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The phone rings one last time before the answering machine picks up. Connor’s voice filters through the air, but the caller hangs up. And that’s when I start giggling. I can’t help it. Slapping a hand over my mouth, I fail at trying to hold in my amusement, and the look on Connor’s face does nothing but make me laugh harder.
“I can’t believe you’re making fun of me.”
Maybe it’s the low level of alcohol still sifting through my body, or perhaps it’s all of the pent-up emotion I’ve been holding in lately. Or maybe it’s Connor and the way his eyes are softening as he watches me, but I tip my head back and let out the most unladylike snort known to mankind.
“Did you just snort?” Connor asks, making me snort again.
“I did.” I gasp, nodding like a damn bobblehead. “I totally snorted.” I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. Wiping the tears of laughter from my face, I glance at Connor. Something in his expression has changed. He’s no longer looking at me like he wants to ravage me, and his face is void of any amusement. Instead, his eyes are warm and inviting.
The phone starts ringing again, and I point toward the other room. “Do you need to answer that?”
Connor shakes his head. “I don’t care who it is,” he says, taking another step toward me.
“All I care about right now is this beautiful woman standing in front of me.”
Oh.
Oh my.
That was good.
Connor’s eyes rake down my body and then back up again. He looks like a man who is in desperate need of food, and I’m his next meal. I don’t remember the last time a man looked at me like this, but I want him to look at me like this all the time.
But he can’t if you don’t give him a chance.
And just like that, my resolve crumbles. Because as much as I hate to break my own rules, I hate the thought of never seeing Connor again even more. The thought of letting my own fears keep me from what could potentially be something great makes my stomach roll. Plus, if any man is worth taking that chance on, it has to be this man. The one I can’t stop thinking about, and the one who makes me wish for things I’d long ago given up on.
And let’s not forget the butterflies.
A big, huge swarm of them that take flight every single time he looks at me.
I haven’t felt that … ever.
Two years is long enough, so I decide to go with my gut—or maybe it’s my heart. Right now I think they’re working together, plotting against me. Damn conspirators.
Swallowing hard past the lump in my throat, I say the words before I chicken out. “I change my mind,” I whisper.
Connor’s eyes widen, and in a flash I’m scooped up in his arms. But instead of walking down the hall toward where I imagine the bedroom would be, he walks into the living room. Sitting down on the couch, Connor settles me on his lap. I straddle his hips and bring my hands to the front of his shirt.
“This isn’t the bedroom,” I state, leaning forward to place a kiss on his plump lips.
Connor allows me to have my way with his mouth, and when I finally pull back to take a breath, he chuckles. “If I would’ve known it’d only take a blow job to get you to change your mind, then I would’ve obliged at the tattoo shop.”
I slap playfully at his arm. “The blow job had nothing to do with it.” The answering machine kicks on for the second time and I smile before continuing. “It was all you and that damn smile,” I say, kissing him again because, well…I can.
“Connor, the tattoo artist…” Gasping, I slap a hand over my mouth as my sister’s voice fills the room. “Brittany isn’t answering her phone, or her texts, and I am not happy about it. Did you know your buddy Todd is an asshole? Because he is. He wouldn’t give me your damn number. Do you know what I had to do to get him to give me your number?” she asks.
“Who’s Todd?” I whisper, lowering my hand.
“He owns the bar we were at earlier,” Connor answers as Casey continues with her tirade.
“I had to flash him,” Casey scoffs. “Can you believe that? The little shit wouldn’t give me your damn number until I agreed to flash him. Unbelievable. Anyway,” she says with a yawn, as if flashing Todd was no big deal. “Brit, if you’re there, I really need you to come home. I locked myself out of the house—” The answering machine beeps, cutting Casey off mid-sentence. Scooting off Connor’s lap, I grab my phone from the entryway table and shoot her a quick text.
Me: Be there in one minute.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, straightening my clothes. “But I’ve gotta go.”
Connor stands up, buttons his pants, and smooths out his rumpled shirt. “I’ll take you home,” he says, grabbing his keys from the hook next to the door.
