel that hung on the rack in his bathroom, I pressed it against my lips and sobbed into it, hoping to mute the sounds. I just did exactly what I had done with Harris—jumped into bed with him, without thinking about any of the consequences.
Chapter 16
Ryan
Brooke wore a strange expression coming out of the bathroom. Her face was bunched up questioningly, and she constantly pulled at the small necklace she wore. She walked out, unsteady on her feet, her hands shooting out and away from her, as if she had trouble keeping her balance.
Did I just mess up her walking straight? She looked a bit sex-stoned, and walking side to side. That shit right there made my chest swell. I watched her—ready to jump up and catch her if she fell.
She was quiet as she walked toward the bed. She had put my brother’s shirt back on, but it did nothing to hide her. It fit just as sexy as if she wore nothing. She pointed to my dresser, with a deep crease between her eyes, “Can I borrow a shirt? One that fits better? I, um…I should go clean my apartment, do laundry, and clean my apartment, you know?”
“I’ll help,” I said, pushing my body to sit up. My muscles felt like rubber, my hands still needing to slide over her skin. My mouth couldn’t get enough of her taste.
Brooke looked up from the drawer, one of my tee-shirts clutched in her hands, and her eyes wide. She didn’t say a word, just stared at me as I stood, letting the sheets fall back toward the bed.
She mumbled something and looked away, quickly.
I smiled at the burst of red across her cheeks. It felt good to have a woman in my bed like that, one that blushed after we’d just had sex, one who can’t walk straight, because it felt so good.
Naked, I walked toward the dresser, stopping to stand next to her. Brooke’s stare snapped away from me, eyes wide and stunned, boring her focus into the ceiling. I choked back a laugh, and slid in front of her, pushing between her and the open drawer.
She gripped my shirt tighter, her knuckles whitening as her blush darkened and traveled to the tips of her ears. “You really don’t have to—” she mumbled, and then stopped, looking too shy to continue the sentence.
“I know, Brooke,” I said, pulling out some clothes for myself to wear. “Thing is, I want to,” I said, cocking my head directly in front of hers, so she’d see I wasn’t just saying bullshit to her. It was understandable if she felt like I was just going to let her walk out of here without any questions answered—it’s what Captain Anderson did to her. But I wasn’t anything like that white shirt pussy bouncer.
Brooke looked up at me with the saddest expression I had ever seen, and my chest ached. Her lips moved to form words, yet no sounds came out.
“You okay?” I asked, sliding my thumb over her trembling chin.
“Yes,” she replied with a thick voice.
“Should we talk about what just happened?” I asked, trailing my thumb over her jaw and gently cup my fingers over her neck.
“Nope, no way. I’m still processing.”
“Me too,” I smiled, replaying her moans and the way she moved underneath me. I swore my dick was ready for another round. That feeling hasn’t happened to me in years. “But, I’m sensing you’re freaking out and at some point you’re going to need to tell me exactly what you’re thinking.” Leaning down, I brushed a soft kiss across her lips and felt the pulse in her neck thud wildly against the palm of my hand.
“I will. I promise,” she said, clearing her throat and stepping back. “Just give me some time to figure out…things.”
“Okay,” I said with a smile. “Take all the time you need.”
She had an hour to put her head back on straight--that’s exactly how long I was giving her.
We dressed in silence—walked past the mess in the kitchen without a word to one another—even drove quietly to her place in separate cars. I watched every move she made, every hand gesture, every sound, anything to try and figure out what her thoughts were in the solitude of her mind. She held her head high, chin up, but then she’d wilt and her shoulders would crumple in. She’d bite at the sides of her nails and rub constantly at the back of her neck. Her fists would ball up, open, to only close again fast. Whatever war she was fighting with herself, she seemed to be losing.
She walked ahead of me, eyes not meeting mine, and when we got to her apartment, her behavior only got worse.
For a while she was silent—storming through the house like a whirlwind—sweeping up every item that she deemed had been touched by the situation and slammed it into the garbage. Hours of silence turned into growls and curses mumbled under her breath.
“Brooke,” I said, grabbing her by the shoulders as she threw a full garbage bag clear across the room. “Talk to me. What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” she snapped.
“So, you usually act like an out-of-control bitch when you’re home?” I asked, jokingly.
“Did you just call me a bitch?” she stammered, spinning around on me.
“You just threw a bag of garbage, a freaking heavy one, right at me. I wouldn’t call that being sweet and endearing.”
“What? I did?” she said, her eyes scanning the mess of the garbage that fell out of the bag. “Shit,” she said, collapsing down onto the couch and hanging her head in her hands.
I sat next to her and tugged at her arms until she was leaning over me, resting her head on my shoulders. “Let it all out, come on.”
Searching for Love (Behind Blue Lines #2) Page 11
