Hitched (Hearts of Stone Book 2)

by Christine Manzari

  I did my best to take notes, but I couldn’t stop peeking out of the corner of my eye at him. I expected some snarky remark about the characters or the way they spoke, but he kept his attention on his own work. The only time he looked up was to get another slice of pizza or take a sip of his smoothie.

  After a while, I almost forgot he was there and finally gave Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy my full attention.

  “Most ardently,” Trace muttered beside me in his impression of a British accent. “That’s pretty smooth. I’ll have to remember that one.”

  I looked over to see that he’d put his book away and was now fully watching the movie, his arm slung over the back of the couch, his fingers dangerously close to touching the back of my neck.

  I opened my mouth to answer him, but Couch Cat interrupted, sprawling out on the floor at my feet. She was doing her mournful howling cry and swiping her arm under the couch, which she was too fat to fit under anymore.

  “Is she dying?” Trace asked, scowling down at my cat.

  I leaned over and paused the movie. “No. Her ball of catnip must have rolled under there. She always acts like that when she needs a hit. If I don’t get it for her, she’ll just keep doing that. Forever.”

  I got down on the floor and peered under the couch. I could see the ball had rolled pretty far underneath, almost to the wall. I reached as far as I could, trying to get it, but the toy was just beyond my fingertips.

  “I have to admit, when I imagined you on all fours, this was not at all what I had in mind.” Trace chuckled.

  I shot him a nasty look over my shoulder even though I remembered all too well how nice it was to be on all fours in front of him. Or sprawled out underneath him. Or pressed up against the wall.

  Settle down cowgirl. This is not a booty call. I repeat, this is not a booty call.

  Couch Cat continued to whine, so I laid down on my stomach and stretched as far as I could. My head was halfway under the couch when I finally wrapped my fingers around the ball. I gave it a hard swipe through the dust balls and reminded myself to add clean under the couch to my to-do list. The ball rolled to freedom and across the room where my demanding cat chased after it.

  I started to scoot back out and found…I couldn’t. I reached up to my head, and my heart plummeted.

  “Shit,” I muttered, wiggling my head back and forth. Ouch.

  “What’s wrong?” Trace bent over to look at me. “Are you stuck?”

  “My hair,” I whined. “My hair is all caught up in the springs.” My fingers worked furiously against the curls of metal to untangle my hair, but it was one giant knot, and I couldn’t see a damn thing.

  “Here. Let me help.” Trace knelt down in front of me to get in position for a better view. His strong fingers worked gently against my head and I could feel his hot breath on my neck. But all I could see was the fact that I was face-to-face with the giant bulge in his pants. I repeat…giant. A giant dick was an inch from my face, thrusting closer to my mouth with every movement he made. So help me God, my hair was knotted up like a set of Christmas lights and all I could think about was blowing Trace. And not the kind of blowing off I’d done earlier.

  “Man. You’ve made a mess of this,” he complained.

  He scooted closer for a better look at my predicament in the springs. When his groin pressed against my face, instinct finally kicked in. “Just get the scissors,” I yelled.

  Trace shuffled back on his knees and looked down at me. “You don’t want me to cut your hair, Cricket. You’ll have a huge bald spot. Just give me a second to work it out.” He started to get back in position, and I pushed him away with the arm that wasn’t trapped under the sofa. If he put his gigantic package in my face again, I was going to lose control and do something I would never be able to undo.

  Undo? Like his zipper?

  “Just cut it,” I shouted, using all my strength to shove his leg away. “I don’t care if there’s a bald spot. Just get me out of here.” I panicked and started wriggling, but I was just as stuck as before. I whimpered when I felt the sharp sting of my hair being pulled, but I kept thrashing around like a lunatic anyway.

  “Okay, okay.” He leaned back on his heels, hands up in surrender. “Where are the scissors?”

  I blew out a relieved breath. “Nightstand. Next to my bed. I have a sewing kit in there.”

  He stood up and his footsteps echoed across the floor as he went in my room. The moment I heard the drawer of my nightstand open, my brain finally started working again.

  Shit. Shit, oh shit, oh shit. Not the nightstand! How stupid could I be?

  “Cricket,” Trace’s voice echoed happily through the apartment. That one tiny word was full of amused accusation.

  I was never going to live this down. Never.

  A few seconds later, he came out of my room with scissors in one hand and…Buzz in the other. Trace’s smile couldn’t be any wider, and my humiliation couldn’t be any more complete. “Is this for later? Because I’d certainly like to help you out if you’re feeling a bit needy.” He waved Buzz around, his eyes a burnished gold as he gazed down at me.

  I stared helplessly up at him, opened my mouth to respond…and then started to cry.

  “Ah, fuck,” he swore, kneeling down next to me. “What did I say? Why are you crying? I was just kidding, Cricket.”

  “I’m a pathetic mess,” I said.

  “No, you’re not,” he sighed, tossing the scissors and Buzz into the middle of the floor.

  As soon as the toy made contact with the carpet, it switched on, buzzing loudly and rattling around like a flesh-colored cucumber having a seizure. That only made me cry harder. Now Trace knew I was a sad pathetic cat lady with a drawer full of sex toys. I don’t know why it bothered me, but it did. And if that wasn’t bad enough, my darling cat decided to abandon her catnip to slowly stalk Buzz, batting at him with her paw.

  Humiliation was too kind a word for my current predicament.

  “Marlow’s right,” I sniffled. “I’m gonna be a lonely hermit living off cat food and Judge Judy reruns. And the only thing that’ll ever be between my legs is something that needs batteries.”

  “Hey,” Trace said, rubbing my hair, his fingers immediately snagging on the knots. “That’s not true. I’ll gladly get between your legs, Cricket. Been there. Enjoyed the view. Wouldn’t mind a repeat visit.”

  “And I’ll have a bald spot now, too,” I whined, ignoring his offer for a pity fuck. Because seriously. My dildo was hopping around my living room, and my head was stuck to the bottom of my couch. I was dressed like I fell into a thrift store and wandered out two decades later. I was a disaster.

  “Stop crying.” Trace grabbed my chin and softly pressed his lips to mine. I was so surprised, the tears stopped immediately. He kept his lips against mine for a few seconds until he was sure the tears were completely gone. When he finally released me and met my gaze, his expression was one of protectiveness. “I’ll get your hair untangled, Harlow. Don’t worry.”

  I really didn’t deserve the kindness.

  When I nodded, he moved around to lay down on the floor in front of me so our foreheads were almost touching. Then he began the painstaking process of freeing me.

  ***

  Forty-five minutes later, we collapsed on the couch. Both of our heads were thrown back against the cushions in exhaustion. Trace let his face fall sideways to look at me.

  “Your glasses are all crooked now.” He grinned. “And your hair is all over the place. It looks like you’ve been freshly fucked.”

  “I wouldn’t be so lucky,” I mumbled, closing my eyes.

  “I’m still here,” he said. “And look. Buzz is still going strong.”

  Yes. I told him my dildo had a name. It was the least I could do seeing as how he spent a good portion of the evening preventing me from needing a weave. Or a wig.

  “I still have a lot of work to do,” I said evasively.

  He nodded and looked up at the ceiling. “Ano
ther time then.”

  We sat quietly for a bit, and for once, the silence was comfortable. The hair problem had wiped out my defense mechanisms. Besides, Trace wasn’t a bad guy. I guess I never really thought he was, but it had become more evident after he saved me from my own stupidity.

  “You know,” I said, breaking the silence. “Marlow was joking last time she was here that if I fell and hurt myself, no one would even know. I’d die all alone here in this apartment. My clumsiness is going to kill me one of these days. And no one would ever know.”

  Trace reached up to put his hands behind his head and stretched out further along my couch, getting comfortable. “True. Guess I’ll just have to come here to study every night to make sure you’re fed properly and not caught in a piece of furniture. Or trying to put your face through the front door.”

  I let my head fall to the side, enjoying the sight of his strong profile as he relaxed. “The library is always so crowded,” I offered.

  His grin came first, and then he opened his eyes and looked over at me. “See you tomorrow night? Same time?”

  Tomorrow was Saturday, a night people usually partied instead of studied, but instead of pointing that out, I said. “Sure.”

  With a groan, he sat up and gathered his stuff, shoving it all back into his messenger bag. Then he stood up, walked across the room, picked up Buzz, turned him off, and stuck him in the bag too.

  I sat up quickly. “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” He was not taking Buzz. How was I supposed to get to sleep tonight?

  Trace slung the bag over his shoulder and patted it with his hand. “Told ya, Cricket. If you’re feeling needy, I’ll help you out. I don’t mind if Buzz helps too, but I’m gonna be there as the main attraction.”

  My mouth was open to protest, but I couldn’t speak.

  “See you tomorrow.” He leaned down to give me a quick kiss and then was out the door.

  I couldn’t do anything but think of Trace…and Buzz…and holy shit. I needed a cold shower.

  — TRACE —

  14. CLOSE RANGE

  October 8, 2016

  TRACE STONE IS RAMPING UP FOR X-GAMES 2017 By National Sports Network

  We’ve received news that American snowboarder, Trace Stone, will be participating in several tour events leading up to the 2017 X-Games. His agent, Jesse Dunne, confirmed the reports earlier today.

  “Stone’s training has been going very well and he’s excited to get back to competing,” Dunne said. “His first competition is scheduled for the beginning of December.”

  When asked where Trace was training and what he was doing to make sure he was back in top shape, Dunne declined to give specifics.

  “The main goal is for him to stay focused right now and I don’t think that can happen if the media and fans are clamoring to the locations where he’s training. It’s important that he remains distraction-free.”

  That might be a hard request for fans and media to honor. Trace Stone is the biggest name in snowboard cross and everyone is eager to see his comeback. Reports are still surfacing that Stone is back East for his training. His agent would neither confirm nor deny those reports.

  “I guarantee you that Stone is working hard,” Dunne replied. “No one wants him to get back to winning more than he does.”

  =========================

  I’d never done so much studying in my life—or been so sexually frustrated. As promised, I’d shown up at Harlow’s apartment every night, books in hand and Buzz tucked away in my messenger bag. Just in case. And while I didn’t make any moves on her while I was there, I had imagined 943,000 ways to make her come. On my hand. On my mouth. On my cock. Hell, I’d even imagined her coming on Buzz. I wasn’t picky.

  I was, however, probably going to spend another night getting up close and personal with my right hand. I’d started my workout as soon as the sun was up this morning, so I’d gotten to her place early. And she was already studying. It’d be a full day of Harlow, which was both good and bad news. The good news…I wanted to be around her, and we were getting along great. The bad news…today she was wearing skin tight yoga pants and a tiny tank top that were designed specifically to torture me. All my brain could focus on was the fact that I could have those pants in a pile on the floor with one hard yank. And those glasses. Jesus. She was wearing the fucking glasses again. I wondered if she wore them to turn me on or turn me away.

  Either way, Harlow was my obsession. It didn’t matter if she had a bloody nose, her hair tangled in the springs of the couch, a strange addiction to writing lists, or the bad habit of rolling her eyes when she pretended not to enjoy my flirting. None of that was a turnoff. Her clumsiness was adorable, and I loved that I was the one who always got to patch her up. Her ridiculous lists made her seem uptight, but I knew she had a naughty streak. I remembered what was hidden under those clothes…what that body could do. She pretended to hate my jokes, but she couldn’t resist laughing at them. And I craved that laugh. I got high on the way she smiled with her entire body when she let her guard down. I wanted her, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how hard she tried to convince me otherwise.

  The strange thing was, no matter how frustrated I was when I left at the end of every night, it was worth it. We were strangers when we first got married, but now we were friends. That didn’t mean I didn’t want more from her. It also didn’t mean I was going to just sit back and let the next few weeks of our deal pass by only doing homework together. In fact, these study sessions didn’t even count as dates in my mind, so she had a lot of catching up to do on her end of the deal.

  I’d make my move eventually, but the timing had to be right. As Tom Hanks said in You’ve Got Mail, I was in the middle of a project that needed…tweaking. And I was going to tweak the hell out of this situation until Harlow realized just how good we were together.

  I looked up from my textbook just in time to catch her glance away and blush. She was totally checking me out. She thought I didn’t notice. I did. I was keeping a tally of covert glances, and although I was still in the lead, she had her fair share too. I slammed my book shut and tossed it on the coffee table. Her eyes darted to mine.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing. Just taking a break.” I stood up and walked over to the sliding glass door that led to her tiny balcony. I looked out the window and then raised my arms, stretching. I knew my shirt had ridden up and that she was getting a good look at just how hard I trained and worked out. And it meant she was looking exactly where I wanted her to. I grabbed my elbow and pulled my arm across my chest and then switched it up to do the other one, making sure she got an eyeful of bicep and whatever else she wanted to ogle.

  When I turned away from the window, I caught her again, shifting her gaze away from me. I grinned. I walked over to the bookshelf on the other side of the room and picked up one of the pictures sitting on top. It was of Harlow and the two girls I’d seen her with at the nightclub a few weeks ago. I turned to face her and held the photo up, raising my eyebrows in silent question.

  “My sisters. Marlow and Willow.” A soft smile spread across her face. She relaxed against the couch, the sunlight playing across the bare skin of her arm, shoulders, and face.

  I nodded, dropping my eyes to the picture again. “You have the same eyes.”

  Harlow laughed. “Yeah. The one thing we all inherited from our mom.” She rolled the pencil between her fingers. “We all have different dads. That’s why we don’t look anything alike,” she added. She didn’t sound ashamed, just sad.

  I walked back over to the couch, still holding the photo, and then dropped down to sit next to her. Closer than I had been before. “Are you close to them?”

  She leaned in to look at the picture I held and her chest brushed against my arm. Her skin was warm from the sunlight that was shining in through the balcony door. “Yes. We all lived together, with my mom, for a while. I’m the youngest, so I guess I had it the easiest. I only ever had one dad. Willo
w and Marlow had to move around a lot. My mom went through boyfriends so often, sometimes we didn’t even know their names. Marlow and Willow lived with us until I was eight.” She gently took the picture out of my hand, rubbing her thumbs up the sides of the frame as she gazed at the image. “That’s when my mom walked out and never came back. After that, we each got sent to live with our dads. Honestly, anything was better than living with a shitty mother like ours, but it was hard to be so far away from my sisters for months at a time after seeing them every single day.”

  “I can imagine.”

  Harlow set the picture in her lap and took a deep breath, releasing it through her mouth before looking at me. “I know I act awful to you, but I’m not really like that. I’m not really a bitch.”

  “I know.”

  “I hate acting that way. It makes me feel dirty, but there’s a reason.” The green of her eyes was dark and full of regret. “I don’t get attached…to guys. I saw what my mother did to the men who fell in love with her. I saw what it did to me and my sisters when she finally decided to admit that being a mother wasn’t what she wanted. When she ran off to follow her dream, she abandoned us, and although my sisters might act like they don’t care, I do.” She worried at her bottom lip and looked at the picture again. “I don’t want to do that to someone. I don’t want to fall in love only to walk away.”

  “Just because you fall in love, doesn’t mean you’ll break anyone’s heart,” I countered.

  “You don’t understand. I have big dreams—”

  “I know. You told me all about them. I may have been drunk, but I was listening.”

  She tilted her chin in defiance, her eyes blazing with determination, the sunlight shooting gold through the green. “I’m not willing to give those dreams up for anything. For anyone. I’ve worked too hard.”