“Thanks,” she says again, and my smile stretches even further across my face.
“No, thank you. If you hadn't attacked that guy, I wouldn't have been able to get the girl.”
Never shrugs.
“If you hadn't stuck around, I'd have been dead. You could've left through the back door, you know.”
“Never even crossed my mind,” I admit. I bite at my lip ring nervously, unsure where to take things from here. Not just with the scene in the convenience store, but with the strange urge I have towards this girl. I really, really do want to take her dancing. And not just to try and score afterwards. I kind of … I just kind of like her flair.
I run my hand through my hair and try not to sigh. I don't want to give her the wrong idea.
When she starts to pick glass shards from her hand, that protective urge smashes into me like a truck, and I can't stop myself from reaching out and taking hold of her wrist.
“Need some help?” I ask, and Never's hazel eyes snap up to mine. Are you fucking crazy? She asks with that look, but I don't know what to say. Instead, I focus on removing the broken bits and ignoring the slight swell of blood from her palm.
I've got to ask this girl out. But not on a date. Sex is not on the menu.
If I only knew what a big step that was for me. Monstrous. Huge. Monumental.
For once in my life, my instincts are dead fucking on.
STORY #3: Disney Princes and Shit, Keeping Never Chapter 31.5
Our next short story falls between the last chapter and the epilogue in Keeping Never. Ty McCabe, would you please sing for me, next?
Disney Princes and Shit: Keeping Never, Chapter 31.5
Never Ross
I'm sitting on the edge of a chair, fingers curled around the seat, eyes locked onto Ty McCabe's sweaty back as he shovels piles of newspapers and magazines into a garbage can. The massive horde isn't as bad upstairs as it is downstairs, but somehow it seems more ominous. Maybe it's because we've decided to stay here, to make this place our own, to try something new?
My stomach twists and turns, and I can't help but place a hand across my growing belly. It feels huge now, like I'm permanently wedged into the center of a tire, lugging the rubber around on my waist like a belt. Ty pauses, turning to glance at me over his shoulder. Somehow, it seems he can sense whenever I'm distressed, even if it's just a little thing. Last night, I took my shoes off to give my swollen feet a break and accidentally stepped on a tack. The way he ran down the stairs, scooped me up in his arms, you'd think I'd broken my leg.
“You okay, baby?” he asks, frowning at my reddened cheeks, the little beads of moisture clinging to my forehead, my shaking hands. If he only knew that those particular symptoms have everything to do with his shirtless-ness and not much at all to do with my pregnancy. He'd probably walk around like a gloating peacock, the bastard.
I force a smile and pretend I'm not so turned on I could jump his bones. It's hard to find a place to fuck in this house. It doesn't feel right yet. When it's cleaned out, maybe then. Right now, there are too many memories hiding amongst the trash piles. I still worry that Ty won't be able to handle living here full-time, but he seems okay. Happy, even. Anyway, we've both already informed the school that we won't be there next semester. That frightens me, truly, it does, but I know that Ty and I will be okay because we're together. At this point, I don't even care what happens, so long as I can hold his ringed hand in mine, find his lips pressing hot and insistent against my mouth, feel his cock filling me up at night.
“I'm fine,” I answer honestly. I rub my stomach, trying to push away the queasy feeling. I don't think I'm good at this whole pregnancy thing. Beth, the stupid bitch, keeps sending me pictures of herself, glowing like a sun goddess, whipping up organic meals she found on freaking Pinterest. She refuses to talk about Danny over the phone though, so I have no way of knowing if that fight Ty had with him made any difference in their relationship. I hope so. I hope Danny the Douche ran as far away as his legs could carry him. “Just a little tired is all.” And horny. That second part won't be a problem though. Ty and I are getting good at improvising when it comes to finding a nice, safe spot for a quickie. The bigger I get, though, the harder it becomes. Ugh. Who knew? Me, Never Nicholas Ross, pregnant. I'm still reeling from the very thought.
Ty puts down his shovel, runs an arm across his sweaty forehead and strips off his gloves, dumping them into the garbage can along with the rest of the trash. When he comes over to kneel down next to me, my entire body goes numb, and I find that I'm having trouble breathing. Even now, even after all we've been through, I still go weak at the knees when Ty takes me in his arms. I hope we stay like this forever.
“Do you want to go back to the hotel?” he asks, raising his pierced brow and then pressing a kiss to my bare knee. I find my fingers drawn to the dark swirl of hair on his head. It feels so good to play with it, know that I'm the only woman who's going to be touching him from this day forward. My grip tightens when I think of that bitch, Hannah. That pedophile freak stole Ty's virginity from him and then had the audacity to give him her phone number when we ran into her in that coffee shop. We've been back to the city a handful of times since then, but haven't seen her. I don't expect to. I mean, it is New York after all.
“Can we get a strawberry shake on the way there?” I ask, putting my fingers under his chin and lifting his face for a kiss. When our mouths meet, I get goose bumps. I knew the second you two walked in that damn door, Vanessa, our Sexual Obsession Group counselor, told me over the phone last week. That you were going to succeed, but that you weren't gonna last. Her laughter echoes around inside my head as Ty pulls away and tugs on my earring.
“We can get fifty strawberry shakes if that's what you want.” He grins. “With pickles in them.” I wrinkle my nose and stick out my tongue. Pregnant or not, I still hate fucking pickles. “Or I could just give you my pickle and we can call it even.”
I snort and find my fingers splayed against his sweaty chest.
“You're a pervert,” I tell him matter-of-factly as he sits back on his haunches and grins. When he sees my eyes firmly focused on the swell of his muscular arms, he lifts his arm and squeezes his bicep.
“But a sexy one, right?” I roll my eyes.
“You're all sorts of things, Tyson Monroe McCabe.”
“Like what?” he stands up and reaches out for my fingers, pulling me to my feet with a groan.
“You said you fancy yourself a Disney Prince, but you've never sung for me. I guess that makes you a liar.”
“Oh, whoa,” Ty says, letting go of my hands and placing them on my belly. I glance away and he reaches out, touching my chin to get me to look at him. He knows how weird this pregnancy thing is for me, how hard all of these changes are going to be. But he'll keep us on track, I know he will. Besides, there is no way in hell I cleaned up my act and suffered through three years of school to stop now. “You have a good memory there, Mrs. McCabe.” I give him a look. “Okay, okay, the future Mrs. McCabe.”
“Huh.”
“But if you want me to sing for you, I can make that happen.” I try to pull away, but Ty doesn't let me go, spinning me around so he can press his chest against my back. “I am warning you in advance though. I think I'm fucking tone deaf.”
“You don't have to sing for me,” I say, but the words come out in a whisper, and I find myself closing my eyes against the heat of his body. Some people might say that Ty and are I making a terrible decision, coming here, staying here, having this baby, but I don't care. What they don't get, and what they couldn't possibly understand is that Ty McCabe is the other half of my soul. To me, he's the light that drives out the darkness, and that's all that matters. Everything else, it'll fall into place, come together. I'm not worried about that.
“But I want to,” he says and then hums low under his breath. “Mmm. What song do I song? Decisions, decisions.”
“Hush, Little Baby,” I say randomly. I have some vague memo
ries of my father singing it to us girls, but it was so long ago, and those moments so obscured with worse ones that I'm not sure if that's true or just a product of my imagination.
Ty, bless his fucking bloody, black, beating heart, clears his throat.
“Hush, little baby, don't say a word, McCabe's gonna buy you a fuckin' mockingbird. If that mockingbird won't sing, McCabe's gonna buy you a diamond ring.” Ty touches his fingers to my hand, to the two rings he gave me that used to belong to his grandmother. Yes, I'll admit, his singing won't be winning any Grammy Awards – and I'm pretty sure our child's first word is going to be fuck – but I like it anyway. I like him, and the way he doesn't give a shit if the world is looking, if what he does seems silly, if other people stare.
I laugh at him, but he won't stop. Now that I've gotten him started, he's enjoying making me squirm.
“And if that diamond ring turns brass, McCabe's gonna fuck you right in the ass.”
I snort with laughter and elbow him in the stomach, cutting our lovely little Disney inspired lullaby short.
“That is not what the prince said to Sleeping Beauty when he found her in the forest.” Ty raises both eyebrows this time and puts his hands on his hips.
“No, it's what he wanted to say to her. He was trying to be gentlemanly. Me, I already woke my princess up with a hell of a lot more than a kiss, and besides, we both know I'll never be the gentlemanly type, not like Noah Scott or some shit.” Ty gives me a look even though we both know Noah is completely and utterly out of the picture for me at this point. He just likes to tease, I think.
“Gentleman or not,” I tell him, and I mean each word that escapes my lips, sitting heavy on the air with the beat of my heart and the heat of my breath, “I love you, Ty McCabe, and I wouldn't change you for the world.”
STORY #4: From the Mouth of Tyson Monroe McCabe, Keeping Never, before the epilogue
This piece follows shortly after Story #3, another blip in time before the epilogue closes out book three of our Never say Never series.
From the Mouth of Tyson Monroe McCabe: Keeping Never, before the epilogue
Ty McCabe
Never and I are standing on the busy sidewalk, people flowing around us, breaking apart for just a split second to give us room to breathe. Occasionally someone jostles us, but mostly they don't. I'm pleasantly surprised by that.
“Well?” I ask, enjoying the feeling of her hand wrapped in mine. I think I knew from the moment I arrived at that convenience store that I'd grow to love this woman. Those protective instincts I felt during the robbery, the need to save her, to scoop her up, to see her smile, those are a thousand times stronger now than they were back then. Plus, she's pregnant. I try not to grin like a maniac. I get to be overprotective for two people now. It kind of fucking rocks. I like knowing that Never's marked by me, that I've taken her in a way that no other man could or ever fucking will. I keep my smile calm and easy, lest she realize all of the alpha male babble that's running through my brain. “What's it going to be for breakfast this morning? Pizza or scones?” It's a weird fucking question, yes, but Noah Scott's been sending Never these little envelopes filled with gift cards. I think it's his way of giving us money without actually sending cash. It bothers me, sure. I mean, I should be able to provide for the love of my life, but I also know that life is a process. I'm getting there, working towards the place I want to be. Besides, Never doesn't know it yet, but I've got a nest egg, money saved up from my time as a whore. It's what I'm going to use to keep us afloat until we get things in order, get enrolled in school, find jobs, whatever.
But right now, this is our most pressing concern: the coffee shop on the left or the pizza joint on the right. Since Never's carrying my baby around, I'm letting her pick. It's the least I can do, considering. I hope she knows my love doesn't just extend this far, that it goes all the way, that I'd run through hot lava to save her, let my body melt away into nothing as I carried her to safety.
“Scones,” she says, matter-of-factly. I turn and catch sight of her beautiful face, those hazel eyes that sparkle with flecks of green and gold. I even like the in-between state of her hair, the copper roots up top and the black and red on the bottom. I know she hates it, but I think it's symbolic. Neither here nor fucking there, right?
I smile and pull her to me, feeling the heady warmth of her body tucked against mine. The wind is cold today, whipping past us and teasing us with the ends of strangers' scarves. When I hold her against me like this though, I feel complete. Perfect. No other girl – no other person ever – has been able to make me feel this way.
My mouth finds her hair, my breath stirring the strands around as I hover and wait to press a kiss to her scalp. She squirms while we stand there, uncomfortable with the hordes of people passing by. I say, fuck the fucking fuckers. This is my girl, the other half of my soul, and I will touch and kiss and hug and love the shit out of her whenever, wherever.
“Are you trying to make me cranky right now?” she asks, and I can feel the husky slide of her voice against my body, brushing against the bare skin on my hands, my throat, my face. I want to fuck her so bad right now, take her up against one of these street lights or the side of the coffee shop. Holy hell in a hand basket.
“Why on earth would this,” I kiss her scalp again and then lift her chin up to look at me, “make you cranky?” My kiss lingers on her lips before I start working my way towards her ear, biting her lobe, sliding my tongue along the pulse in her throat. Never shoves me back and shakes herself out, blinking up at me with accusation burning in her eyes. “Because when you get horny, you get cranky?”
“Bite me,” Never says, and I only wish I could indulge her. Instead, I settle for following her inside the coffee shop. It's a place we've never been before, a chain, but a nice chain store, one that's trying really, really hard to look like a locally owned joint. The entire room is themed in blackbirds and sappy poetry quotes. Portraits of old people hang on the walls and although I know I should probably be aware of who these famous novelists and poets are, I'm not.
I find my attention drawn to Never's ass, cupped in a black skirt, her long legs covered in carefully ripped tights. Damn. Damn. Double damn. I look up just in time to intercept her as she turns to stare at me.
“What do you want?” she asks, gesturing at the chalk board behind the counter. The menu doesn't look drawn on though, but like it was printed that way. Hmm. I try not to laugh.
“You,” I say, and Never smiles at me, turning away and ordering two blueberry scones and some coffees, black. Just the way we like them. I'm not feeling particularly hungry, but I know I'm going to need the energy if I'm going to get this house cleaned up, turn it into a proper home for the most important person in my life. I really hope nothing gets in the way of that or I'm going to have to go ballistic. No more skating through life on a sea of shit. I can do this.
I step up beside Never and slide an arm around her waist, sparking interest between us, heat. Her nipples peak under her shirt, and I can feel the tense strain of her muscles as I drag her to me. The man behind the counter rolls his eyes and sets our plates and mugs on the counter.
“Every day with you is a good time,” I tell her and she laughs, reaching up to grab her food and tossing me a look over her shoulder.
“You have such lines, McCabe. Such lines. Have they always worked so well before?”
“Only on you, baby,” I say as we retreat to a corner table and sit side by side on the cushioned bench in the back. We're tucked behind an obnoxious statue, away from the doors to the bathrooms and the kitchen. It feels private back here, like we could fuck if we wanted and nobody would notice. I tap my fingers on the table and scope out the view. All I can see from here is a massive planter with a fake tree in it and the most miniscule of glimpses of the front counter. I don't even know how Never knew there was a spot back here.
“Eat your scone before I steal it,” she says, trying to take small bites of hers and failing. I smile and p
ush the plate across the table with a single finger.
“Take it, baby,” I say, leaning into her for a moment before I sit back up and drag her onto my lap. My arms go around Never's waist as I rest my head against her shoulder. “Eat up.”
“What about you?” she asks, but like she can't resist. Growing little McCabe babies makes a lady hungry. I chuckle softly.
“I'm fine. I just make the seed. You're the dirt, Nev.”
“Charming.”
“I know, right?” I press my nose against her sweater, smell that unique scent that only she has, some mixture of shampoo and lilac soap.
“Ty, don't,” Never says and she sounds strangely close to tears. I whip my head up and find her fingers splayed out on the table top, head turned away from me. When she glances back, I can see there are tears in her eyes.
“What's the matter?” I keep my voice low, gentle. Whatever it is, we'll get through it.
“Just don't … do whatever it is you're doing, I'm … kind of feeling sensitive right now if you haven't noticed.” She shrugs and tries her best not to blush. Doesn't work. “I am pregnant, after all, and it's your fault.”
“You're also horny. Is that the real problem?”
“Would you stop saying that? It's driving me crazy.”
I put my hand on Never's hips and spin her until she's straddling me. Neither of us misses the hard bulge in my pants or the way it presses against the sweet, warm spot between her legs.
“Ty.” There's a warning in her voice, but it's not serious, more … desperate.
“Shh. If you stay quiet, nobody has to know. We can make it quick.”
My mouth closes on hers and my fingers find their way down, between her legs and to those pesky fucking tights she's wearing. Fortunately, one of Never's artful rips is on her upper thigh. I slide my finger through it, teasing her soft flesh for a moment before I rip up, opening up a spot for us to have our fun.
Tasting, Finding, Keeping: The Story of Never Page 44
