by Olivia Dade
Each time, the gifts had backfired. They’d confirmed how little men knew her and how little she wanted them to know her. The gifts had prompted her to end liaisons, saving her lovers from further frustration and heartache and herself from further hassle.
She trailed a fingertip over the sanded edge of the cedar container. Ironically, Sam had gotten her a stiletto too. A Stiletto TiBone titanium hammer, which cost about as much as a pair of fancy shoes. She lifted the tool, considering it.
Light. Strong. Replaceable faces. Minimal recoil shock, which would make her home improvement projects less tiring. She almost hated to put it back in the planter, but she did.
The note tucked between two Coke cans simply said, “Beer’s waiting in my fridge for you. See you tonight.” He’d scrawled his name at the bottom with a flourish, as if he were proud of what he’d offered her.
And he should be. Because for the first time in her life, Con felt…weird at the sight of the gifts. Warm, when she should be impatient or irritated. Excited to see and thank him, when she should be planning a hasty exit from their arrangement. Cherished, when she should feel pressured and burdened by the effort he’d made and the money he’d spent.
She bit her lip. Clearly, the two of them needed to talk. Maybe she should articulate her intentions toward him—or her lack thereof—a second time. It might even behoove her to break things off with him now.
Her head began to pound at the thought.
No. She didn’t have to end their arrangement. Not yet. Tonight, she’d bring him the planter, thank him, and firmly request that he return the items inside. Easy as cake.
But in the meantime, surely she could give that hammer a practice swing? Just out of curiosity?
By the time Sybil reported to the Bookmobile, Con had long since torn herself away from the most incredible fucking hammer she’d ever handled. She hadn’t eaten Sam’s culinary offerings, other than a handful or two of the chips, half the sandwich, and one of the sodas. She hadn’t paid particular attention to the violet’s soil and whether it required more water. Although it did. And she certainly hadn’t carried the cedar planter into her office and tucked it under her desk with any sort of unusual care.
She didn’t care. She didn’t. And that was precisely what she’d tell him in—she glanced at her clock, willing the hands to move faster—ten hours. Or fewer, if she could find a way to duck out early.
Not that she was eager to see Sam. Not at all.
***
Con clawed her way back to reason well before pulling into Sam’s driveway that evening. She didn’t want a boyfriend, as she’d always told everyone. And even if she did—which she definitely didn’t—she and Sam had agreed to protect their relationships with Penny by keeping their arrangement sex-only. Which meant she had two main tasks to accomplish tonight.
Job one: Remind Sam of the barriers standing between them.
Job two: Return the gifts. Minus the sandwich, chips, sodas, and the pencils she’d used during the day. Not to mention the violet, which she’d kept because she knew it would have a better life with her than anyone else.
So basically, she was only returning three pencils, two basketball tickets, and a hammer.
Keep it light, she reminded herself. Casual. Like your relationship.
She was proud of the nonchalant way she greeted him at the door, the damn cedar planter propped on her hip. No hungry glances at the strong frame concealed beneath his faded Incredible Hulk tee and jeans. No outward sign of the way her vision tunneled and the world outside the two of them disappeared when he drew close. No response to the warm press of his mouth on hers or the exciting tickle of his beard against her skin.
“Really, Sam?” Her tone contained the exact amount of cool irony she’d planned. “A hammer and a foot long sub? Couldn’t you find more subtle ways to call attention to your big cock?”
His body shook with laughter, and he took the planter from her arm before ushering her inside. “Nice one, Con. That hadn’t even occurred to me. But if I were trying to indicate the size of my penis, why would I give you pencils?”
“I don’t know.” Against her will, her lips quirked. “Hedging your bets?”
He laughed again, his eyes crinkling at the corners in the way she loved. “Possibly.”
She headed toward her favorite chair in his living room, as she normally did at the end of a long workday. But right before she collapsed into the recliner’s comfortable depths, she remembered the situation at hand.
Her message to Sam was serious. Urgent. Relaying it while snuggled into faux-suede cushions—or worse, while horizontal—would undercut its importance. So instead of sitting, she shifted from foot to foot in front of the chair.
She forced herself to meet his gaze. “Sam…”
“Con, I know what’s going on.” He gifted her with another easy smile. “You want to return my gifts. Because we’re just sexual partners, not boyfriend and girlfriend. Because you’re not looking for a relationship. And because neither one of us is willing to risk our connection with Penny.”
“Exactly.” With a relieved whoosh of breath, she sank into the recliner. “I’m glad you understand. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the presents. It’s that—”
“You don’t want me to get the wrong idea.”
“Exactly,” she said again.
He was making this easy on her. As easy as any conversation she’d ever had. So why did she keep thinking he was poised and ready for battle?
“Quick question.” He settled on the edge of the coffee table in front of her, loose-limbed and relaxed. “Do you think I’m the type of man who’d give presents to pressure someone into a relationship? Or in expectation of something in return?”
She pursed her lips, uncomfortable with the inadvertent insult she’d dealt him. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Her shoulders drooped. “I’m sorry if I drew the wrong conclusion.”
“Are we friends?” he persisted, as genial and gentle as ever.
She knew she was being railroaded. But she couldn’t seem to find the eject button. “Of course. But—”
“Is it wrong to want to make a friend’s life better?”
“No.” Leaning forward, she stabbed a finger in his direction. “But you—”
“So I don’t see the problem with giving my friend things that would bring her pleasure.”
She drummed her fingers on the arm of the recliner, stymied. “Hmph.”
“But you’re right in at least one way.” His smile died, and the intensity in his gaze ratcheted higher. “Although I’m not trying to bribe you into a relationship, I do want one.”
She drew in a shaky breath as she considered his words. “I know. Was the planter a good-bye gift, then? A thank-you before you go searching for a long-term relationship?”
“Con.” He shook his head, exasperation clear in his expression. “I only want you. Not as a booty call. As my lover. My girlfriend. Whatever you’re willing to be.”
And as soon as he said that, she knew the script. Knew exactly what she’d say next.
First, she’d thank him for their time together. Next, she’d remind him of her stance against relationships. Then she’d kick his ass to the curb, pronto.
So why was she faltering? Why couldn’t she find the right words to send him on his way?
At long last, two syllables emerged from her numb lips. “Penny.”
In the past, she’d invoked her friend’s name to ward off Sam and discourage any ideas about commitment he might still harbor. Whenever she did, his breath caught, the lines bracketing his mouth grew deeper, and he allowed a bit more distance between the two of them. Always. It was failsafe. Foolproof.
Not tonight.
He shrugged. “Penny’s not an issue. Not anymore.”
“What?” Panic rose in her throat, metallic and cold. “What do you mean?”
“I called her
a few days ago and asked whether she’d mind if we dated. I also asked what would happen if we broke up, either amicably or with guns blazing.”
Con’s jaw dropped, and she stared at him, dumbfounded. Sam, the man terrified of alienating his sister in any way, had broached a potentially divisive topic with her over the phone? While she was on her honeymoon? What the fuck?
That’s how much he wants you, a traitorous voice in her brain informed her. Enough to risk the only family he has left.
“What did she say?” Before she even realized her bun was slipping, Sam handed her one of the remaining pencils. She shoved it into place with automatic skill, her attention completely on him. “Was she upset?”
“Nope.” He stretched out his legs, slinging one ankle over the other. “She asked what took me so long, assured me she’d never abandon either of us no matter how much we fought, and offered me advice on wooing you.”
She gave a breathless, nervous laugh. “Let me guess. She suggested a hammer?”
“No, that was all my idea.” He leaned toward her. “Not a bribe, but a testament to how well I know you. An indication of how much easier and better I could make your life if you just let me in.”
“And you’d do that how?” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded odd. Sharp and shaky. “By buying me things I don’t need?”
“I’d make your life easier and better,” he repeated. “Not because of how much money I’d spend on you, but because of how devoted I’d be to your happiness. To lifting some of your burdens.”
She swallowed hard as her world began to tilt. Just a tiny bit. “In my experience, boyfriends only add to my burdens. And I can’t handle any more, Sam. Not now. Probably not ever.”
Sam stood. And the next thing she knew, he’d lifted her from the chair, sat down there himself, and deposited her onto his lap.
She should struggle, she knew. Get up on her own two feet and walk away. But the warmth emanating from him was deceptive. It seemed gentle and harmless, but it enervated her. Sapped her will, until she could barely keep from leaning against him.
“We spent an entire week within spitting distance of one another on the Bookmobile. Since the wedding, you’ve come over to my house more evenings than not. And I still see you at work, occasionally for extended meetings or troubleshooting visits on board Big Bertha.” His hand smoothed over her stiff back. “That’s a lot of togetherness time. More than many couples have, even ones who call themselves boyfriend and girlfriend.”
She couldn’t deny the truth in his words. But they made her heart jolt, her legs twitch, and her breathing turn shallow. They made her want to run far, far away from the dim warmth of his house and the treacherous comfort of his arms.
When had she decided she’d rather hang out with Sam than spend time alone? When had his company begun to feel more natural and welcome than the silence in her house?
They didn’t see each other every night. They didn’t go out together in public. She steadfastly avoided unnecessary contact with him at work, and she refused to make plans with him during the day on weekends.
Still, he’d infiltrated her life to a remarkable extent.
Whenever they spent the evening together, he always had food waiting for her. “Just in case you didn’t get a chance to eat,” he’d say, dismissing her protests with a casual shrug. So she’d sit down at his table and have dinner with him. They’d take their time over the meal, laughing and chatting. Or, if she was too tired for conversation, they’d sit on his couch and watch a game as they ate. Turned out, he enjoyed hockey as much as she did. Maybe more.
It was all so…pleasant. Easy in a way she’d never experienced with any other man.
Then, after she finished her last bite, she’d look up to see him staring at her, his eyes hot. And that’s when her favorite part of the night would begin. They’d fuck on his couch, her hands pinning his to the cushions as she rode him hard and took him deep. They’d fuck in his kitchen, her bare ass naked on his counter as he unzipped, spread her legs wide, and pushed inside her. They’d fuck near his fireplace, her on all fours, her back arched in welcome and pleasure. And some nights, they’d tumble into his bed together, skin to skin, and fuck there.
Only four weeks had passed since Penny’s wedding, and she already missed Sam whenever they spent the night apart. She couldn’t help but appreciate his easy good nature, his intelligence, his humor, and his generous heart. Not to mention his impressive stamina and enormous talent for fucking. The man knew how to make her come, and he could do it fast. Or he could drag it out until she bit and scratched and pleaded. Either way, she was more than satisfied. In bed and out.
If she didn’t know better, she might even say he made her happy.
Nope. Not going that far.
Sam needed to stop planting ideas in her head. Until this moment, she’d done her best not to notice the alarming evolution of their arrangement, and she didn’t appreciate him pointing it out now.
But she couldn’t seem to speak, so she let her glare communicate for her. So what if we spend more time together than most couples? That doesn’t mean we are a couple, goddammit.
Unfazed by her scowl, he simply stroked her back and kept speaking softly.
“Tell me, Constance Marie. Have I made your life harder this past month?” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.
Her mouth pressed into a mutinous line. But she wasn’t a liar, so she could only give him one answer. “No.”
“Have I made it easier in some ways?”
Her right foot began to jiggle in midair. “I suppose.”
“Have you found me a burden? Even during that week on Big Bertha, when I didn’t know what I was doing?”
“No.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But we weren’t really dating.”
“So why do you think I’d suddenly become an anchor you’d have to drag around?” Angling his head, he rubbed his nose against the tip of hers. “Why do you think I’d suddenly detract from your happiness, instead of adding to it?”
“You wouldn’t do it deliberately.” She knew she sounded mulish, but she hated getting backed into a corner. “It would happen, though.”
His shoulder rose and fell beneath her cheek as he sighed. Wait, when had she started leaning against him?
“Maybe you honestly believe that. Or maybe you’re just scared.”
At that accusation, she sat bolt upright again. Poking her finger into his chest with each word, she enunciated very clearly. “I. Am. Not. Scared.”
“Really?” He raised a single eyebrow, which was infuriating. She’d thought only asshole dukes in romance novels did that. “Then show me. Give me the chance to prove you wrong.”
The room seemed to rotate slowly around her, as confusing and jumbled as her thoughts. Somehow, over the course of half an hour, Sam had flipped her world upside down. Refusing his gifts had turned from necessary to an insult. The barrier of Penny had crumbled into dust between them. And the prospect of dating him had shifted from overwhelming and inconceivable to…
To what, exactly? Possible? Even…enticing?
When she didn’t respond right away, those bracketing lines around his mouth finally appeared, and his voice turned hoarse. “Please, Con. Just let me try. We don’t have to tell anyone. Except for Penny, probably, given the circumstances.”
Was he right? Was she simply too scared and stubborn to change?
Her mouth went dry, and she could barely force out the words. “Helen too. She’s my best friend, so…” Con lifted a shoulder. “But no one else.”
Flags of color rose high on his cheekbones, and his eyes blazed with hope. “Con? Are you saying you’re—”
“I’m not making any promises, and I’m not saying we’re in a relationship. But we can…” She gulped. “We can date. Sometimes. Casually.”
He grew still beneath her. “Exclusively?”
“Yeah.” This time, when her bun came tumbling
down, she let it. “For now. But if I boot your ass out my door next week and break your heart, don’t blame me.”
“I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.” With the lightest touch she’d ever felt, he brushed a piece of her hair away from her cheek. “I’d thank you.”
“You’d thank me for breaking your heart?” She huffed out a laugh, giddy and disoriented.
He nodded. “I’d thank you. For letting me give it to you in the first place.”
She didn’t believe that. She couldn’t. But before she could argue further, his arms had encircled her, enveloping her in his heat and that wonderful better-than-chicken-wings-beer-and-potato-chips scent. At that point, she’d have sworn they couldn’t get any closer. Somehow, though, he managed to hold her even tighter against him, until a breath couldn’t come between their bodies. Then, as if from the outside, she watched herself raise her mouth, and his lips were rubbing so gently against hers she could have cried.
And she really didn’t feel like arguing anymore.
15
As Sam pulled into the crowded parking lot and began to hunt for a free space, Con tilted her head. “You’re taking me to Buccaneer Times on our first date? Way to bring the romance, Wolcott.”
Somehow, she’d pictured something…different. Candles. Roses. Tablecloths. Not so much burly, bearded dudes in puffy shirts grappling with each other amidst cries of “Arrrrr!” while she downed overpriced rum concoctions.
“What?” With a wordless grunt of triumph, he maneuvered into the narrow gap between two trucks. “You wanted something more formal?”
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“If I’d handed you a bouquet of red roses, taken you somewhere that required a dress instead of jeans, and served you lobster by candlelight, we both know you’d have been out the door. Immediately. So fast we’d have only seen a Con-shaped blur in your vicinity.” He turned the key in the ignition. “Thus my decision to avoid a romantic, intimate dinner for our first date. Instead, let’s eat turkey legs and throw the bones on the floor while we cheer for playacting pirates to disembowel one another.”
