Driven to Distraction

by Olivia Dade

  “That makes me the happiest man alive, love.” After a gentle brush of his mouth against hers, he eased her into her seat and strapped her in again. “Have you gotten through everything you wanted to tell me?”

  She leaned back and closed her eyes, figuring that was answer enough.

  His warm knuckles trailed lightly over her forehead, and the car started to move again. “Then let’s get you home. I need to take care of my sick girl. And when you’re feeling better, I promise to let you take care of me in return.”

  * * * *

  Con’s opportunity to play caretaker came sooner than either one of them expected.

  After four days of lazing in Sam’s bed, reading, watching ESPN, chatting with her friends, and eating the food they brought daily, she was feeling almost back to normal. Still with a little cough and fatigue, but nothing major. No fever. No crackling sounds in her chest when she breathed, and no pain anywhere.

  She was thumbing through a gardening catalog, going out of her skull with boredom, when she noticed Sam’s absence. God knew, the man deserved a break from catering to her every whim. She certainly wasn’t going to call him to her side. Even though she kind of wanted to.

  Yes, she realized the stupidity of that. She’d seen him less than thirty minutes ago, and they’d spent the last several days basically in constant contact. But Con didn’t make a habit of lying, not even to herself, so she had to admit it: She missed the big lug.

  So after another hour of silence in the rest of the house, she got up and went searching for him. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the living room. He wasn’t outside. He wasn’t in his office, tinkering with his computer.

  At long last, she finally noticed the closed door to the guest room. And although she hated to interrupt his privacy, she just needed to see him for a moment. To make sure he was okay.

  She rolled her eyes. Yeah, Chen. That’s totally why you’re hunting him down like a rogue cop with a beard vendetta. For his sake.

  When she knocked softly on the door, he didn’t answer. She opened it and peeked inside, figuring he’d decided to nap there for her sake. So she could watch TV in the master bedroom if she wanted. Typical considerate Sam. He knew she’d never turn on the damn thing if he were sleeping in the room.

  But he wasn’t napping. He was lying on the bed, sure, but his eyes were open. And he was curled up in a ball, arms wrapped around his middle.

  Two quick steps brought her to his side. “Are you all right?”

  In all the months she’d known him, she’d never seen him with such a pained expression. Not even when he’d watched her kick her CPU. A quick head-to-toe glance didn’t reveal any bleeding or injured body parts, but something was clearly amiss. A man didn’t assume the fetal position for no reason. At least, this man didn’t.

  “Yeah. I’m fine.” He swallowed hard. “Just… a little stomach bug, I think. Maybe a parting gift from the hospital. Don’t worry about it. You’re still recovering, and I’m sure it’ll pass soon.”

  She rested a hand on his forehead. Cool and sweaty. “You don’t have a fever, but you look like shit.”

  “What a lovely compliment.” Another hard swallow, and then he was gazing up at her with desperate appeal. “You need to stay back, because I’m not sure if—”

  He cut himself off, jumped to his feet, and ran toward the hall bathroom. He didn’t make it, which was unfortunate.

  Because that’s when Sam started throwing up everything he’d ever eaten in his entire life. Ten feet from the bathroom doorway. All over himself and the carpet and the walls. Also all over her, when she attempted to move him into the bathroom. Finally, she gave up and knelt by his side to support him while he vomited.

  He retched again and again, his eyes watering from the force of it. She simply held him as it happened, stroking his back and telling him he’d be okay. She’d take care of him. Of everything.

  Finally, the spasms stopped, and he supported himself on shaky arms. His voice was a rasp when he spoke. “I’m so sorry. I know this is gross. I’ll clean it up in a minute.”

  “You think you’re the first person who’s ever puked on me?” She helped him stand. “On the contrary. With eight siblings, I considered going a month without errant vomit or diarrhea a triumph. I’m not easily grossed out, honey. Let’s rinse your mouth and brush your teeth. Then we’ll need to do something about that beard of yours.”

  Within minutes, she’d wrestled him into the shower and gotten them both clean. Afterward, she installed him in his own bed with a small glass of water and a trash can placed within easy reach. He fell asleep almost immediately, poor lamb.

  Once he was resting quietly, she began working on the hallway mess. Luckily, the man had a few bottles of carpet cleaner, and she had a strong stomach. After she was done there, she took out the trash and scrubbed herself clean in the shower a second time.

  When she crawled back into bed by his side, she was exhausted and worried about him. But she was also happy. Very, very happy.

  Sam woke up as soon as her weight hit the mattress, and he turned with a groan to face her. “I’ve never seen anyone so delighted to clean up barf.”

  “I finally got a chance to take care of you.” She tugged lightly at his soft, clean beard. “At long last.”

  “Yeah. Unfortunately.” His hand covered hers, pressing it to his cheek. “How’d it feel?”

  She searched for the right word. “Satisfying. In a weird, vomit-y way.”

  “And annoying? Too much to handle?”

  She blew out a breath. “Nah. You couldn’t help being sick. And I love you. I’d do anything for you. With no hesitation or resentment.”

  His warm brown eyes caught hers. “I know. Con, I always knew.”

  “I wanted to prove it to you. To myself. So I could be sure before I asked you.”

  Leaning forward, she kissed his knuckles. They were dry and cracked, and she made a mental note to get some lotion for his bedside.

  His ruddy brows drew together. “Asked me what?”

  “Samuel Alston Wolcott…” She brought his hand to her chest and laid it over her heart. “Will you marry me?”

  21

  After Con announced the news, Sam couldn’t hear a goddamn thing for almost ten minutes. An avalanche of women descended on the two of them, shouting congratulations at top volume while the guys attempted to clap him on the back and talk over their significant others. Unsuccessfully, of course, since no one could drown out Angie or Sarah in full cry.

  Finally, though, hugs had been dispensed to all and sundry, Penny had wiped away happy tears with the help of her husband, and the volume in the room dropped to reasonable levels. Sam collapsed into his kitchen chair, more than a little shell-shocked by everyone’s sheer enthusiasm.

  Then, of course, the real inquisition began.

  “No ring yet?” Penny asked.

  “With both of us so sick, we haven’t felt like shopping,” Sam said. “But we’ll do it soon. Maybe next week?”

  Con nodded in agreement and took another bite of her sandwich.

  “So let me get this straight.” Angie drummed her fingers against her chin. “He blew chunks all over you and everything else in his immediate vicinity. You cleaned barf out of his carpet. And that’s when you decided you needed to have him in your life forever? Not when he carried you out of the Verizon Center like a BDSM-loving alpha billionaire claiming his virgin submissive?”

  Three days after The Unfortunate Incident in the Hallway—as Sam chose to refer to it—they were both feeling much better. Well enough to invite her friends over and share the big news. It was a choice he was now starting to regret.

  “How did you know he carried me out?” Con asked through a mouthful of sandwich.

  Sam eyed her meal longingly. “Good question.”

  The entire circle of friends had gathered in his kitchen, and Con was downing an enormous turkey, cheddar, and avocado sub, along w
ith her usual accompaniments: pickles, chips, and sodas. For the sake of insurance, he was only having a few slices of dry toast.

  Well, mostly. Whenever Con glanced the other way, he was stealing a few of her delicious-looking chips. If she caught him at it, she might very well impale him with her fork, but it’d be worth the tine-shaped stab wounds. He was starving.

  Wes snorted. “You think the TV cameras were going to ignore a lumberjack carrying a semi-conscious woman out of the rink? Please. The only question was whether you were kidnapping her or saving her.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Sam groaned.

  “The commentators and online poll were pretty evenly split,” Wes said. “If I remember correctly, sixty percent thought you were kidnapping her. Then the goalies started fighting, and everyone forgot all about you. I think they cut you out of the rebroadcast yesterday, in favor of more slo-mo shots of the masks and pads coming off.”

  “Nothing like a good goalie brawl.” Con sighed happily. “Sorry we missed seeing it live.”

  Helen was staring at Con and Wes in disbelief. “Why are we talking about grown men fighting over a chunk of rubber when my best friend just got engaged out of the blue?”

  “Yeah, it does seem a little quick.” Angie aimed a naughty grin at Con. “You knocked up? Or simply impatient to claim that manly slab of lumberjack goodness?”

  The image imprinted itself upon Sam’s mind, beautiful and clear and so sweet it pierced his heart.

  Con, pregnant with his child.

  The baby would have dark hair, like hers. Definitely brown eyes. And given the language both he and Con used, any child of theirs would begin cursing up a storm before the age of two. He would get the kid a tiny little hockey stick and bring her to the ice rink on the weekends. Shit, he’d bring her everywhere.

  Sometimes he thought he’d been lonely his entire life before meeting Con. Before falling in love with her. And now, through her, he was getting everything he’d always wanted. If not right away, then soon. Whenever Con wanted to throw out her pills or IUD—or whatever she used for birth control—and start trying to get pregnant.

  A complete family at long last. The thought of it almost brought him to tears.

  “Haha, Angie.” Con propped her feet on his thighs. “Babies aren’t in my future, as you well know. I just want to make Sam Mr. Chen as soon as possible. No point in fucking around.”

  Those words stole his breath in a completely different way. Babies weren’t in her future? Con didn’t want children? At all? Full stop?

  She’ll change her mind about a baby, he reassured himself. Like she did about relationships. Hell, at one point she didn’t even want a boyfriend, and she just asked you to marry her. So give her enough time, and she’ll want a child. Lots of children. A family like the one she had growing up.

  His stupid brain offered a counterpoint. A memory from the recent past. Con, delirious. Tossing in her hospital bed, anxious and overwhelmed by her responsibilities to her siblings.

  He batted the vision aside. She’s not a kid anymore. This is completely different.

  Angie poked at his bicep, as if testing his muscles. “I don’t blame you for hustling him to the courthouse. As Penny once told Helen, he’s a catch. Good thing Helen didn’t listen, huh?”

  Helen threw her hands in the air. “For the millionth time, could you please refrain from bringing up my sexual history with Penny’s brother? AKA my best friend’s fiancé?”

  “Seconded.” Wes sighed heavily. “I know it happened. If I want to keep Sam as one of my buddies, though, I need to stop hearing about it.”

  “Hmm.” Angie’s head tilted as she mulled it over. “I’ll agree to that. But only if we stop discussing how many times Grant and I had sex in the Battlefield workroom.”

  With a pained noise, Grant buried his face in his hands. “Oh, God.”

  Penny’s jaw dropped as she stared at Angie. “But you’re the one who keeps bringing it up. The rest of us would rather sear that memory from our brains with a flamethrower.”

  “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Angie grinned. “I guess you’re all out of luck then.”

  A chorus of groans resounded around the kitchen, and Sam forced a smile at the banter. His thoughts, though, remained a million miles away, focused on the prospect of never having children with Con. Never having children, period. Never having a real family.

  But she said she’d do anything for you. And Con never lies.

  Sure, having a child wasn’t something a woman should do only to please her partner. But Con would be an amazing mom, and he would support her every step of the way. Maybe take on the lion’s share of the childrearing, if that’s what she wanted.

  If he was patient, she’d eventually share his vision of their future.

  And when a weird clutch deep in his gut said otherwise, he decided that was just the remnants of his stomach virus reacting to the stolen chips.

  * * * *

  After their friends left, Con crawled into bed for her usual afternoon nap. The habit had started her first day back from the hospital, and although the naps were getting shorter and shorter, she still seemed to need them. Much to her disgust. If extra rest would help her recover more quickly, though, she was willing to bite the down-filled bullet. Especially since Sam always joined her in bed at some point and snoozed by her side.

  Sure enough, Sam was lying beside her when she woke up, but he wasn’t sleeping. Instead, he was staring at the ceiling. Lost in contemplation, he didn’t blink or flinch when she moved. And his face was drawn in concern, the lines around his mouth etched deep.

  She didn’t understand it. The two of them were recovering nicely, and they’d just celebrated their engagement with their closest friends, including his sister. What could possibly be worrying him?

  Then a thought occurred to her, and she exhaled slowly. Of course. Of course Sam was sad. He was probably missing his father. Thinking about how he couldn’t call his dad to announce the engagement or invite him to the ceremony. Maybe contemplating his relationship with his mother too. Given that she hadn’t cared enough to attend Penny’s wedding, she almost certainly wouldn’t come to his either. Had Sam even tried to call or text his mom with the news?

  Luckily, he had Penny, as well as a new family to help him through his grief and pain. Their circle of friends had embraced Sam wholeheartedly over the past few months. He was part of the group now, for better or worse. He’d never have much privacy again, but he’d never find himself alone in times of trouble, either. They’d support him. Always. Without question.

  And he had her. She would love him and take care of him, now and forever.

  Right now, taking care of him meant getting his mind off his parents. So she crawled on top of him and rested her head on his chest. He jerked to attention, his arms instinctively circling her back to pull her closer. And after a minute, his stiff body began to relax under hers.

  “You know…” Her hands began to explore his beloved, familiar body, coasting along his sides and trailing through the mat of hair on his broad chest. “I don’t feel tired anymore. Or weak.”

  His breath caught. “Good to hear. Neither do I.”

  “The Caps won last week, but we didn’t celebrate their victory the way we normally do. Which is sad, since it had become a tradition.” She took his nipple carefully between her teeth and rubbed her tongue against it, teasing until he gasped and shifted beneath her in restless arousal. Then she released him, adding, “Traditions are very important in a happy marriage, I hear.”

  His cock had already turned half hard, as she confirmed with a stroke of her hand, and it was rising fast. Good. She could safely conclude he wasn’t thinking about his parents anymore.

  He rolled her beneath him with the swiftness and strength that always made her wet. “Are you saying you’ve recovered enough for cunniwingus? And maybe a good, long fuck afterward?”

  Taking hold of his ass in both hands, she squeezed firmly
. The way he liked it. The way that made him rumble deep in his chest, like he was doing now. “That’s what I’m saying. You up for it?”

  His laugh sounded hoarse. “You grabbed my dick a moment ago. You tell me.”

  “Getting there.” She grinned up at him.

  “By the time I finish licking your pussy, I’ll be all the way there. No worries.”

  Using oral sex to distract Sam from his worries was selfish, she knew. But the man really did enjoy eating her out. There was no disguising how much, between the sounds he made and how hard he got by the time she came.

  His mouth trailed down the center of her body, licking and nibbling along the way. Within minutes, her legs were slung over his shoulders, his face was buried between her thighs, and his fingers were tweaking her nipples in time to the movements of his tongue. All she had to do was enjoy. Heaven.

  She shoved a pillow beneath her head so she could look down at him. See his face wet with her arousal. See his tongue as he prodded and flicked her clit. The vision was graphic and lewd and so arousing she could barely breathe.

  But when she began to gasp, he suddenly stopped. “Is that oh-God-tongue-fuck-me-until-I-come-all-over-your-face breathlessness or I-can’t-breathe-because-of-pneumonia breathlessness?”

  “Option A.” She nudged at his head, trying to get him back to work.

  He laughed and gave her a long, lascivious lick from her slit to her clit. “Impatient?”

  “The sooner I get there, the sooner I ride you. Until you’re spurting so deep in my tight pussy, I’ll be full of your come for days.” She fisted a handful of his floppy hair and tugged. Just hard enough that the pleasure-pain made him hiss out a breath through his teeth. “Eat me, Wolcott. So I can fuck you into last year.”

  His body tightened all over. “You’re going to kill me one of these days, Chen.”

  He returned to his task with new vigor, raising her knees and spreading her thighs wide, tongue-fucking her while his fingers slicked over her clit with total mastery. She watched it all, whimpering and writhing, until she had to toss her head back and close her eyes in imminent orgasm.