I’m breathless when I answer, “No.”
“Stay right here. Let me see who it is.” He rushes out the kitchen door onto the back porch, leaving me on the counter, my mind a whirl as the reality of what just happened hits me.
I just kissed Connor.
Connor just kissed me.
I just practically dry humped Connor.
He let me.
He liked it.
I really liked it.
Shit.
I slide off the counter and peek out the kitchen window. Connor is barely visible; his back is to me. But a thin set of arms are wrapped around his neck. I can’t see her face, but I know exactly who it is.
Roxy.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Heat blankets my face as my stomach knots. I’m an idiot. He’s dating her, and I’m dating Vick. What we just did was so wrong on so many levels.
Blake.
Oh my God.
Blake.
How could we?
I just betrayed my poor dead husband by making out with his cousin.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Connor turns slightly and jabs his thumb toward my house, but I still can’t fully make out Roxy. When he spins around panic sets in. I can’t stand for him to come in here and tell me he has to go. I can’t face what just happened. So I do the only thing I can do in the brief time I have before he enters. I yank out a chair from the kitchen table and plop down laying my head on the table.
When he enters, I feign sleep. I even make the tiniest snoring sound for added effect. He’s quiet once he enters, but after a moment he gently brushes the hair from my face and whispers, “Hey babe. Wake up.”
When I don’t respond, he shakes me slightly.
“Damn,” he whispers.
I’m hoping he’ll just leave me, but I should know better. That’s not Connor’s style. The big muscular, tattooed man is a gentleman. After a moment, he’s collected me in his arms and is carrying me toward my bedroom. It takes great effort on my part to pretend I’m dead asleep and hang limply. He takes me into the master bedroom, and I want to protest, but I’m supposed to be passed out. I’ve forfeited my input. He lays me on the bed and pulls the blanket at the bottom of the bed over me. Then, so sweetly my heart aches, he kisses my temple softly and whispers, “Goodnight, babe.”
I clench my eyes closed as I listen to him exit.
Why does it hurt? It shouldn’t. What just happened was nuts. I shouldn’t feel this . . . sad. Why do I feel sad?
I bury my head in my pillow and groan.
I know exactly why I’m sad.
I’m sad because Connor will be spending the night with Roxy and not with me.
My toe injury caused me to forget to take my ibuprofen last night and just as I knew it would. My head is pounding and so is my toe. It is only when my kidneys feel like they’re about to burst that I force myself out of bed and fumble to the bathroom. The events of last night tumble through my head and I subconsciously kick myself. How could I let that happen? Obviously, I’ve developed an unhealthy attraction to Connor, one that is completely off limits. Add that to me being a somewhat young woman with, let’s face it, sexual needs, I made a horrible decision while under the influence. After I relieve myself, I clumsily make my way downstairs, lured by the aroma of bacon wafting in the air.
My stomach grumbles as I walk into my kitchen, rubbing my eyes as the sunlight beams through the kitchen window, when I hear, “Good morning.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when I look up to find a thin man covered, head to toe, in tattoos sitting at my kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee. His dark hair is longer in the front, than in the back and he has a well-trimmed goatee. Noting what I know must be the fear of God in my eyes at the sight of him, he places his cup down carefully and stands quickly, the chair screeching loudly as it slides back, holding his hands in the air. But the sudden movement only makes me panic more.