by Jenna Sutton
His stuttering doomed his chances for normal relationships. It had ruined the most important relationship in his life—the one with his father—and it would ruin any romantic relationships, too.
He’d spent twenty years and hundreds of thousands of dollars on speech therapy, and his stutter was still classified as severe. He had learned techniques to work around it, and more important, he’d learned tricks to hide it from even the most observant person.
Normal people had no idea how horrible it was to stutter. They just opened their mouths and words came out. They didn’t know what it was like to want to speak but not be able to do so.
Stuttering was emotionally and socially debilitating. It obliterated self-esteem and corroded self-value because no one liked to talk to a stutterer. It was painful to hear and painful to see. People became impatient waiting on words to come out, so they just interrupted or talked over you. Some even walked away, regretting that they’d engaged you in conversation in the first place.
But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was that people associated the ability to speak with intelligence, and more often than not, they treated stutterers like idiots.
Nick had been the object of pity and ridicule for most of his childhood. When he’d turned fourteen, though, three things had happened to change his life.
The first thing was a blank slate. His father accepted a tenured position at Syracuse, and they moved away from the place where everyone knew Nick and his stuttering. He was able to start fresh as a no one from nowhere.
The second thing was a trick. By the time they moved, Nick had learned to hide his stutter, so the other kids never noticed his speech impediment. The teachers, meanwhile, were happy to have a quiet student who didn’t cause trouble.
The third thing was football. When he enrolled in high school in Syracuse, his dad forced him to try out for every sport. He excelled at football, and his dad made it clear that football was Nick’s only chance for a decent life.
Football had given him purpose. It had given him a way to make a living without having to talk. And it had given him more money than he’d ever dreamed of.
But it hadn’t solved everything. Nick still stuttered—and he still tried to hide it.
Frankly, it was a miracle he had any friends. If he put his hands on Teagan, eventually he would mess up the friendship he had with her, and in doing so, he would risk his friendship with the rest of her family. The O’Briens were pretty much the only people who cared about him, and the thought of losing them made him break out in a cold sweat.
He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a reply to Teagan: Sorry. Busy. He placed his finger on the Send button but pulled back before pressing it.
Shouldn’t he at least find out what kind of fun she had in mind?
* * *
“Sorry it took me so long,” Bebe said as she entered Teagan’s condo. “The food wasn’t ready when I got there.”
Teagan grabbed the brown paper bag from Bebe’s arms so her best friend could remove her jacket. “Thanks for picking it up.”
Taking a deep breath, she pulled in the spicy scent of Indian food. Her stomach rumbled loudly.
“No problem, kanya,” Bebe replied as they headed to the kitchen.
Although she’d grown up in the United States, Bebe spoke several languages that were native to India, and she often called Teagan kanya, which meant “girl” in Hindi. It was the way she showed affection.
Teagan pulled two plates from the cabinet while Bebe gathered silverware from the drawer. She opened the bag, removed the takeout containers, and began to dish up the food.
“I’m starving,” Bebe announced. “Don’t be selfish with the tandoori chicken.”
“You said you didn’t want any.”
“I changed my mind,” Bebe replied, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Teagan laughed. Despite her small stature, Bebe could hurt someone. She was a master at Muay Thai kickboxing.
“Wine or something else?”
Bebe gave her a look that said, Do you even need to ask? Smiling, Teagan pulled a bottle of Riesling from the fridge. It would complement the spicy food better than one of the red wines she had on hand.
The two of them had to make a couple of trips to the living room to transfer food and wine, but eventually they got settled on puffy pillows on either side of the coffee table. Bebe raised her wineglass.
“To the end of yet another round of exams.”
“Hear, hear,” Teagan said, clicking her glass against Bebe’s and taking a sip of wine.
“How do you think you did?”
“I’m sure I’ll get A’s on every exam because I had a really smart study partner,” she answered, winking at Bebe.
“My study partner is smarter than your study partner.”
Teagan laughed, raising her glass to the other woman. Bebe would deny it, but she had a cheerleader personality. Her “You can do it, I know you can” attitude was the reason why Teagan hadn’t dropped out their first semester.
She owed a lot to Bebe, and she was going to miss her when they graduated. Her best friend had her heart set on working for one of the big biotechnology companies, so she’d probably stay in the Boston area.
Teagan’s phone dinged, and she vaulted to her feet to get it. She was anxious to see if Nick would accept her invitation. She thought she’d left her phone in the kitchen, but it wasn’t there, so she hurried to her home office, the only other place it could be. It was on her desk, and she lunged for it.
She exhaled noisily when she saw the message was from Marshall Brants. He wanted to confirm their date on Saturday night, and she quickly responded before heading back to the living room. She plopped down on her pillow, and Bebe shot her an inquiring glance.
“It was Marshall,” she said, answering Bebe’s unspoken question.
Marshall was in the same joint program she and Bebe were in, but this was his first year at Harvard. They’d met in the common area in the business building.
Since she had promised herself that she would start dating again, she’d said yes when he had asked if she wanted to meet him for coffee. Their mini-date had gone well, and later that day, he had called to ask her out to dinner. Since then, they’d gone out a few times.
“He seems nice,” Bebe noted. “And he’s really good-looking.”
Teagan nodded. “He is nice.”
Marshall was from Houston, and he was friendly and outgoing. He was thirty years old and had undergraduate degrees in chemistry and geology.
“And you’re right, he is good-looking.”
Marshall was a couple of inches over six feet with a fit physique from all the cycling he did in his free time. His dark brown hair was thick, and his brown eyes reminded her of bittersweet chocolate.
“He’s not as good-looking as Nick Priest,” Bebe pointed out.
Teagan snorted. “No one is as good-looking as Nick Priest.”
Bebe gave her an appraising glance. “Tell me again why you’re going out with Marshall.”
She sighed. They’d had this conversation before, but Bebe was like a dog with a bone.
“Because I’m a single female looking for male companionship.”
“That sounds like an ad for a gigolo.”
“That’s not a bad idea.” She snickered. “Maybe I should post something online.”
“Seriously, Teagan, why are you going out with Marshall when you really want Nick?”
“To quote the Rolling Stones, ‘You can’t always get what you want.’”
Bebe cocked her head. “Why not?”
Teagan blew out her breath in frustration. “Bebe! I don’t want to talk about this again.”
“I’m just trying to understand why you would waste your time with another guy when you could be with the one you really want.”
“A starving man doesn’t bypass a ham sandwich just because he would prefer prime rib.”
Bebe’s eyebrows shot up. “So you’re the starving man, Marshall is the ham sandwich, and Nick is the prime rib. Do I have that right?”
“Yes.”
“So what you’re really saying is you’re just going to take what you can get instead of going after what you really want.”
Teagan huffed in exasperation. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about Nick, and what he wants and doesn’t want. He wants to be friends. He doesn’t want me like that, and I’d rather be his friend than nothing at all. Why is that so hard to understand?”
Bebe took a big swallow of her wine before carefully returning the glass to the coffee table. She pressed her lips together, and Teagan feared her best friend was about to let loose with a lecture.
“Because you’re making an assumption. You don’t know for sure.”
Teagan snorted. “We’ve been hanging out for months, months, and he’s never once indicated he’s interested.”
“I think Nick is more than interested, Teagan. I think he has feelings for you.”
“What? Why would you say that? You’ve only met him one time.”
“Because of the way he reacted when he found out that JD assaulted you.”
Teagan frowned. JD. What an asshole.
Teagan had reported JD’s assault to the Boston police. She also had notified Harvard and encouraged the university to sever all ties with Price, Latham & Donaldson. And finally, she had filed a formal complaint with the law firm’s HR department. She’d done all she could to prevent JD from ever hurting another woman again.
Bebe continued, “When I told Nick what happened, the look on his face was scary. If JD had been within touching distance, I think he would have killed him.”
Teagan nodded. “He’s very protective of me,” she agreed. “I think he sees himself as a big brother, since Quinn and Cal aren’t here.”
Bebe shook her head stubbornly. “He cares about you.”
“I have no doubt that he cares about me. He’s an honorary member of the O’Brien family, and he cares about all of us.”
Bebe threw up her hands. “Fine! Have it your way. Nick Priest considers you a friend and nothing more. In fact, he thinks of you as an annoying little sister and not a woman at all. Does that make you happy?”
Teagan stared at Bebe. “No,” she admitted. “It doesn’t.”
Bebe nodded. “Of course it doesn’t.” Her lips curled in a small smile. “You know, there’s a very simple way to find out if I’m right. You can say: ‘I want to put my hands all over your body. Take off your clothes.’ And if Nick rips off his shirt, you’ll have your answer.”
“Oh, my God!” Teagan exclaimed, laughing incredulously. “You know you would never in a million years have the guts to say that to a guy, and you’re suggesting that I do it? You are crazy, Bindu Banerjee.”
Bebe grinned. “Go for the prime rib, kanya.”
Chapter 12
Nick sipped his hot cider, enjoying the crisp sweetness of apples and the warm bite of cinnamon against his tongue. Next to him, Teagan stumbled a bit on the uneven sidewalk, and he grabbed her arm with his free hand.
“Hold on to me,” he ordered.
“I should have worn tennis shoes,” she said as she linked her arm though his and wrapped her hand around his forearm. “I don’t know what I was thinking. Stupid.”
They were strolling through the streets of historic Salem, Massachusetts, site of the infamous witch trials. Teagan had arranged for them to participate in a candlelit walking tour of haunted houses and locations, and tennis shoes definitely would have been more practical.
But he wasn’t going to complain about her tight jeans and her high-heeled knee boots, not when she looked so damn good in them. She’d paired them with a cropped brown leather jacket, and he was grateful it hid the shape of her breasts, or he’d be fighting the urge to ogle those, too.
“It’s much colder than I thought it would be,” Teagan said, shivering a little. “I should have worn a heavier jacket.”
They had been walking for a while, and they’d already visited several buildings, including the Old Salem Prison. Now they were heading toward the Old Salem Burying Point, America’s second oldest cemetery. Nick was interested to hear about the cemetery’s inhabitants, particularly Colonel John Hathorne, the notorious Hanging Judge of the witch trials.
“Brrr.” She shivered again and burrowed closer to him. “You need to share some of your body heat.”
He bit back a groan as he thought about how he’d like to share his body heat, his bare skin sliding against hers, his cock moving deep inside her. She might be cold, but he was burning up.
He never should have accepted her invitation. He’d been an idiot to think he had enough self-control to withstand the temptation of Teagan.
He was so angry with Teagan, with himself, with the world. Why couldn’t she be ugly and unattractive? Why couldn’t he find her repulsive? Why couldn’t she be a stranger whom he could fuck without worrying how it would mess up his life?
Why? Why? Why?
He didn’t want to stop spending time with Teagan. He had more fun with her than he’d ever had with anyone else, and that included her brothers. In fact, she’d edged out Quinn for the title of best friend.
Despite the sharp edge of lust he felt when he was with Teagan, he was more relaxed and comfortable with her than he was with anyone else. He didn’t feel pressure to talk, which helped his stuttering, and when he did speak, she understood him like no one else ever had.
She made him laugh. She made him think. She made him hard.
And that’s the problem.
He took a deep breath, the smell of burning leaves and smoking chimneys filling his lungs. Maybe he was overreacting.
He doubted he’d be able to spend any time with Teagan over the next couple of months, since the Colonials were playing well and the pressure was on to make the playoffs. Plus, she’d be heading home for Thanksgiving in less than two weeks and then gone again for winter break, which lasted from mid-December to mid-January.
By then, he probably would have moved past this unfortunate attraction he had for her. He would probably laugh when he thought about how worked up he’d been over a girl he had known for more than a decade.
“If I had lived here in the 1690s, I think I would have been hanged as a witch,” Teagan said.
Startled, Nick turned his head to look at her. The streets were lit with old-fashioned lanterns, but he couldn’t see her expression.
“Because?”
“Because I’m trouble, you know that,” she joked, nudging her hip against him.
And truer words have never been spoken.
“Seriously, I have no doubt I would have done something to draw attention to myself, not on purpose, of course. Maybe I would have laughed too loudly or I would have bent the rules a little. And that would have been it.”
Nick pondered her statement. If anything, her looks would have drawn attention. He’d read that some of the women who’d been accused of witchcraft had been singled out because they had filled men around them with evil, impure thoughts. In other words, they’d incited lust.
Since Teagan incited lust in him, Nick could imagine she would have done the same thing to men in the seventeenth century. They wouldn’t have been able to resist the lure of her smoky eyes and luscious lips.
“You, on the other hand, probably would have been seen as an angel. People would have thought God himself had sent you from Heaven.”
Her words shocked a laugh out of him. “Angel?” he repeated.
“They would have been blinded by your handsomeness,” she teased. “They never would have guessed your angelic looks hide a sinner.”
Teagan’s voice had turned hus
ky when she’d said “sinner,” making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Is she flirting with me?
He stared at her, wishing he could see her face. She joked and teased, but she never flirted.
Am I imagining things? Is it just wishful thinking?
She was right, though: he was a sinner. And he wanted to sin with her—on top of her, behind her, and inside her.
They reached the cemetery, and the guide spent a few minutes telling the group about Colonel John Hathorne. During the trials, Hathorne had taken on the role of a prosecutor rather than an impartial judge. His questioning had always begun with a presumption of guilt rather than innocence, and he had appeared to be on the side of the accusers.
“What a jerk,” Teagan muttered. “Guess he never heard of judicial bias.”
Nick laughed softly. She was adorable.
“I’ll never understand how people can just stand by and let bad things happen,” she added.
Unfortunately, Nick had personal experience with “bystander syndrome.” He’d been bullied because of his stuttering, and the other kids had stood by and watched because they didn’t want to draw the attention of the bullies.
It was a sad fact of life that bullying occurred everywhere from school yards to corporate America. And obviously, it wasn’t new. The Salem witch trials were proof of that.
The guide finished his spiel and encouraged them to explore the cemetery on their own for a few minutes before meeting back at the entrance. He handed out tapered candles and passed around a lighter.
Nick set his cider on one of the headstones and lit his candle before taking care of Teagan’s. The candle bathed her face in light, making her creamy skin glow and her blue eyes shine.
“Ready to explore?” she asked.
Oh, yeah, he was ready to explore. But not a moldy old cemetery . . .
“Let’s go this way,” she suggested, pointing to a path on their right.
With a nod, he grabbed his cider. He didn’t want to be accused of littering a graveyard, for God’s sake.
“I’m going to break my ankle,” Teagan predicted direly, curling her arm tightly around his. “I’m too klutzy to be poking around a cemetery in the dark.”
