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“Where?” he grunts.
“By the fireplace,” I blurt. He man handles the beast of a chair across the room and sets it down with a heavy thud on the edge of the shaggy rug we’d picked up yesterday. We’ve been quite the busy beavers running around Seattle and honestly, it’s been amazing. I’m starting to feel more like myself than I have in years, and I think it’s because I can just trulybemyself with Connor. I don’t have to be “on,” when we hang out. I can just be goofy or crabby or quiet or rowdy or whatever I want to be in the moment. I don’t have to worry about if my hair and makeup and outfit are perfect (something Josh was constantly complaining about on my “slouchy” days. He absolutely hated when I wanted to run around in leggings and a ballcap), I don’t have to worry about getting a stern look if I order a second beer (which was rich coming from a certified alcoholic), I can yell at the TV in the bar during a football game or heaven forbid burp without being told to “behave.” It really is shocking and, to be totally honest, fuckingembarrassingto see how I’d been with Josh. Ishouldn’tfeel embarrassed, I know that, but I can’t deny that there is a degree of shame there, that I let him do that, that I let him chip away at who I was a little at a time.
But not anymore. Never again.
Connor straightens, breathing hard and rolling his neck and shoulders. I’m about to call him a moron when I’m struck mute: he lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe his face and dear God almighty. My mouth goes dry. Other areas do the opposite.
Holy. Shit.
His stomach is flat and tight, corded with muscles that bunch and flex as he moves. The dark lines of his tattoos dance across his tanned skin like living things. What looks like a dragon wrapped around a Celtic cross covers most of his left side, the bottom of the cross splitting through the indecent indention beside his hip, dipping below the top of his jeans. I can see the bottom of something that covers his left peck, but I’m not sure what it is.
He’s sexy in a way that I can’t even fully comprehend, in a way that I’ve never experienced before. I’ve dated attractive men in the past, but no one like Connor. It isn’t just the physicality of him, though that is impressive and mouth-watering, there’s something more. Like you know exactly what promises his body is making, the things he can do with it, the things he can make you feel. There’s a strange, quiet ferocity in that small glimpse of him shirtless that I know I’ll be thinking about long after the sight is gone.
He’d taken me for a ride on his bike yesterday and as I’d wrapped my arms around him, holding tight while he gunned it down a scenic highway, making me whoop with excitement, I’d known he had an amazing body, could feel the hard planes of his stomach, the dips and ridges of his abs. Butseeingthem is a whole different experience. I squeeze my thighs together as a big ole wave of lust rushes through me, both from the memory of being so close to him on the back of that bike, breathing him in as I leaned against his back, splaying my hands across his front, and from the way his stomach flexes now as he moves.
Yes, we are just friends, but there is no rule that says you can't have lusty thoughts about your friends. Where do you think the entire notion of friends-with-benefits came from? Not that there will be any benefits with Connor, but I'm not going to pretend he isn't sexy as all get out. I’m not naïve or delusional or blind.
He drops his shirt and I quickly yank my eyes upward. He thankfully doesn’t seem to notice as he flops into the chair and points an accusatory finger at me.
“One: I am not a weakling. Two: you should know better than to issue a challenge to someone like me. And three: you owe me a fucking drink or twelve.”
I blink several times and clear my throat lightly.
“Someone like you?”
“Someone whose job it is to be professionally competitive. I don’t back down from a challenge, Mac.Ever. It goes against every fiber of my DNA. Whether it's hockey, quarters, or Pictionary, I’m in it to win it.”
“So, what I’m hearin’ is that game night will bereallyfun?” He huffs out a laugh and looks around the relatively sparse living room, slightly better now with the big chair to complement the old couch that the former owners had offered to leave behind.
“So, you like to read I take it?” He jerks his chin towards the shelves, filled to the brim with books.
“Just a bit.” A lot. I read a book a week usually, sometimes more. I think half of the trailer on the way up here was book boxes. He runs the fingers of his left hand absently over the knuckles of his right, over the thick, dark metal rings he wears on his index and middle fingers. I don’t know why, but everything about it is attractive: the tattoos, the rings, the gesture itself. I think I have a problem.
“I used to read all the time, but don’t have much time to anymore.” At my surprised look he says, “Yes, hockey players can read.” I toss a throw pillow at him and he catches it easily, wrapping his arms around it and hugging it to his chest.
“What kind of stuff do you like?”
“Mostly fantasy, with a good crime thriller thrown in the mix every now and then.”
“Really?” I say, brows rising in surprise. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a fantasy guy.”
“Psh. Magic and dragons and vampires? Hell yeah.” His lips curl upward into an amused grin. “Would it also surprise you to know that I was very big into D&D? Like…verybig.”
I grin. “You’re just a big ole nerd, aren’t you, Connor Shepherd?”
“Huge. And you think that’s extremely sexy, don’t you?”
I throw another pillow and he lets this one smack him in the face. “Shut up and come on then. I owe you a drink or twelve, remember? And I’m starving and there’s football on. I’ll show you what arealsport looks like.” He narrows his eyes at me and I give him the sweetest smile I can muster.
“Come on, smart ass,” he says, hoisting himself off the chair and tossing the pillows back at me in quick succession, “I know just the place.”
Chapter Six
Connor
Being friends with Hattie is…interesting. It’s great, don’t get me wrong, but it’s becoming harder than I thought it would toonlywant to be friends. We’ve hung out a few times and we text a good bit, though we still haven’t shared anything super deep. I get the feeling that she’s got something in her past that she’s hiding. Or not hiding, exactly, but that she doesn’t want to share just yet, like maybe she’s ashamed of it or something. I’m not going to push. I haven’t exactly shared all of my personal shit with her either, though I am starting to feel a little guilty about that, like I’m hiding something or keeping secrets. It isn’t that, exactly, but some parts of my life I keep very, very private. But I know we’ll get to the point ofreallysharing soon enough. It’s all very new, but that connection is undeniable. She’s already one of the first people I want to talk to every day or if I see a stupid meme, she’s one of the first people I want to send it to.
I seriously love being around her. I feel like I don’t have to try hard to be anyone but myself when I’m with her, like I can just be me, whoever that is. Sometimes I feel like I lose track ofmewith all the many hats I’m wearing these days, but I find it again when I’m with Hattie, even just talking to her or texting each other stupid memes. It’s easy and carefree.
