Fall Away

by Zoe York

  “Yeah. ’Kay, get some sleep, brother.”

  Trick let himself into his too-quiet apartment, plugged his phone in, took a painkiller, and lay down. His cast bumped his hip as he reached for his cock, and he cursed at the pain and the frustration—no jacking off while there was fucking plaster wrapped around his palm. Maybe he could cut the cast off in a couple of days.

  He twisted onto his belly, carefully resting his hand on his pillow, and drifted into an uneasy sleep, wishing he had a slim, dark-haired beauty next to him.

  — SIX —

  Gaby knew she didn’t have it in her to focus on anything other than when the next text message would come from Trick—where was he, how was he, and when the hell could she see him? So she tossed her lesson plan for the day and set up Lego and craft stations instead.

  None of the kids complained.

  Her principal might, if it was a regular occurrence, but Gaby could allow herself one day of worried distraction. All she could think about was Trick and the obviously not-your-regular-Navy job he had.

  Not long before the dismissal bell, it dawned on her that he was probably a SEAL.

  The thought made her feel kind of faint and silly for not figuring it out sooner.

  He looked like a Navy SEAL, with his occasional scruff and slightly-longer-than-military-standard haircut. The bad-ass muscles and super-cool attitude. The way he literally ran circles around a bunch of other sailors.

  The muscles.

  She’d never thought of herself as being particularly affected by the male physique, but thinking about Trick’s body—imagining what he looked like without a t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, or those jeans that cupped everything just so—that did it for her in a big way. Sitting alone in her classroom as the late afternoon sun slid through the windows, telling her to go home, she only wanted to go and find him instead. Wrap herself around him and touch him all over.

  When her phone beeped, she jumped two feet in the air.

  And when she saw his name on the screen, she squealed out loud without shame. His message was even better. So, about that date…how does pizza and a movie at my place on Saturday night sound?

  It sounded like a set up for making out. She grinned. Are you back?

  Yep.

  Yep. She stared at the word, so casual on the screen. She didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but she didn’t want to wait until the weekend to do it. Any reason we need to hold off until Saturday?

  You free tonight? I should warn you, I’m a bit banged up.

  Right. Maybe she shouldn’t leap straight to hanky-panky. Except…casual. An uncharacteristically flirty response sprang to her fingertips. I’ll bring Band-Aids.

  He fired a response back so quickly she felt a little thrill of pride at getting it right. You’ve been reading my mind.

  Two hours later, after doing some shopping and going home to shower and shave her legs, she was pulling up to an apartment building a few blocks closer to the base than her place. On her passenger seat was a six-pack of beer, another of root beer in case he couldn’t drink, and a box of Band-Aids to break the ice.

  She climbed the exterior set of stairs to the second floor and found his apartment in the corner. He opened the door a split-second after her first knock, so her second froze in midair.

  “I saw you park,” he said with a blinding smile, so bright and happy she almost didn’t notice the cast on his forearm.

  Almost. She took a step toward him, then froze, because she didn’t want to touch him lest it hurt. “Oh my God, Trick!”

  “I warned you I was banged up.” He shrugged and nodded his head into the apartment. “I’m fine. Come in.”

  He didn’t move as she stepped out of the doorway and into his space, which meant she brushed against his chest. He let out a barely audible grunt.

  She dropped her bags against the wall and turned carefully in the shadow of his bulkier form, tipping her face up to catch his gaze. “Just how banged up are you?”

  “Some bruised ribs. The arm. Maybe a concussion.” He said it with complete ease, like all of that was possibly routine for him. And none of it was as important as the two of them, standing so close they were almost touching.

  “And there are rules where I can’t ask you questions like what and who and why?”

  One side of his mouth curled up in a wry smile. “The last one’s always the same answer, pretty girl.”

  She swallowed hard. “What are you, some kind of superhero?”

  “Nah, I’m just a guy who sometimes kicks ass for Uncle Sam.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “So…just so you know, that’s superhero material in my book.”

  — —

  He’d meant to take it slow, but Gaby was staring up at him, eyes wide and shiny pink lips parted. She’d called him a superhero, and he wasn’t, but after all the wariness and doubt because he’d slept with the wrong person at the wrong time, this felt like a moment he should grab with both hands. He should haul her against him and finally confirm that their chemistry was as off-the-charts as he suspected before she remembered he was just a regular man. An imperfect man.

  Before he could do that, or greet her properly in any of the dozens of ways he’d imagined, she stepped back, breaking the spell. “Anyway. Hi. Welcome back.”

  She looked nervously at his cast—fucking thing, messing up his chance to get the girl.

  “Hi.” He reached out with his left hand, offering it to her. “I think you promised me a hug, remember?”

  She exhaled, a sigh of relief maybe, and nerves too, as she closed the gap between them, twining her fingers around his. She hovered in front of him, holding her slight body an inch short of where he wanted it—plastered against him. He squeezed her hand, then lifted their hands and showed her she could touch his chest.

  Like magic, her touch spread warmth through his shirt and deep into his body. He left her palm there and slid his hand to her hip, pulling her tight to his left side. No bruising there. “Hi,” he whispered again, this time into her hair, and she smiled against his chest, her cheek pressing into his shirt. He wanted to feel that smile against his bare skin, but that couldn’t happen until he no longer looked like he’d gone ten rounds with a Sumo wrestler.

  Because he’d nearly gone ten rounds with a Sumo wrestler, pirate-style. He sighed, ignoring the aching twinge in his right side. “See? Nice. And man, did I need that.”

  She laughed gently. “I find that hard to believe, but yeah. Nice.”

  “Can I get you something to drink? Show you the place?”

  “I brought some beer. And root beer, if you can’t…”

  “Oh, I can. Pretty much all I can’t do at the moment is—” Jerk off. Right, he couldn’t say that. He cleared his throat. “Push-ups. Bit of a challenge.”

  That was a lie. He could do a couple of one-handed push-ups on his left hand. Only a couple, and it would kill the ribs, but if she wanted him to…

  She froze against his chest, then laughed again, this time deeper. Throatier. Jesus. Of all the sounds he’d heard Gaby make, that was by far the hottest. And when she glanced up at him, her tongue resting on her lower lip, all wet and shiny and pink… He had the feeling she knew what he’d been about to say anyway.

  That feeling was more than confirmed when she drop a long, lingering look at his right hand and sighed. Sighed, like a sound of longing and unsatisfied desire.

  “Yeah, I bet that’ll suck, not being able to do…push-ups…for a few weeks. That’s how long casts are on, right?”

  “Usually.” His damn voice caught in his throat, rough and scratchy, and suddenly his hallway was too small and lacking a soft surface for them to stretch out on. Get naked on.

  Naked wasn’t an option. Bruises, dude. Ugly, scary, lady-boner-killing bruises.

  He wouldn’t have thought Gaby was a lady-boner type of woman, not until that throaty laugh and her slow, deliberate tease about his masturbation problems.

  Now he w
asn’t sure he had any clue what kind of woman Gaby was.

  But he wanted to know. He wanted to know every single layer of her interesting self.

  She spared him the embarrassment of continually forgetting to be a good host and turned, picking up her grocery bags. “Kitchen that way?” she asked as she headed into his living space.

  She unpacked the drinks, leaving two beers on the counter and putting the rest in the fridge.

  Then she held up a box of Band-Aids. “As promised…”

  He laughed, which hurt, but damn, it felt good, too. “I totally wanted you to play nurse, too.”

  A secret smile curled up the corners of her mouth. “You said something about that.” She opened the first bottle and held it out to him. “Here. Your medicine.”

  “I was hoping for a kiss.” The truth ripped from his lips. “You know. Boo-boos and all that.”

  Her eyebrows shot up, but the smile stayed in place. “Any particular place?”

  Damn damn damn. His cock thumped against the zipper in his jeans, claiming mortal injury, but he knew better. “My lips are awfully sore.”

  She opened her own beer and stepped closer, staying on his left side this time but not holding back. Good.

  But she stopped again, like she’d forgotten something for a minute but her memories had thundered back into place. Trick was no relationship rocket scientist, but he’d felt these walls come up before. He knew what she was thinking about now—the last woman he’d kissed. He could honestly say he didn’t really remember kissing her roommate. He remembered some things about their brief night together, but none of those fuzzy memories held a candle to holding Gaby close.

  He wasn’t giving that up. He’d dial it back and keep it light, but she’d gotten under his skin, and eventually he’d find a way to show her she was the only woman on his mind or anywhere near his lips.

  “Maybe we should go sit,” she said quietly.

  “Really?” He said it warm and soft, but he said it. A little challenge because he couldn’t help himself.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered.

  He cleared his throat and put on his best approximation of a smirk. “Unless you don’t like kissing.”

  She gave him an oh-please face. “Of course I like kissing. But…”

  He let her trail off and gave her a minute to finish the thought. She didn’t, and that made his growing need for her even stronger.

  “I want to kiss you. Right now, actually,” he said roughly. “And I’m pretty sure you want to kiss me, too.”

  She didn’t say anything. A million thoughts were racing through her head—he could see them in her dilated pupils, the pulsing worry he was going to hurt her.

  But they needed to kiss. He felt it in his bones, that if they could just get past this awkwardness about how they met, it would all be okay.

  He took their beer bottles and set them on the counter, then lowered his head, so slowly it pained him, but she needed to have time. To process this, to say no. And even that wasn’t good enough. He needed her to say yes, so he froze as his lips brushed hers.

  “Can I taste you, Gaby?” She parted her lips against his, and that puff of hot hair made him want to stumble into the living room, fall onto the couch, and pull her down on top of him. Instead, he rubbed a knuckle along her jaw before sliding his fingers into her hair. “Please, pretty please.” He smiled, but it didn’t stick. He wanted this too much. He let his voice get even rougher. Nothing wrong with showing her how much he wanted her. “Tell me yes. Tell me you want this.”

  — —

  It’s just a kiss. Lips were almost for sharing, public space where people tested out chemistry. No big risk. And her head was swimming with how he felt, and smelled, and tasted, right there, almost kissing her. Their chemistry practically demanded to be tested.

  “I think I was supposed to be the one kissing you,” she said, and as she moved her lips, she did just that. When she’d look back in hindsight, she might be able to say it was an accident, but maybe that was what needed to happen to push her off the ledge.

  And then he was kissing her back. Softly at first, just a firm press of his lips against hers, which was tingle-inducing enough. His lips felt strong and capable of a million fantasy-satisfying things.

  When the tip of his tongue traced the swell of her lower lip, that felt even better so she opened for him. He didn’t dive in. No. He took his time, and if he wasn’t injured, she’d have climbed him like a tree to have more of him inside her. His breath, his tongue, his taste.

  No kiss had ever been this drugging. Sensations zinged through her body, from her puffy, hyper-aware lips to the tips of her toes and everywhere in between, like his mouth was coaxing her into an altered state.

  He eased back, his tongue slicking against hers one last time before he put a few inches of space between their faces with a groan. “I could do that all night, but we should…”

  “No. I mean, yes, let’s do that all night,” she said, her breath sliding out of her hard and fast. She could still feel that last swipe, could still taste him, and a warm, heavy ache had settled into her muscles.

  Yep, Trick was definitely a drug.

  “We’ve got all the time in the world, Gaby. How about we move to the couch?” He nodded his head toward the living room.

  He hooked his fingers through hers and she followed, snagging their bottles with her other hand. It was possible she’d follow him anywhere. That kiss had knocked down all her defenses, leaving her malleable and soft, warm and wanting more.

  “This is a nice place.” Her compliment came out automatically, something one should say on a first visit, but it was nice—bigger than she expected, clean and bright.

  “I share it with a roommate, but he’s away right now.” Trick pointed to the west-facing glass doors that led to a decent-sized balcony. “Not a bad place to watch the sunset.”

  “I’ll have to come over earlier next time.” Dusk was rapidly setting in outside.

  He grinned as he settled in the corner of the couch, his right arm carefully resting on the padded arm, his left arm stretching along the back. “Next time? I like the sound of that. Come here and tell me more about how you might come back.”

  She joined him on the couch. He was sitting on an angle, leaving just a narrow space between him and the back of the couch. It looked just her size. But if she plastered herself against him, they’d kiss again, and if they did that—while practically lying down—they wouldn’t do anything else.

  Like talk.

  So instead of crawling right up against him, she sat on the middle cushion, curling her legs beneath her. Her hands rested casually on her knees, close enough to his knees that his jeans rubbed against the backs of her fingers as he shifted in place.

  The lightest scratch of denim on her hand, and her nipples tightened up.

  She was such a goner.

  — —

  Trick watched as Gaby took a deep breath. “Why are you surprised that I say next time?”

  “Hey, I didn’t say I was surprised. I’m pleased that you’d be willing to put up with my company again.” He let himself look at her mouth for a minute. Kissing her had been amazing. Stopping had been a challenge. He thought he’d given her a clear invitation to cuddle and kiss more, but she was sitting just out of tugging range.

  God, he wanted to tug her—right into his lap. Onto his cock, if he was being honest, but he wasn’t sure she’d appreciate that kind of callousness.

  “Can I be honest with you, Trick?” Her voice dragged his attention out of the gutter and back to where it belonged. She was looking at him warmly, but her voice carried a touch of worry.

  He nodded. There was a lot that remained unspoken between them, and it wouldn’t do them any good to run scared of a bit of talking. “Of course.”

  “I’m the one who’s surprised.” She shrugged with a little smile. It looked self-deprecating, and he didn’t like that. “I mean, I get that you’re interested—and beli
eve me, I like that. A lot. But I don’t really get why.”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said immediately. Easily. It was true. “You’re pretty and stubborn and you’ve got this beautiful fire in your eyes.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, leaning her head against the back of the couch. He liked that she didn’t deny his thoughts on her value. She closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “The thing is…you’re not like anyone I’ve dated before. And I think I’m not like anyone you’ve dated, but maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know. This just feels…”

  She wasn’t wrong, but not for the reasons he suspected were on her mind. “Can I stop you there and say something that might bite me in the ass?”

  She laughed. “Sure.”

  “This does feel different. Because it is, at least for me. It’s not that you’re unlike other women that I’ve dated…it’s that I don’t really date.”

  The laughter fell off her face. “Oh.”

  “I mean, I want to date you. That’s different and new for me. But I do…I don’t know what kind of boyfriend I might be—probably shitty, because I’m away a lot—but if you’re willing to come back and see the sunset, and then maybe go out for brunch or something like that. Maybe we’ll find that a few dates turn into dating. And I think I’d like that—with you—a lot.”

  “Wow.” She smiled. “Okay, that was good.”

  She narrowed her eyes in thought and pulled the corner of her lower lip between her teeth, her hair falling over the side of her face as she tilted her head to the side. An interesting current of energy was radiating off her—like she was bursting with a million questions, but didn’t know which she could ask. Hell, he’d told her most of them were off-limits. No wonder she was confused and holding back.

  “Maybe we should play twenty questions.” Shit, that’s not what he meant. She laughed as he felt himself flushing with unexpected embarrassment. The idea of being stupid in Gaby’s eyes bugged him more than he expected. “No, not the guess the dead president with yes/no questions kind of game. Just…”