Attached to You (Carolina Rebels Book 6)

by Lindsay Paige

  I sure know how to pick ʽem, don’t I? Thinking about this makes me second guess inviting Brayden to hang out. I’ve been burned one too many times, and the last person I want to be burned by is Brayden.

  After work, I take a long bath to relax. My skin is pruney, but by the time I make it to Zane’s, I’m back to being plump. I knock and he opens the door, taking my hand gently with a smile.

  “I’ve missed you,” he says.

  It’s his own fault, but I don’t say that. I give him a smile back, which widens because he’s leading me to the bedroom. Thank goodness.

  “How was your day?”

  “Good. Y’all win?”

  He nods. “Four to two.”

  I pull my hand from his to remove my shirt and effectively put an end to the talking. Zane’s eyes immediately fall to my breasts. I giggle when he bumps into the wall, as he’s been walking down the hallway backward. “Don’t get so distracted that you hurt yourself.”

  His cheeks redden a bit, only for a few seconds. It’s adorable that he gets embarrassed. Even after all this time of seeing me, he still gets a little flustered. Zane drags me into his room, sits on the bed, and pulls me between his knees. His kiss is soft, but hungry. His fingers dig into my hips.

  “Come on.” He pulls me onto the bed. For a moment, I wish he was more like Brayden. I’m not in the mood for a laid-back, slow, thorough type of fucking. I don’t want to be pulled onto the bed; toss me up there, climb over me, and pin me down. Then, I feel guilty for thinking of someone else while with Zane. “You okay, Deanna?”

  I realize I froze. Plastering a smile on my face, I banish all unnecessary thoughts out of my mind. “Fine. Kiss me already, Zane.”

  He grins that cute boyish grin full of charm. “Anything you want.”

  As I expected, he kisses me and proceeds to alternate between fucking me fast and taking his sweet time.

  “Stay?” Zane asks a few minutes after we finish. Sometimes, I’ll stay longer just to fuck a few more times, but it’s been a crazy week and after all the fucking with Brayden, I’m tired.

  “I should go.”

  He frowns, but nods. I kiss him on the cheek before sliding out of bed.

  “Hey, Deanna?”

  I glance at him from over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

  Zane hesitates. “Do you want to go to a Halloween party with me?”

  It takes everything I have to keep my face neutral. He’s asking me out? Why? I come over, we fuck, I leave. Why in the world would he want to go on a date with me? I’m relieved that I have a legitimate excuse to say no. “I have to work.”

  “Get someone to cover for you.”

  Shit. I should have said no flat-out. Feeling like a bitch before the words ever leave my mouth, I say, “I don’t want to.”

  Zane presses his lips tight together and nods. With that, I leave. Why in the world would he ask me out? Brayden knows more about me than Zane does and I’ve been fucking Zane longer. Zane doesn’t even know where I work or what I actually do. I told him I work in retail, which I do. We don’t talk before or after sex past how was your day and replying that it was good or shitty. It’s truly just fucking. On top of that, I can obviously be a bitch to him.

  I feel bad about it because Zane seems nice from what little I do know of him. He has that good guy vibe and I certainly don’t want to be the girl to tarnish that. As I get dressed and head out of his house, I wonder if it’s time to cut things off with him.

  Monday comes and it’s Halloween. I don’t have any classes tonight because of the trick-or-treating. I leave the shop early and in the safe hands of one of my more reliable employees, so I can head over to Brayden’s. He doesn’t know I’m coming, which will either work out fine or blow up in my face. I knock on his door. The rush of anxiety that hits me is unnerving and annoying. As much fun as it is to pull Brayden out of his element, I’m putting myself outside of my comfort zone as well. I’m starting not to like it.

  But then, Brayden opens the door. His expression is blank, but once he sees me, he smiles a little. I relax; he’s happy to see me if he’s smiling. “What are you doing here? I thought I was meeting you later.”

  “Well, I normally bake cookies and hand them out as well.” I hold up the bundle of supplies in my arms. “I thought you could help me.”

  “You want me to help you bake cookies?” One eyebrow rises with skepticism.

  “Yes.”

  He leans against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest, the cool, detached expression back on his face. “What are you up to, Deanna?”

  I laugh. “Nothing. I only want to bake cookies. Are you helping me or not? Because if not, I need to go home and bake them.” When he doesn’t say anything, I add, “You can have a cookie or two if you want, as a reward for helping me.”

  His eyes flick down to the bags of ingredients in my hands and then back up to me. “I don’t eat sweets.” What? What kind of person doesn’t eat sweets? Is he an alien? I mean, I know he said he likes to eat healthy, but everyone still likes to treat themselves, don’t they? “I help you, my reward is eating you before we go.” He turns and walks away before I can fully process his words. “Come on, darlin’,” he calls out over his shoulder. “The sooner the cookies are in the oven, the sooner my mouth is on your body.”

  That certainly gets me moving.

  We are quiet at first as Brayden turns on the oven and pulls out pans while I take the ingredients out of the bags. He leans his hip against the counter, crosses his ankles, and folds his arms over his chest again to watch me.

  Before I can remind him that he’s supposed to be helping me, he says, “You feel comfortable enough to drop by unannounced? What if I wasn’t home?”

  “Then you’d have never known I was here at all. I’d prefer to think of it as me surprising you. Why in the world don’t you eat sweets? I know you like healthy stuff, but surely you sneak something full of sugar in every now and then.”

  Brayden shakes his head. “I don’t like sweets.”

  I reach up and touch my forefinger to his nose. “You’re weird.” I grin when I see flour left behind. “What do you indulge in then?” There must be something.

  Brayden reaches into the bag of flour and leaves a streak across my forehead. “Payback,” he explains. Then, he reaches up and opens the top cabinet above the fridge behind him. There’s a stash of at least three kinds of chips: one regular, one kettle-cooked, and the Pringles brand. “My guilty pleasure is salt and vinegar chips.”

  “That’s not very healthy.”

  “I know, but I work out enough and have them only here and there, so it balances out.”

  I dip my fingers into the flour, pretend there’s something on his lip that needs to be wiped away, and hum. “And how often is here and there?”

  Brayden grins, my heart stuttering from how marvelous he looks, and his fingers find the flour again while I start rolling the dough. “Once every week or so. You know,” he places another streak along my cheek. “I don’t like a messy house.”

  I pause and glance around. His house is pretty orderly, but I also know that he won’t freak if something is out of place. After all, our clothes have been strewn about many times for hours and he didn’t care. There’s also always a towel lying around in odd places like he took it off and hung out to dry wherever he was standing at the moment. Does he never get dressed in the bathroom?

  “You’re the one who keeps retaliating,” I point out. “And nothing is messy yet. Too bad you don’t like sweets. Flour doesn’t taste good and icing would be so much better to lick off.”

  Brayden frowns. “We have to ice them too?”

  “No, we don’t have the time for that. You don’t get to put your mouth anywhere near me if you don’t start helping.”

  That spurs him into action. He helps me cut the cookies with the cookie cutters I brought and then we pop them into the oven. Brayden drags me over to his table and lifts me to sit on top of it.

 
; “Where do you want my mouth first?” he asks as he unbuttons my jeans. I lift my hips, and he pulls them off, yanking at my shoes when he gets to my feet.

  I slip my hands behind his neck, locking them together, and pull him forward for a kiss. His hands rest on the inside of my thighs, causing me to shiver with anticipation. His mouth is hungry and demanding. The rough slash of his tongue against mine steals my breath away. My entire body loosens as his body towers over me.

  Brayden kisses his way down my neck as one hand slides to the center of my legs. “I hate how fucking addicting you are,” he mumbles.

  His comment throws me for a moment, but his free hands goes to my chest and pushes me to lie down. It’s nearly forgotten when his mouth replaces his hand and then completely gone when they work in sync with my legs wrapped around his head as he works me to an explosive orgasm just as the timer for the cookies goes off.

  For a moment, all I can do is lie on his kitchen table while he washes his hands and pulls the pans out of the oven. It would normally take me forever to bake all the cookies, but with his double oven, it takes no time at all.

  My chest heaves and my eyes are closed when I feel something being poured over my chest. I open my eyes to see Brayden dumping flour on me.

  “What the hell, Brayden?” I snap, sitting up. I’m still wearing my shirt, too! He reaches in and sprinkles some over my head. My mouth drops in outrage, but his face is as calm as ever.

  “Oops. Looks like you need a shower. I’ll help you with that.” He holds out his hand.

  “You didn’t have to pour flour on me for shower sex.”

  He grins. “No, but it was fun doing it anyway.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Brayden?”

  He laughs as I take his hand. “Are you saying I’m not capable of fun?”

  “It seems like it’s out of your bubble at times, yes.”

  When he frowns, I feel bad about saying it. Man, I’m turning into a bitch this week. First to Zane and now to Brayden. What’s worse is my comment totally got to him because he gently shows me to his master bath and looks as if he’s leaving me here to shower alone.

  “Where are you going?” I ask.

  He turns around. “I, ah, feel bad about that,” he motions to my flour-covered body, “so I was going to leave you to clean up without me.”

  “Didn’t your momma ever teach you to clean up your messes? Clean me up, Brayden.”

  He eyes me for a moment before undressing and reaching around me to turn on the shower as I remove my shirt. “What are you going as tonight?” he asks as we step in.

  “I’m a fairy godmother. What are you?”

  His lips flex, but he shakes his head. “I’m something ridiculous. You better give me the world’s best blow job for this.” Brayden pumps soap into his hand, lathers, and starts running his hands over my body.

  “What are you?” I’m even more curious now.

  “Olaf from Frozen.”

  I lean forward, grabbing his biceps before I fall over from laughing so hard. “Seriously?”

  He nods. “It was the first kid-friendly costume I saw.”

  That makes me smile. He’s full of surprises. I’m not sure what I was expecting him to dress as, but it certainly wasn’t a snowman. Not to mention, he’s not making any moves on me right now. Well, his hands are definitely caressing my body, moving leisurely, but he’s mainly just washing me. He even washes my hair.

  This has never happened to me before. It all feels very intimate. I’m not sure how I feel about it.

  In between trick-or-treaters, Deanna lobs questions at me. The most recent being, “What’s something on your bucket list?” That’s something I have to think about because there are a few hockey-related things up there and I certainly can’t mention those.

  “To buy my mom a brand-new Corvette,” I finally answer.

  Deanna tilts her head at me. “I need more than that.”

  I take off the head of my costume. “She was a fantastic single mom and she loves Corvettes. She’s always wanted one. I have the means to buy her those things, but the woman is stubborn and too independent. She doesn’t want me to do it. She’s insisting that she buy her own Corvette one day, so if I could convince her to let me do it, then it’d make my fucking year.”

  “You are too sweet,” she whispers.

  I grin. “Don’t tell anyone.” I settle the head of the snowman back into place just in time for another round of trick-or-treaters to come to the shop. I knew I needed something that would hide my identity. No way did I want to chance getting recognized. “What’s something on yours?” I ask when the little kids leave.

  Her voice is far more serious than I’d expect it to be, but it matches what she says. “I want to make my family proud. I want to be something other than Difficult Deanna.”

  “You can’t be that bad.”

  She snorts. “You have no idea, Brayden.”

  “Tell me.”

  Her cheeks redden. “I’d rather not. It’s not pretty and it’s often embarrassing.” The bell over the door jingles as two kids and their parents walk in. She seems relieved, but she’s not getting off that easy. I’m curious now.

  “Tell me,” I repeat when they leave.

  “Where do you want me to start?” she snaps, annoyed that I’m pushing her. “I didn’t go to college, even though I’m doing exactly what my grandmother wanted me to do and that ended up being the best decision for me. I’ve gotten high from marijuana on multiple occasions. It doesn’t matter that I haven’t touched the stuff in years. I have a DWI on my record because I drove drunk once. There was a pregnancy scare in high school and Mom hasn’t let me forget that yet. Then, there’s the string of bad boyfriends, one of whom nearly cost me this business because he was stealing from me and I was too busy thinking I was in love to pay attention. A bad decision looks just like a good one to me, but I pick the bad ones way more than the good. I can’t do right.”

  Damn. That’s a lot to absorb. Deanna reaches up to swipe a fallen tear away. I grab her wrist and pull her against me, though it’s a bit awkward with my costume.

  “I think you’re doing pretty fucking awesome right now.”

  “Thanks. I wish my grandma was here to see it. She was really worried about me and the path I was on.”

  I bet she was. There is so much more to Deanna than I ever realized or thought to consider. I’ll be damned if she doesn’t intrigue me even more. She pulls away from me, glances at her phone for the first time, and a slightly fake smile slides onto her face.

  “Trick-or-treat time is over. We can get you dropped off back home. Thanks for coming to hang with me.”

  “You’re not staying with me tonight?” Shit, I was hoping she would. I probably won’t see her until next week because we have two away games this week and then a home game.

  Deanna avoids looking at me as she puts away the candy and coupons she had for the parents. “I decided not to.”

  Which means she was planning on it and changed her mind. “Why?”

  She shrugs, but that’s unacceptable.

  “Give me a fucking answer, Deanna,” I demand as I yank off the head of the snowman.

  Her spine stiffens, but she faces me. “You know way more about me than any of my other fuck buddies past and present combined. I know more about you than any of them. That sounds like a string is attaching. Don’t you think we should take a little break?”

  Now, I’m confused. “Deanna, you’re the one who fucking asks me the questions for me to answer, so you can know all that shit about me. If you don’t want to know, don’t ask. If you want no-strings-attached, then why the fuck am I here with you, handing out candy to kids? Why am I baking damn cookies with you? I’m not the one initiating that shit; you are and I’m following along because I don’t see a reason not to. If you want fucking only, I can do that, but make up your mind. I’ll find my own way home.”

  I leave her behind, wishing I was wearing something oth
er than this stupid fucking costume. I really wish it when it’s annoying getting into the taxi and the driver recognizes me and is snapping a selfie before I can stop him. I can’t wait for that to make its rounds on social media. I’m becoming more and more convinced that the Internet is the brainchild of the devil.

  When I get home, I take off the costume and wonder about going to my own party, which is being held at a banquet hall. Any potential plans with Deanna for tonight are obviously not happening. But if I show up to the party now? And in this mood? I can only imagine the shit I’ll hear and the questions they’ll ask. No fucking way am I going.

  Instead, I clean up the mess I made with the flour. That only makes me grouchier. Flour is a bitch to clean. It’s like I can’t get all of it up. What pisses me off about this entire thing is I didn’t even want to see Deanna right now and somehow, I still am. Somehow, I haven’t minded that things aren’t as strictly no-strings-attached as she wants them. Yet, she wants a break because of shit that’s her fucking fault?

  This is why I don’t deal with women during the season! Who needs this stress and annoyance and drama when I have a job to do?

  Fucking women.

  No. One fucking woman is the problem.

  Once the kitchen is clean, I plop down onto the couch and turn on the TV, not really caring what’s on. The peace and quiet relaxes me a little. Thank goodness I’ve been using a banquet hall for party. Otherwise, my house would be full of people right now.

  It takes two hours before my door opens.

  “Knock, knock,” Deanna says.

  “In here.”

  She’s changed her clothes, now wearing yoga pants and a tank top. She doesn’t hesitate at all as she rounds the couch and lies on top of me, her head over my sternum.

  “You changed your mind?” If she’s here, then it seems she did. However, I can’t help but ask. The conversation from earlier cannot be swept under a rug.