Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I NEED NAMES
Gretchen
“What’s it like being this pool’s hottest bachelor?”
The bachelor in question arches a brow from behind his sunglasses, adjusting his grip on the pool ledge. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I float in the water opposite him, my hand on the edge of the pool keeping me afloat along with my legs treading water beneath me.
“See, what I heard you say is that you’re so accustomed to women checking you out that you don’t even notice it anymore.”
Connor Vining in nothing but swim trunks and aviator glasses should be illegal. The wandering eyes of every woman within fifty yards confirms this. In fact, I’d say we have a class-action lawsuit on our hands.
“I don’t need you stroking my ego, Gretchen.”
I fight back a grin. “It’s taking everything in me to not make a dirty joke about stroking right now. ”
He mutters a string of profanity under his breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. I stifle a laugh.
To these women’s credit, his body is a sight to behold.
Golden skin makes his sun-kissed dirty blonde hair sparkle and he’s got the kind of muscle composition that looks like good genetics as opposed to hours spent in the gym.
His abs are far from repulsive and his face is light years beyond pretty.
“Katie McBigBoobs over your shoulder hasn’t stopped staring at you. She thinks those bug-eyed sunglasses are hiding it, but we both know what’s going on behind those lenses.”
He chuckles through tight lips.
“Then there’s Jessica VonSunlessTanner laid out on her stomach with her head oh-so-conveniently turned toward you and she thinks I don’t notice every time she opens one eye to make sure you’re still there.”
Face charmed, he shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”
I lean in close and whisper, “And they both look like they want to murder me.”
Connor’s jaw tics before his hand plunges under the water and he yanks me toward him. I gasp as he turns us so my back is pressed against the side of the pool. His arms on either side of my head cage me in and I reach for his waist to stay afloat.
My gaze traces the column of his throat all the way up to his eyes. Even with sunglasses, his attention lances straight through me like a laser beam.
“Wrap your legs around my waist so you don’t sink,” he says, voice husky.
Because touching him is my new favorite pastime and my body is absolute putty in his hands, I do exactly as he says. I link my ankles around the solid pillar of him. His body presses in closer until only inches separate the space between my legs and his lower torso.
“Now wrap your arms around my neck,” he commands, widening his arms to give me space to obey. Once my arms are in place, my body quite literally propped up on his, he narrows his grip on the pool’s edge and that infamous Connor smirk comes out to play .
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “Do you think they’re staring now?”
My breaths come shallow, small bursts of air parching my lips until I skim my tongue over them. “I would assume they’re fashioning some sort of shiv to stab me with in the bathroom later.”
He drifts closer—or maybe I’ve pulled him in—my breasts now pressed into him.
“What are you doing?” I whisper, the ache between my legs building, demanding friction.
He rests his forehead against mine. “I need to make sure Katie and Jessica know I’m not interested.”
Skin to skin, my soft flesh wrapped around the hard planes of his, his proximity sets my body ablaze, yet quiets the noise inside me all at once. If all I had for the rest of my life was the nearness of him, I wouldn’t want for anything.
Heads fused together, we stay locked in our embrace, breathing each other in. Everyone and everything else fades into obscurity; it’s just us. Him. Me. And the us we almost were back then.
Connor’s cell phone rings, severing the moment in two.
He checks his watch. “I have to answer that. It’s my mom.”
We untangle our bodies and he climbs out of the pool.
I prop myself on the pool deck, forearms crossed under my chin, as Connor scampers around our lounge chairs, righting himself.
He shakes the excess water out of his hair, runs a towel through it and across his bare chest, before accepting the FaceTime call.
“Hi, Mom,” he says as he slides his aviators to the top of his head and settles into his seat. A few moments pass and then, “I’m in Arizona until Monday.”
I unilaterally decide it’s time for another round of margaritas.
As covertly as I can manage, I collect my cover-up from my chair, successfully dodging the camera’s lens.
In one fell swoop, Connor blindsides me, tilting the camera my direction as he says, “It’s a long story, but I’m here with Gretchen.”
I drape the material over my shoulders and give Connor’s mom a quick wave. Before I can turn toward the bar to give them their privacy, Andrea Vining squeals in delight. “Ahhhhh, is that little Gretchen Fisher? ”
Now that I’ve been spotted, I take a seat. “Hi, Mama V.”
“Connor, honey, move the phone closer so I can see her.”
He rolls his eyes as he lugs my chair flush to his. “There, Mom, you see her.”
“Oh Gretchen, sweetheart,” she coos, “I haven’t seen you since you were a little girl. How’s your brother doing? What about your parents?”
“Drew’s good. Mom and Dad are good, too. They’re actually touring Italy right now.”
“Patrick, did you hear that?” she hollers off camera. “Gretchen says Paul and Kelly are in Italy.”
“Gretchen?” The camera jostles and then Connor’s dad squeezes himself into the frame.
“Well, I’ll be damned. That can’t be Gretchen Fisher I see.” They’re as charming and adorable as I remember.
Connor runs a palm down his face. “You guys are unbelievable.”
Patrick adjusts the glasses on his nose. “Where are you guys at?” He squints, trying to parse out the unfamiliar backdrop behind us.
“He said they’re in Arizona,” Andrea answers.
“Arizona! What the hell are they doing there?”
I look at Connor, whose expression has gone utterly lifeless. My shoulders bounce with quiet laughter.
“Clearly I’m not needed for this conversation so are we done here?” Connor interjects dryly.
“Connor Vining, you stop that,” his mom chides. The man next to me charms her with a boyish smile that could send every woman in its vicinity into ovulation.
I set my sunglasses on my head. “How’s the beach life treating you guys?”
“Can’t complain. We’re headed to Carova next week with some friends,” Patrick says as an incredulous grin takes over his face. “I can’t believe that’s you, Gretch. You’re all grown up.”
I only knew Patrick and Andrea Vining for those few years Connor and Drew played football together in high school, but week after week of sitting in the stands together brings a sense of familiarity that’s easy to settle back in to .
I rest my chin on my hands in a dainty pose. “It’s me.”
Connor catches my gaze off camera. He winks and a wave of butterflies soars through my stomach.
“What are you doing now, sweetheart?” Andrea asks and I fix my attention back on the screen. Connor throws his head back in exasperation. I reach for his phone, more than happy to give the Vinings my entire life story, but he pulls away.
“Nope,” he says. “I’m not letting them trap you.”
My head cocks and I lunge for the phone again, successful this time. “Why don’t you make yourself useful, old man, and go get me a margarita while I talk to your parents.”
His dad explodes with laughter. “You heard the woman, son. Skedaddle yourself on over to that bar and get the lady a drink. Leave us to it.”
I lean back in my seat, phone in hand. Connor sighs as he gets to his feet. On his way to the bar, he throws a towel over my face which I swiftly peel off and hurl at his back as he walks away.
I turn back to the Vinings. “Now, where were we?”
For the next few minutes, I fill them in on everything Gretchen: college in New York, my degree and my job prospects back in the city.
“Tell us how you and Connor ended up in Arizona together,” Andrea says, circling back to her earlier question.
“Well, it actually is a long story,” I say as Connor returns with fresh drinks and takes his seat beside me. “The shortened version is that Drew was supposed to come with me, but he had something come up at the last minute, so Connor came instead.”
Connor tilts his head into the frame. “And that’s the end of the story, Mom.”
Andrea hums thoughtfully.
“Mom,” Connor says, drawing out the word.
“Oh, wipe that scowl off your pretty little face,” she quips.
I press a finger between his brows, smoothing out the crease. “Funny. I thought that scowl was just his face.”
Patrick, Andrea and I team up in laughter. Connor’s twinkly eyes promise shenanigans a moment before he rips the phone from my grip with one hand, his other disappearing into the pool bag. Before I realize what’s happening, he announces, “Hey Mom, guess what Gretchen still has?”
An arrogant, son-of-a-bitch grin splits his face as he lifts my copy of Little Women into the frame. My head rears back, mouth agape. He meets my gaze off screen and I mouth the words “you bastard.”
“What is that? Connor, honey, I can’t see it.”
His face softens. “Remember that weekend you drove with me into the city and I bought that book from Gene?”
Andrea inhales sharply and I ease back into the frame. “Who’s Gene?” I ask.
Connor looks to me, searching my face like his parents aren’t mere inches away to witness it. “He’s that book collector I told you about.”
Memories click into place. A sad sort of smile tilts one corner of my mouth. I see it in the heavy bob of his throat, the moment he realizes that his timing, however playful he intended it to be, wasn’t ideal.
“Gretchen,” Andrea’s lively voice chimes into the void, “have you met Gene yet?”
I almost did…once.
I paste on a smile before answering, “No, I haven’t.”
“Oh, you must. Connor, you take her to see him when you get back. And be sure you thank him for letting us use his Carova house.”