Second Shot

by Shandi Boyes

  The tingling between my legs I’ve only just controlled revamps when Carey says, “You screaming for hours? Hmm. . . what type of man would I be if I turned down an offer like that?”

  I bite on the inside of my cheek—hard. Even with our combined emotions being potent enough to launch a rocket, only a naïve idiot would have missed the innuendo in his reply.

  I’m not the only one astonished. Carey appears just as stunned as me. Shocked is a good look for him. It makes his eyes brighter and adds a vibrant coloring to his cheeks.

  Struggling not to curve my knees together, I work on persuading him to spend more time with me. “We could eat greasy burgers and drink tasteless beer. Have the real NASCAR experience! What do you say? Can you squeeze another memory-creating night with a stranger into your busy schedule?”

  My pulse quickens when Carey locks his dark eyes with mine. They don’t look as pained as they did earlier. “Two strangers creating a memory they will share for eternity?”

  Masking my excitement he remembered a quote I said months ago, I nod my head. “Although I’m not sure we can still use the term strangers. You’ve seen me—”

  “Naked,” Carey fills in, surging my excitement out of the stratosphere.

  I hold my breath, eagerly anticipating his answer. I swear my heart is pounding against my chest so fast, the bearded man standing on his glass patio eyeballing the exchange between Carey and me will be able to hear it.

  I nearly throw a fist punch into the air and squeal in delight when Carey nods his head. “But I refuse to drink tasteless beer,” he declares, his voice no longer having the smear of uncertainty it held earlier.

  “Fine!” I holler with a roll of my eyes, the excitement in my tone incapable of being missed. “You bring the beer; I’ll supply the food.”

  Desire scorches my veins when slipping off Carey’s lap makes him expel a throaty gargle. I would have said a moan, but since he tried to stifle his response to my loss of contact, it came out more sounding like a gargle.

  After curling out of his car, I dip my torso back into the passenger window. I’m not going to lie, my heart beats triple time when my eyes drink in his ruffled appearance. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything as beautiful as a rough brute of a man with lust-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

  “Thanks for the lift.” The huskiness of my voice exposes my excitement.

  “It was my pleasure,” Carey replies with a smirk. “I’ll see you soon, Gemma-the-tasteless-beer-drinker.”

  My heart nearly bursts. This is the first time I’ve experienced a playful and carefree Carey. God, I hope it isn’t the last.

  “Not if I see you first, Carey-you’ve-never-experienced-life-until-you’ve-drunk-beer-that-tastes-like-your-grandma’s-undies,” I reply before cringing. Seriously, “grandma’s undies” was the best line you could come up with?

  My insides dance like a hooker on crack when Carey throws his head back and laughs. “I’ve always had a thing for Betty White, but that’s just taking it one step too far.”

  “Thanks for the heads up. I’ll be sure to delete any Hot in Cleveland episodes on my DVR before you arrive. I wouldn’t want you getting all hot and bothered,” I jest, my tone tainted with girlish giggling.

  My smile inches higher when I spot the disappointment on Carey’s face. Clearly, he likes me making him hot and bothered.

  “Wesley can smell a man in need a mile away. He may not be able to control himself,” I explain.

  Carey’s confusion blasts into the next galaxy even more quickly than our somber moods disappeared. “Is he as protective of you as Hugo is?” he asks, confusion heard in his tone.

  My heart warms. Not just because of his admission Hugo is protective of me, but because he believes Wesley is going to need to hold him back from me. Does that mean he is planning on doing something scandalous? I can only hope.

  “Wesley won’t be holding you back from me. It will be me holding him back from you,” I clarify.

  It takes a few seconds of quiet reflection before the reality dawns on Carey’s face. I can’t tell if the smug grin etching onto his mouth is because he is flattered by my compliment, or because he just realized if Wesley was given the choice between me and him, my bed companion would be my pillow.

  “Goodnight, Carey,” I say, fighting not to invite him in like a loser who can’t control her libido.

  A grin tugs my lips high when I spot Carey’s indecisiveness. I don’t think he knows if he is coming or going. I’m glad to see I’m not the only one struggling. Although most of my time with him has been spent in a lust-filled trance, thankfully, my outward appearance gives no indication to the absurdity happening inside my body. I respectfully hold in my excitement, even with my body screaming at me to pretend I'm filming an episode of Girls Gone Wild.

  “Night, Gemma,” Carey eventually grinds out.

  After waving at each other like we are in middle school, Carey glides his car down the gravel driveway.

  Chapter 27

  Hawke

  Gemma has a look in her eyes—a raw pain that causes the area in the middle of my chest to ache. I knew the instant her declaration about having everything snatched away left her mouth she wanted to take it back. I’m not going to lie, her words stung. Normally, I’d happily accept the pain. I’d appreciate it. But this time was different. The hurt in her eyes wasn’t being projected at me because of what I had lost; it was reflecting something she went through. Something I’d give anything to help her heal from.

  I wait for the grief to arrive for my silent thoughts. It doesn’t come. I shouldn’t be shocked. My connection with Gemma is so odd. It is happening at a lightning pace that is both scary and dangerous, but it feels so good. Better than I’d care to admit.

  My grief the past five years has seen me at my weakest. It took everything I thought I knew about life and morphed it into a hideously bland and lifeless canvas. Gemma is changing that. She is adding speckles of color back onto the black canvas I used to call my life. Every minute I spend with her has me craving another.

  I’ll never fully get over my grief. My love of Jorgie and Malcolm will never go away; they will forever be in my heart, where I will cherish and love them every single day. But Gemma gives me hope that one day I’ll wake up without so much heaviness on my chest I can barely breathe, that I’ll laugh without feeling pain, and that I’ll act on my desires to kiss her without a single thought passing through my mind first.

  Before Gemma came into my life, any contact I had with the opposite sex was an attempt to fill the void Jorgie left. I don’t want that from Gemma. I want to be the man she comes to in a crisis. I want to be the man who fully wipes the mistrust from her eyes.

  I want to be the man who can look at her without feeling guilt.

  Chapter 28

  “That was low. Really, really, low,” I grumble while digging one of the fake apples out of the fruit bowl on the entranceway table and pegging it at Wesley’s snickering face.

  After dodging the wildly flung plastic fruit, the smug grin on Wesley’s face grows. “I was protecting your virtue.”

  “My virtue doesn’t need saving.” My heart. . . that’s a completely different story.

  I place my handbag and keys on the entranceway table before pacing into my bedroom.

  Pushing off the sofa, Wesley follows me. “Do the foggy windows mean you guys are a thing now?” he asks, his voice a unique cross of intrigue and concern.

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. What do you think? You had a prime view of the entire event from your stalker perch on the front patio.”

  Wesley balks, shocked I knew he was watching us just as eagerly as the bearded stranger living in the glass house next door.

  When Wesley remains quiet—neither denying or admitting my claims—I walk into my closet to replace my summer dress with a nightie. The vast range of emotions pumping out of me today has made me so exhausted, I can hear my bed calling me.

  While dressi
ng, I consider Wesley’s question. I really hope tonight was the beginning of something between Carey and me. I know our story hasn’t been one that would grace the pages of a steamy romance novel. We haven’t had innumerable sexual encounters or acted recklessly, but that doesn’t make the quality of our story less impressive. Our story is as unique as both of our predicaments. I don’t need to be swept off my feet in a whirlwind relationship that fizzles out before it even begins. I want a man who will see past my past. A man who understands there will be days I’ll be bouncing around like I’ve taken too many of the pills Dr. McKay prescribed me, and there will be days where I may not be able to move from the couch. With everything Carey has been through, I truly think he is that man for me.

  I said earlier tonight that Carey and I are the equivalent of lightning and thunder, and that if we got together we could be catastrophic. But how often do you have a thunderstorm without lightning? They may be destructive, but that doesn’t mean they don’t belong together.

  After throwing a spaghetti strap satin negligee over my head, I pace to my bed, pull down the cover, and slip inside. The softness of the high thread count sheets comforts my weary muscles while also placing wicked thoughts in my devilish mind. They are as soft as Carey’s sinful-tasting lips.

  The blood drains from my cheeks when I lift my eyes from the comforter and spot Wesley’s downcast face. Smiling, I pull back the covers and gesture for him to join me. When he shakes his head, my brows stitch. Wesley is an affectionate type of guy. He never turns down an opportunity to spoon.

  “You’re not the only one stuck in a sexual rut. I’ve barely had the time to jack one off in the shower. If I climb into bed with you, I can’t guarantee I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he admits, his voice gruff but truthful.

  “I don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or an insult. From the disgusted look on your face, I’m leaning toward insult.”

  Wesley grins while waggling his brows. “If I didn’t believe you’ve already fallen for Carey, I’d have no worries proving it was a compliment.” He aims for his tone to be playful, but it still comes out with a touch of uncertainty.

  My mouth moves as I attempt to deny Wesley’s assumption that I’m falling for Carey, but my words stay entombed in my throat. I learned a hard lesson from lying that I don’t plan on making twice. As much as I wish our night ended differently, the respect Carey showed me tonight tethered my heart to him even more. A sexual connection is great, but there is much more required for a lasting relationship. And although I’ve never been in love, I do know one thing: I want much more from Carey than just a few nights between the sheets.

  I scoot up the bed to lean my back on the headboard. Once I’ve ensured all my body parts are respectfully covered, I pat the mattress, offering for Wesley to join me. The stranglehold around my heart eases when he does as requested.

  “What’s wrong?” I question when he rests his cheek on my shoulder.

  His lips form into one of the sexiest pouts I’ve ever seen. “I don’t know. This all just feels a little weird. For years, it’s always been me and you. Now I’ve got to make room for another man to come in and take over the role I’ve been doing the last three years. It’s like forced retirement. I’m not even twenty-nine for fuck’s sake.”

  Unexpected tears prick my eyes. “No one will ever replace you, Wesley. They couldn’t. It won’t matter what happens; we’re always going to be in each other’s lives. Besides, if anyone should be worried about being left behind, it should be me.” I nudge him with my shoulder, silently demanding his attention. “From the praises I’ve heard about you the past few weeks, by next year, you’ll be saying ‘Gemma who?’”

  The hurt in his eyes dissipates. “That is never going to happen. Everything I’ve been doing the past three years is so I could give you back what you’ve given me.”

  “Wesley. . .”

  “No, Poppet. I had nothing before I met you. Not a single thing. Now look at me. I freeload in an apartment in New York; I’m living it up in a kickass cabin on the cliffs of Bronte’s Peak, all while I’m recording a collaboration with the number one band in the country. The world’s strongest drugs couldn’t conjure up this shit.”

  “Everything you have, you earned yourself. I didn’t give you anything but love, which you gave in return just as much. Love is not something you can put a value on, Wesley. So don’t ever feel you haven’t contributed to our relationship. You gave me way more than I could have ever hoped for. You gave me a reason to live.”

  The reasoning behind Wesley’s uncertainty is revealed when he murmurs, “And now I have to pass the baton onto another man. There’s this weird sense of achievement when you’re someone’s crutch. I don’t know if I’m ready to hand over that power yet.”

  “It’s not that serious between Carey and me. For all I know, when he finds out my secret, he may not want me anymore.” My words come out brittle since I forced them through the bile sitting in the back of my throat.

  “You’ve never been a liar, Gem; don’t start now. I heard what he said about wanting to know you as well as me. He wants to know you—the real you. You’ve just got to decide if that is what you want.”

  “I want that,” I reply without pause.

  Wesley drapes his arm around my shoulders. “Then when you're ready, tell me, and I’ll step back.”

  Panic clutches my throat. “You don’t have to step back, Wesley.”

  “A three-sided relationship never works, Gem; trust me, I’ve tried. If a relationship with Carey is what you truly want, we both have to make sacrifices. You might be the baddest bitch in the US, but you can’t keep all the handsome men in the country at your beck and call.”

  Smiling, I drop my head on top of his. “If I didn’t have this horrible neurosis of being a bitterly jealous and demented woman, I’m sure we could work around your concerns. But since the thought of Carey being with anyone—let alone a man as wickedly handsome as you—makes me want to break out my Kung Fu moves, we’re going to have to work out another solution.”

  Wesley tries to hold it in, but the quickest chuckle escapes his lips. “Here I am for the first time in my life trying to be serious, and you bring out the corny Kung Fu jokes.”

  “Who said I was joking? My moves would be so suave, they wouldn’t see me coming. A paper cut can kill if inflicted in the right area.” Half of my statement is lost when Wesley wraps his arm around my neck and playfully holds me in a choke hold.

  “You’re lucky you’ve got a rock ass body, Poppet, or Carey might have taken your ninety-day rules and worked it out on one of the numerous women I’ve seen begging for his attention the past two weeks.”

  The playfulness is wiped from my face as blood roars to my ears. “Women? What women?”

  Wesley’s lips crimp as he shrugs his shoulders.

  “What women, Wesley?” I ask, my voice demanding. Even on edge that my possessiveness of Carey is already so potent, it’s taking all my strength not to straddle Wesley and torture him until he spills the beans.

  I keep my eyes planted on Wesley when he slips out of my bed and heads for the door. “Wesley? I swear to god, if you leave me hanging, I’m not going to be held accountable for my actions.”

  When he spins around to face me, reality smacks me in the face. He is taunting me. “Did I say women?” he says, his voice doused with mischievousness.

  I grit my teeth and nod.

  “Oops. My bad. I meant to say me.”

  His brisk pace has him halfway down the hall before I’ve even scrambled off the mattress.

  Chapter 29

  Four days later…

  “And that’s a wrap!” I squeal, my voice laced with excitement.

  The noise of my camera clicking sounds over the excited cheer of the band members of Rise Up. I can’t stomach the idea of missing candid snaps of their jubilation that their grueling four-hour shoot is finally over. They’re not the only ones excited. My feet have never been so sore. A
glass of red wine and a long soak in the tub are the only plans on my agenda this evening.

  “I think that is going to be a great cover.”

  I finish placing my camera in my bag before raising my eyes. Although nervous someone managed to sneak up on me unaware, I respectfully hold in my frightened squeal—barely.

  “Thanks, I think so too.”

  Cormack smiles before thrusting his hand into the pockets of his expensive tailored trousers. Cormack is a handsome man, standing a little under six feet tall. He has thick, luxurious blond hair, blue eyes and a face that could earn more dividends than his massive bank balance if he found the right person to photograph him. He has an approachable demeanor that successfully conceals the fact he is stinking rich.

  My brow bows into my hair when Cormack rocks back and forth on his heels. I can tell he wants to say something, but for some reason, he is being super quiet.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask, confusion in my tone.

  Cormack smiles a sheepish grin that sets my heart racing. “No. I’m just undertaking a bet.”

  My brows stitch. I’m more confused than ever.

  “Jenni bet that within thirty seconds of me talking to you, Hawke would magically appear,” he explains to my bemused expression. “She believes he has a thing for you.”