by Gina Azzi
Denver exudes confidence, an unapologetic boldness that shifts the entire dynamic of a room the moment he enters. His presence could fill a solar system and here I am, one tiny moon, desperate to be sucked into his orbit. I’ve attempted for years to get to know him better, or at least be friendly, but he’s shut me down each time.
That doesn’t mean I’ve moved on though. Nope, my stupid, desperate heart still beats faster at the sight of Denver.
"Have fun tonight," he tells Carter before turning around and walking back into the kitchen, the swinging door swaying in his wake.
"Weird," Carter murmurs.
"I know, right?" Daisy agrees, staring at the space where Denver disappeared moments before.
I take a small step back, studying my hands. Denver can't stand me. I don't know why exactly, but he glares at me like he's angry I'm in his space, frustrated he even has to waste a breath greeting me. A burn blazes through my veins, and I take a fortifying breath.
“Seriously, is something up with you and my brother?” Daisy asks me, her eyebrows arching.
A blush burns up my neck, bleeding into my cheeks in embarrassment. “I don’t think he likes me much.” I admit. Flicking my wrist dismissively, I change the subject. "It doesn’t matter. So, you're taking her to Raf's?" I direct my question toward Carter and Daisy's laughter escapes, picking back up with her teasing.
"I'm leaving." Carter raises his hands in surrender. "Whatever you girls get into tonight, be safe."
I look at Daisy, and she rolls her eyes and we both laugh, knowing that we're getting into his date tonight.
"See you later." Carter pushes through the front door, and we wait until we hear the door close behind him.
"He has no idea, does he?" I ask Daisy.
She shakes her head. "None whatsoever. I never thought I'd see the day Carter would actually fall for someone."
I walk back to the coffee table and down half the contents of my wine glass. A breath of relief escapes me, grateful that it's Carter and not Denver. The relief is quickly followed by a pang of longing, of knowing. One day Denver Kane will fall in love, and my heart will break. He'll just never know it. No one will.
3
Denver
Storming into the kitchen after seeing her, my hands clench into fists. She's here in my living room. Laughing with Daisy and joking with Carter like she's part of the family. Because she is. Kind of.
But she shouldn't be. No, Sierra Begay should definitely not be part of my family.
Wicked curves, long black hair I could fist in my hands and wrap around my wrists. I see it splayed around the colorful ink decorating my arms. Her mischievous smirk pisses me off as much as it turns me on; Sierra forces me to the brink with just one word, one look, one irritating eye roll.
Her laughter follows me into the kitchen, as if in mockery, and I feel a wave of anger mixed with a flicker of desire heat my blood. Shaking my head, I pull a Coke from the fridge and walk out to the back porch, letting the door slam shut behind me.
Breathing in the heavy, humid air, I hold it in my lungs, trying to calm the racing of my heart. Kicking back in one of the deck chairs, I close my eyes, the sweet Cola quieting my mind and easing my nerves. She's the one girl I can't pursue. I can't mess with the girl that my sister considers a sister because even if Sierra and I did hookup, that's all it would be. A hookup. One night. Fine, it'd be a smoking hot, passionate as all hell, perfect fucking night. But then the morning would come, and I'd be forced to leave her bed, leave her behind, not get all kinds of tangled up in her life when I have my own shit to worry about.
And I can't do that to my sister's best friend. It would create a wedge in their friendship that Daisy may never forgive me for. Hell, I can't forgive myself for, and I have too many goddamn sins to start adding to the list now.
Draining the Coke and soaking in the silence of night, I feel better. Calmer. More in control of my emotions and more in control of how things are going to play out tonight. I'm gonna hit Raf's with Evie and Jax. See Carter and Taylor. Watch over Daisy and Sierra as they undoubtedly consume too many sugary drinks with umbrellas from the bartender, Lenny. And then I'm going to come home, sleep off the night and my own frustrations, and work like hell for the rest of the weekend, avoiding all signs of Sierra Begay until she's gone.
I blow out a deep breath.
Just get through this weekend, Den. Then it'll be months until you have to see her again. By then, things could be completely different.
I crush the Coke can in my hand.
Who am I kidding? The only thing that could be different is if Sierra is seeing someone. And even then, just a glimpse of her would be the same type of sweet torture for me.
She's reckless. Wild. Her dark hair slides over her shoulders as she tosses her head back, her arms reaching out to the ceiling as she bumps and grinds to the beat. Her eyes are closed, the delicate curve of her neck on full display, and the ridiculous jangle of bangle bracelets slides down nearly to her elbows as she waves her arms.
I close my eyes, needing to rip my gaze away from her. She's dangerous.
A guy I recognize as a hang-around to the Devil's Shadows MC comes up behind her and places a hand possessively on her hip, and I take a menacing step forward from my perch against the bar.
She turns in his arms and smiles but shakes her head, stepping out of his grasp, and a shock of relief rocks through my system, surprising me in its intensity. What is wrong with me? She's Daisy's best friend. I'm just looking out for her, making sure she's okay since the rest of my siblings are caught up in their own fun.
If only I believed that's all it is. But I know my interest is deeper than just keeping an eye out for my sister's friend.
I want her. I’ve wanted her since she appeared on our doorstep for a visit Daisy’s second year of college. She was just a kid then, nineteen, and I was keeping my head down after completing my bullshit prison sentence. She was all big eyes and a contagious laugh. She spoke of art and textures, or colors and lighting. Her idealism and zest for life pissed me off in its naivete and yet, I wanted to listen to her speak for hours, learn more about the way her mind worked, see the world the way she did, if only for a moment.
Damn it. Desire thrums through my veins, turning my blood hot, and I bang a fist down on the top of the bar, irritated with myself.
Get it together, Kane. She's off limits. She's not for you.
"Den!" Daisy looks up from her spot on the dance floor, her golden-brown hair sticking to her neck with sweat. "Come dance and join the party." She spreads her arms out wide, encompassing the makeshift dance floor at Raf's Bar and Grill. A local hangout, the place is a complete hole-in-the-wall, and yet to us Kane kids, it's practically home.
I shake my head, raising my lukewarm bottle of beer to my lips and continuing to glare at anyone who steps up to Sierra. Everyone here knows better than to step to Daisy. Especially with Carter, Jax, and me present.
Out on the dance floor, my brother Carter is wrapped up with his new girl, Taylor. Their heads are bent together, his hands gripping her hips. My other brother, Jax, whispers into his girl Evie's ear, and her laugh echoes around me.
And I'm just standing here, watching my brothers tangle up with women who love them, or at least are falling in love with them, and care about them. Beautiful, intelligent, kindhearted women.
And all I can do is stare at the one girl in the world I can't have, and who I want more than I've wanted any woman in a long, long time.
The night seems to drag on as Sierra loses herself to whisky and music. What kind of girl drinks whisky, anyway? I mean, except for the girls who would be perfect for me.
My sister is sloshed off of Lenny's fruity cocktails complete with tiny umbrellas, Evie is gulping water to stay hydrated, and Taylor is being spread out across the bar, a bottle of tequila pushed into Carter's hand for a body shot.
And Sierra is drinking whisky—not just any whisky, Glenlivet 18.
Just another
reminder why she's different than any woman I've ever met—one more reason to desire her more than my next breath.
4
Sierra
The soft snores whistling in and out of Daisy's nose are the loudest sound I hear as I lay next to her in her childhood bedroom. It's funny, really, Daisy and me. We couldn't be more different, our upbringings completely opposite, yet she's like my sister.
I guess college living does that. You meet when you're at one of the most vulnerable times in your life, trying to figure out who you are, and what you're going to do with the rest of your life. At the same time, you're learning how to do laundry, attempting not to substitute cereal—or Cheetos—for dinner, and pretending you're not gaining the freshman fifteen. It's exhausting without being paired up with a roommate from hell.
Luckily, I got my best friend.
As Daisy’s snores even out, other sounds from the house begin to infiltrate my consciousness: Evie's laughter as she FaceTime’s with her brother, Jax and Denver's voices mingling in the background, and nothing from Carter, which makes sense as Taylor was practically sleeping while walking home from Raf's.
Within moments, I hear another bedroom door close, and a hush settles over the house. At first, I think it's Denver who’s gone to sleep, but after several minutes pass without Evie and Jax's playful bickering, I know, just know, that the creaking floorboards and flipping of the television channels means Denver is awake.
And so am I.
Excitement bubbles in my stomach quickly followed by nerves. Should I go down? Feign I need a glass of water? Turning to my side, I take in Daisy's peaceful expression. No, this is stupid. What if he ignores me?
But what if he doesn’t?
I roll my eyes at myself, turning onto my back. I stare up at Daisy’s ceiling fan, the spinning blades churning out a soft hum.
Hooking up with Denver will make things awkward. And the last thing I need in my life right now is to have a strain on my friendship with Daisy.
He coughs, the sound seeming to echo around me.
I am thirsty. Kind of.
Ugh.
I bounce my head back against my pillow, hating my own indecision. From the first time I laid eyes on Denver Kane, I wanted to make him smile. Laugh. Trade a bit of his ever-present severity for a spark of mischief.
That was years ago.
And still every time our paths cross, my body tingles with an awareness that I have only experienced in his presence. I can feel his eyes, black as coal, tracking my movements. The low, sharp intake of his breath when I pass by him, my arm just brushing against his chest or bicep. From that first encounter nearly three years ago, everything between Denver and me has been tense, bordering on strained. And yet, just below that tightness is a thread of flirtation, of awareness, of palpable excitement. An energy runs through my body like a live wire, heightening my senses and amplifying my perception as I strain my ears for any sound of Denver.
I hear him clear his throat, a chuckle hovering in the space between us like a homing beacon.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight, my mind already made up.
Throwing the covers back and swinging my legs to the side of the bed, I listen to make sure there is no change in Daisy's breathing.
Confident that she is out for the count, I stand up on shaky legs, although I'm not sure if my unsteadiness is from the whisky still coursing through my veins or my own anticipation of being face to face with Denver.
Alone.
Just the two of us.
Gah!
I sneak into the bathroom to brush my teeth again and fluff the roots of my straight black hair for volume. Swiping my fingers across my eyebrows and adding a coat of lip balm to my lips, I take a deep breath and bite back the swell of nervous laughter that wants to burst forth.
Get it together, Sierra. You can do this. You are doing this.
Clad in my pajamas consisting of a pair of tiny, grey sweat shorts, and a simple, black tank top, I walk down the stairs with care, grimacing as the third step creaks loudly. Denver pauses the TV, effectively silencing the space between us with the exception of our combined breathing.
My foot clears the last step, and I brace my arm on the stair post, biting my lower lip. "Hey."
He nods at me, his eyes darkening to midnight from his seat on the couch. Behind him, a comedian walks across stage on the television, spewing jokes, but nothing is funny or amusing between Denver and me.
No. Like usual, everything between us is stiflingly serious.
"Can't sleep?" His voice is low and gruff and grazes across my skin like sandpaper, causing goosebumps to rush up my arms.
I shake my head, blinking slowly.
"You, um, hungry?"
My stomach clenches at the question, but it's a different kind of hunger than a physical need for food. It's a need for him.
Whatever he reads in my face causes his eyes to flash—a quick dash of danger, and a sharp intake of breath.
"Can I sit with you for a while?" I ask instead, my voice breathy, my footing unsure.
He nods once, and I walk over to the couch, sitting down next to him and leaning into the cushions.
He un-mutes the TV and sound resumes, laughter from the crowd and the fast talking of the comedian echoing around us. I can't focus on the jokes. I can't focus on anything except the heat radiating off of Denver's body, seeping into my skin.
God, it's torturous.
Everything with him is.
With Carter, I can say whatever I'm thinking and joke around until I'm blue in the face. With Jax, I can drink a beer and discuss current events or my favorite book. With Denver, I can hardly freaking breathe.
He shifts in his seat, and I'm incredibly aware that the movement causes the couch cushion to dip, bringing our bodies closer together, as if we're magnets. His knee brushes against my thigh, and I swallow thickly, turning to look at his profile.
When I turn my head just a fraction of an inch, Denver's dark gaze bores straight into my eyes, and my mouth simultaneously dries and waters. How the hell is that even possible?
"Sierra?" His voice is gruff and pained. Raw.
I place my hand over his knee, and even though I’m nervous, my fingers are sure, steady. He's changed into basketball shorts, and the heat from his skin warms my palm. I brush my fingers across the soft hairs curling on his leg and he exhales, causing me to look away from my hand and back to his face.
"Sierra."
I shake my head, inching my fingers up his leg, shifting closer until our shoulders bump, and I fight the urge to melt into him.
Denver's eyes close for a beat too long; a second that stretches like eternity as I wait for him to make up his mind, to decide one way or the other. My heart stutters in my chest and anxiety threatens to cloud my mind. What if he shuts me down? The embarrassment alone may kill me; how could I ever face him again? My fingers clench as hysteria threatens to consume me when his eyes finally snap open.
His gaze is like steel, his jaw resolute, a tiny muscle twitching under his left eye.
"Fuck it," he says.
And then his lips crash over mine, his fingers tangling in my hair, knotting at the base of my neck to hold my head steady against the onslaught of his kiss.
I meet him kiss for kiss, moaning when his tongue sweeps into my mouth. The scruff marking his cheeks and chin scrapes over my neck, and I reach up, tugging on his messy man-bun and pulling him closer.
His eyes blaze, fierce and wild, as I lose myself in his touch. He nips at my lower lip and I groan, shifting so I'm lying on the couch with Denver hovering over me.
He pauses for a moment, his dark eyes searching mine and scanning my face. He rakes his teeth across his lower lip and I hiss, my fingers tangled in the collar of his T-shirt.
"Sierra."
"Don't."
"We shouldn't. This is—"
"A long time coming."
He grins, a low chuckle working its way up from his belly and my heart freaking st
ops. Finally, a Denver Kane smile, an acknowledgment of some sort. My fingers clench his shirt tighter, trying to pull him closer before he changes his mind or stops completely. "Still. If we do this, we can't go back."
"I know."
"You're making it fucking impossible for me to walk away."
"Then don't."
"Sierra." My name is like a plea on his lips, and I'm unsure if it's said in surrender or rejection.
"I want this. Den, I want you."
His biceps flex when I say the name everyone calls him, everyone except me, as it's always seemed too familiar for the strained relationship we danced around.
He nods once, the lines of his face shifting as he dips his head gently and captures my mouth once more, this time sweetly and with reverence. Denver moves over me, his hands grazing every inch of my skin as he undresses me. I shiver from his touch and then from the lack of his heat as he pulls back to glance at my naked body, splayed out beneath him on the couch.
"You're perfect. Too goddamn good for me." His lip quirks in jest, but his tone is serious.
Before I can respond or disagree or consider the fact that anyone could walk downstairs and see us on the couch, he pounces, building me up and working me over like a professional. And I shatter beneath him, over and over. And again.
5
Denver
It's early when I wake the next morning, the stillness of the house too quiet, in sharp contrast to my immediate restlessness.
Sierra is gone, and I think I dreamed the entire thing. The searing kisses, the hot touches, the languid build between us that reached a frenzied pitch before we crashed, again and again.
