Another Chance at Love (Another Series Book 1)

by Suzanne Sweeney

  Favorite shirt? I look down to see what he’s talking about and notice I’m wearing a concert tee that is obviously well worn. No wonder it smells like him.

  “You like Van Halen?”

  “Yeah. It’s the first concert Evan and I ever went to. Last year, they played in Colorado at the Red Rock Amphitheatre. We went to see them again, only this time, Evan arranged for us to hang out with the band in the green room before the concert. It’s an experience I’ll never forget.”

  “Wow! That sounds great. What’s the best concert you’ve ever seen?” I ask.

  “Oh, that’s a tough one.” He takes a big bite of his sandwich as he contemplates his answer. “The Stones were pretty amazing, but I guess I’d have to say U2 put on the best show. How about you? Do you like to go to concerts?”

  “I used to go all the time. Last summer, Cait, Brie and I went to see Maroon 5 on the beach in Atlantic City. Nick Jonas opened for them. It was totally worth fighting with the crowds on the beach just to see those shows.”

  “So I take it you like men with tattoos?”

  “Not usually, but when it comes to Adam Levine, all reason flies out the window. When he sings, I just . . .” I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

  “Okay, okay. Got it. No concerts for you anytime in the near future. Maybe I’ll have to take some singing lessons just to get your attention.”

  I push his plate to the side and crawl onto his lap. “You get my attention just by breathing,” I whisper in his ear. I knit my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and trail kisses all over his beautiful face, along his jawline, on the tip of his nose, under his ear, and take the occasional nibble on his earlobe.

  His hands are caressing my bare bottom, holding me tightly against him.

  As we sit there, half naked and alone in his kitchen, I realize that this is exactly where I want to be. And this is the exact person I want to spend my time with. I can’t imagine ever tiring of watching him walk shirtless around the kitchen with bed-head and bare feet, getting grabby with roaming hands and indecent thoughts as we talk about silly senseless things like concerts and tattoos. How simple it all seems. And how perfectly easily we fit together.

  When we break apart, I slide off his lap and start gathering the dirty plates and take them to the sink to wash. “Are you done?” I ask, gathering up his now empty plate, too.

  “I wouldn’t mind a little more orange juice – if it’s not too much trouble,” he answers.

  “Um, Cole?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You gave me like four orgasms since we got here. I’m pretty sure I owe you a little more than a glass of OJ.”

  His face is pure male satisfaction, with a hint of mischief. “Are you having any more?”

  “Four was pretty fantastic,” I chuckle, filling his glass to the brim. Warm hands suddenly slip around my waist from behind, pulling me snugly back against him. His hands find their way under my shirt and are slowly traveling up my body.

  “Hey, I can’t be naked and wash your dishes at the same time,” I protest, slapping at his hands. But if I’m being truly honest, I don’t try very hard remove those gorgeous hands from my still humming body.

  “You sure about that?” he whispers all hot and bothered in my ear.

  “I’m gonna make a mess,” I warn.

  “I’m gonna watch you make a mess,” he warns back, now sweeping my hair up and kissing my neck.

  “I’m gonna hit you with this spatula,” I threaten.

  “I’m gonna bend you over this counter.”

  Dirty dishes are quickly forgotten. Granite countertop is completely defiled.

  . . . Twenty minutes and one orgasm later . . .

  “Am I hurting you?”

  “Depends. Can you feel me breathing?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then I’m good.”

  “I’d say you were more than good.”

  “Well, of course you’d say it. You’re still inside me.”

  “Dirty girl.”

  “I’m not, though. Seriously, this is so unlike me.”

  “Apparently not.”

  “Don’t confuse the me with the characters I write about. Suzi is wild, adventurous, and has very few boundaries. She gets to do things that I would never do.”

  “Well, I think there’s more of Suzi inside you than you’re willing to admit. And I like when you let her out to play. This side of you is so completely irresistible. I just can’t get enough.” Cole punctuates this sentence with a kiss in the middle of my back. I am still leaning across the counter, my shirt pushed up around my neck with Cole slumped across me, resting most of his weight on me and I feel protected, cherished, and contented.

  “Grilled cheese and pickles are my new favorite meal,” he mutters from somewhere just above my bottom.

  “Mine, too. I wonder if Adam Levine has any songs about it,” I tease.

  “Nope, sorry but Annie Lennox beat him to it years ago.”

  “Do you mean there’s actually a song about grilled cheese?” I giggle, reaching out my arms to stretch my muscles.

  “Sweet dreams are made of cheese,” he sings under his breath. “Who am I to diss a brie?” He leans down and places another kiss between my shoulders.

  “I don’t think those are the actual words to the song, Stretch,” I laugh as he bites me on the ass.

  Laughing and teasing after sex isn’t something I’m used to. There has been more passion, more promise in the last few hours than I had ever experienced in my entire relationship with Trent. When I asked Trent to cuddle or hold me after sex, he’d just accuse me of being needy and insecure. And that men’s brains are programmed to shut down after sex thanks to the release of certain hormones.

  Sex has always been a healthy part of my past relationships. Aside from longing for the post-coital handholding, I was always satisfied and content. Those two words . . . satisfied and content . . . seem to pale in comparison to what I’m feeling right now. I guess my expectations were a little low. In just one night, Cole has ruined me for all other men.

  But what are Cole’s expectations? He’s not just some guy, he’s a real man. He’s going to want to share important events with me, take me out to meet his friends, and do all the typical things that a couple does together. I can’t do any of those things.

  Well, at least we had tonight. I move a bit, just enough so that he gets the hint and he stands up, pulling me with him. I hasten to pull my shirt down, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable.

  He senses the change and catches my hand. “Hey.”

  “Hey,” I answer, resisting the pull for a second. But one look at that messy hair and I fall helplessly against his chest. There is no frenzy, no frantic now. I rest my head on him as he leans against the counter, running his hands up and down my spine as I listen to him breathing.

  It feels wrong to do so, but I can’t help but recall the last time I had listened to a man’s heartbeat. How Trent’s heartbeat would start off strong and sure, and little by little it would slow down until his breathing was deep and even. Then, and only then, would I allow myself to fall asleep. What was I waiting for? What did I need that I wasn’t getting?

  And why do I allow that spineless cheater and liar to creep into my mind when all I should be thinking about is how good it feels to be in someone’s arms? In Cole’s strong arms.

  As humans, I think we crave patterns and habits. It makes life predictable. Decisions are easily made based on previous experiences and knowledge. There’s less debate and weighing the pros and cons and more time to live. So I suppose it’s natural to recall those times when I had those connections.

  When I started this new life in Point Pleasant, it always felt strange to me that I had no one to truly share my routine with. I felt alone and adrift, never truly tethered to this place. There was not a soul that knew or cared if I left the cap off the toothpaste. No one to remind me to set my alarm before I fall asleep. And no one to critique me when I
sing in the shower – which I am quite good at, by the way.

  But now there is someone who knows my comings and goings. And more importantly, wants to share his routines with me, as well. He knows that I cannot truly start my day until I’ve had a venti caramel macchiato. And he knows that it’s his voice I want to hear before I fall asleep at night.

  Perhaps most importantly, he knows when I’m worried or nervous by just listening to the sound of my voice or the look on my face.

  But there’s so much more I want to know about him. As the lucky woman wrapped up in Cole’s warm embrace, there are certain things that I cannot wait to learn. Little things like does he prefer late night shagging or early morning nookie? And the more important stuff like the order he puts on his socks and shoes – sock, sock, shoe, shoe . . . or sock, shoe, sock, shoe. One is normal and natural, and the other might be a deal breaker.

  When I first began to set down roots here, I did so with my guard up and strong fences built. I kept my old friends close and my family closer. I never spent much time exploring my new community or getting to know my new neighbors unless Cait and Brie forced me out of my protective shell.

  I think deep down, I was afraid of making connections to this place and these people because experience tells me that both could be ripped from me without notice or warning.

  But here I am, opening up myself to Cole and allowing him to see my vulnerabilities. I feel that connection with him, like a lifeline to my humanity. He makes me stronger, bolder, and braver.

  Bravery without fear is foolishness, so having a healthy modicum of fear is natural and advantageous. But I no longer feel frozen and stymied by it.

  I cuddle up to Cole, his warm arms wrapped solidly around me, and we breathe together. And before I know it, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lulls me out of my head and into a slow, drowsy peace.

  “Should we go?” he asks, his voice low and thick.

  “Where?” I question, burrowing deeper into his arms.

  And in response, those arms just pick me up and carry me into his bed. He tugs the sheets back with me still clinging to him, pressing my nose into his shoulder, inhaling deeply. “You smell amazing, you know that?”

  “I smell like fried butter and cheese,” he chuckles.

  I quickly wrap myself up in his sheets and pull his pillow up to my nose the moment he sets me down. Cole scurries around the room, turning off the lights and closing the blinds and curtains tightly. Dawn is just a few short hours away, and it seems he has no more intention of rising with the sun than I do.

  I watch as he strips off his shorts before he gets into bed. New information . . . my man likes to sleep in his birthday suit. Well, as they say, when in Rome . . .

  As soon as he climbs into bed with me, I wrap myself around him and run my hand across his naked torso. I trace every line, every peak and valley that majestically outlines his muscular frame.

  Has it really been so long that I’ve been without contact like this?

  Sleep looms heavily over me and slowly covers me like a fog. I yawn, and quickly try to stifle it. I don’t want to fall asleep first.

  Cole sweeps my hair gently, lulling me into oblivion. “We both need our sleep, Kenny. It’s alright. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. I heard something on the news earlier tonight.”

  “Really? What’s that?”

  “Your game against the Padres tonight was cancelled.”

  He pulls back and looks at me oddly. “Strange. I think I would have heard.”

  “It’s San Diego. They can’t make it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “The team plane was hijacked by pirates on the way here. They’re on their way to Mozambique.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah. I’m surprised you didn’t know that.”

  “You’re right. I am surprised I didn’t catch that on the news.”

  “I guess you better stay home, then.” I sigh, snaking my leg over his.

  “Can’t do that.”

  “I know.”

  We both sigh. But it’s mostly naked sighing, so there’s that.

  “Wake up, sweetheart.” Cole brushes my hair off my face and kisses my cheek.

  “Hmph.”

  “I have to go for a run, babe, I need you to wake up.”

  Go? I open my eyes and take in the view. God, he’s a nice way to wake up. “Mornin,” I murmur and stretch.

  “Good morning.”

  I sit up and let the sheet drop to my lap and push my hair back over my shoulders. Cole’s eyes are on my breasts and I grin. “Like what you see?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Stay here and show me.” I lay back and open my arms to him. He climbs across the bed and kisses me, hovering over me.

  “I can’t stay. I have to go train for a while. Not far, just one mile, maybe two. You can come with me if you want.” He kisses my nose as I laugh up at him.

  “Sorry, but I don’t run. And if you ever see me running, you’d better start running too because that means that something is chasing me.”

  He chuckles, kisses me again, and then sits up. “You’re funny. Okay, then lazy bones, stay here and look gorgeous in my bed. I have to go get tortured for a while.”

  As soon as I hear him leave, I drag my ass out of bed. “Ouch,” I mutter, walking around the room with a slight limp – my hips aching from how he’d manhandled me last night. I smile inside, remembering exactly how I got in this much pain.

  I head straight for the master bathroom. A place that I’d only briefly visited in the dark. It feels odd to be in a strange bathroom, almost as if I’m trespassing. But what my body needs right now is a shower. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to allow Cole to return from his run to find me a rumpled, stinky mess.

  It feels like an invasion of his privacy as I begin to open and close drawers, looking for anything that I might need. Eventually, I find a towel, a washcloth, a disposable razor, and a brand-new still-in-the-wrapper toothbrush.

  As I let the cascading water sooth my aching muscles, I grab his shampoo, open the cap, and inhale. Ahh! It smells just like him – hints of cedar, citrus, and lavender that give it the distinctive woodsy scent that drives me crazy.

  I contemplate whether or not I should wash with it, and I quickly decide to go for it. He has a game later and I have to go to work. What a pleasure it will be to have a fragrant reminder of him with me all day and night.

  After my shower, my first order of business is to figure out what I want to wear. I find my panties and wash them in the sink. While they’re drying, I take a quick gander through his closet. There’s an assortment of team jerseys hanging in the closet. I reach in and pull a random shirt from the collection and debate – should I or shouldn’t I?

  He never leaves the house dressed in his jersey. The uniform for tonight’s game is laundered and waiting for him in the locker room.

  I turn it around and look at his name emblazoned on the back above a huge number nine. It doesn’t look worn and it doesn’t smell like him. What have I got to lose? Throwing caution to the wind, I tear off the towel and pull on the shirt that could easily pass for a dress with the proper belt and boots.

  Looking at myself in the mirror, I can’t decide if I look cute as hell, or awkward and ridiculous. I guess I’ll let Cole’s reaction be my barometer.

  I spend a few minutes in the bathroom blow-drying my hair and panties before I head down to make a pot of coffee.

  Holy hell, I’m hungry. I grab my phone and let Pandora select the music for me today and I am rewarded with a little Flo Rida to dance to as I ransack his kitchen.

  Perhaps I should cook Cole breakfast. After all, he fed me in the middle of the night. But all I can find are eggs, and I seriously doubt he wants to come down with a bad case of salmonella poisoning just a few hours before a game.

  Wait – is that . . . bacon? I can cook bacon. Sure, I might burn it a little,
but it will still be bacon, right? I set about frying some bacon, dancing my way around the kitchen.

  Being busy is good. It allows a bit of time to think but not too deeply. Music blaring in my ears also helps to stave off deep thought. I’m distracted by the memory of last night. His words, his body, his lovemaking . . . I close my eyes as my body hums at the recollection, and my muscles contract deliciously deep in my belly.

  Cole has a state-of-the-art range, but I think I have the hang of it. I need to find something to drain the bacon on when it’s done cooking. I turn, and Cole is standing beside one of the barstools at the breakfast bar.

  He is dressed in running shorts and athletic shoes, his sweat-soaked shirt tossed carelessly over his shoulder. Still breathing a little quickly and glistening with sweat over tanned skin and rippling muscles, Cole McGuire is delicious.

  His eyes take in the sight of me in his jersey. I presume he likes what he sees. His head sways and his breath is rough before his open mouth locks onto mine. My fingers slide over his bare chest and wiggle down under his shorts. He shudders ever so slightly under my touch. He reaches over to turn off the stove while he kicks his shoes off at the same time.

  In one quick movement he leans down, catching my waist with his shoulder. His arm wraps around my legs to hold me in place. I giggle as he quickly carries me back up the stairs to his bedroom.

  I’m so glad I took a shower.

  CHAPTER 17

  “SO . . . HOW DID IT GO?” Cait grins and raises her eyebrows. She notices the way I’m beaming.

  I glance around to make sure we are alone before holding my hand up and spreading my five fingers out to her.

  “Five?” she whispers in amazement.

  I give her a devilish grin and nod my head.

  “Did you take my advice and feed him well to keep his energy level up?”

  “Oh, he ate very well last night and again this morning— several times. Wait, did you mean feed him food?” I tease.

  “I hope you let that poor boy sleep a little. He has a game tonight.”