Chapter 21
DESI
“Come on, you little heathen.”
Matilda wiggles and shakes and suds fly all over the place, causing me to look up and then still when I see Reznor across the way. His shirt is off and he’s bent over looking at something on his front porch, biceps flexed, ass perfectly positioned, and I simply stand and watch him.
Distracted.
Mesmerized.
Recalling how deliciously fine he was the other night. And morning.
Break the habit, Des.
Wasn’t that what I swore to myself when he walked out? That I was going to break the habit he’d created in me wanting him?
But here’s what I don’t know. Do I break the habit so I stick to my guns about only needing casual sex, or is it so I don’t get hurt when he moves away?
I know the answer, but I don’t think I’m ready to admit it to myself yet.
I like that he doesn’t push me. Yeah, he kind of does, but in a cute, come on, let’s have incredible sex kind of way.
I like that when he’s not with me, I kind of miss him.
I like that—Shit.
“Knock it off, Des,” I mutter. “I can’t let myself do this, Matilda. I just can’t. There I go again talking to myself about the reasons why I can justify sleeping with him.” I look back up at Reznor and shake my head. “But wouldn’t you sleep with him if he looked like that?” I ask the sodden mutt.
Yep. I’ve lost my mind.
But that’s the problem. I think about him way too much. Like the kind of thinking about him where I have little daydreams imagining what it would be like if he weren’t going back to San Francisco in the coming weeks.
It’s just sex. It’s just sexy Reznor. That’s all it is.
Then why am I standing here with a soaking wet dog and staring at him and not tending to her?
Because he makes me wet too.
Matilda shakes again and water sprays on me. “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” I say to her. “Good thing you’re so cute or else I’d be mad at you for that.”
I busy myself rinsing the suds from her and then towel dry her because Em’s putting Taylor down. I love that kid to death, but she’s a holy terror if she doesn’t get her nap. And nap time means I get alone time with my best friend—something that’s few and far between these days.
The clomping on the front porch immediately has my attention as I bolt for the front door to answer it before the doorbell rings.
I fling the door open and of course, it’s Reznor, standing there with his shirt off and that cocky smirk on his face.
“Don’t ring it!”
“Ring what?” he says, confusion etched on his face.
“The bell.”
He laughs. “I do believe I’ve already rung your bell a time or two.”
Every part of me thanks God that Emerson is not standing in the room behind me hearing this or witnessing the look in Reznor’s eyes that tells me he’d be game to go right now if I said it was okay.
“Aren’t you proud of me?” he asks.
“For what?”
“I came to the front door.” He flashes a lightning-quick grin.
“Good boy.”
“Don’t I get a treat?” he asks with a lift of his brow and eyes that run the entire length of my body in slow appreciation before stepping past me into my living room uninvited.
And I’d be lying if I said that slight brush of his body against mine doesn’t do things to every part of me.
“Can I help you?” I manage when I notice he has an electric drill in one hand and a large bag of something in his other.
“I’m not sure if you want me to answer that,” he says, followed by a low rumbling chuckle as he sets his stuff on the coffee table and turns toward me.
Damn the man gives good face.
Our eyes hold across the small space, and every part of my body is more than aware of him, his cologne, the look in his eyes...just everything. And including how much I wish Emerson wasn’t here right now so I could scratch this itch that seems to keep coming back somehow.
You promised, Des. No more sex with him.
“Is it Pussy again? Is she wet?” he asks, a ghost of a smile turning up the corners of his mouth. I’d swear he rehearsed the timing, because just as the words are out of his mouth, Emerson enters the room, mouth wide, cheeks flushed.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was...I’ll just”—she looks back and forth between us then throws a thumb over her shoulder—“go back in here, and you can pretend I’m not here.”
“No. Em. You’re fine.” I glare at Reznor. “He’s talking about Logan’s cat, Pussy.” Emerson eyes me. “I’m serious. The first time we met—it was—it’s just a joke between us. Reznor Mayne, please meet my best friend, Emerson Malone. Em, this is my new, temporary neighbor, Reznor.”
“Oh my God. Yes. Grant was telling me about your Academy days last week.” She crosses the small space, tucking her strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear before reaching her hand out to shake his. “So nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.” They shake. “Is it really true you own a skydiving company?”
“That it is. At Miner’s Airfield. It’s called Wings Out.”
“I might have to take a trip out there and have a jump while I’m here.”
“Please do,” she says and just my luck the two of them would get on perfectly. They continue talking for a few minutes to the point that I’m curious if I snuck out of the room if they’d even notice.
And then, almost as if I can physically see the light bulb turn on in Emerson’s head—when it hits her that there just might be more here than meets the eye—she gasps out, “Oh. I’m sorry.
I’m just...I think I hear Taylor crying.
I’ll go check on her.” She hooks a thumb over her shoulder but doesn’t move, a sly, knowing smile ghosting her lips.
“It’s okay,” Reznor says. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” He holds up the stuff in his hands. “I should’ve called, but I bought you an infrared security system. Nothing extensive, but enough to alert you if the doors or windows are opened. I can come back and install it another time.”
“No,” Emerson gasps. And that one word expresses perfectly how what he just said makes me feel. It’s a good thing she speaks, because right now I’m pretty speechless as I stare at him, dumbfounded.
He bought me an alarm system. He came to the front door. He’s trying to take away the fear.
“I can come back. I didn’t know there was a baby—”
“She sleeps through anything,” Emerson says with a wave of her hand and I can already see Reznor winning her over.
“I’ll be as quiet as possible.”
“Don’t worry about it. She’ll love more time with Aunty Des. Please, do your thing...Des and I can visit out back so we’re out of your way.”
Reznor looks at me and gives me a shy smile with a lift of his eyebrows, a silent request for permission, and it takes me a second to find my voice. “Thank you.” We hold each other’s gazes for a beat longer before I look up to see Emerson fighting a smile and pointing to me that we need to talk.
Because I’ve been holding out on her.
“He bought you an alarm system.”
“So?” I play it off, although that in itself is a flutter, swoon, and sag all in one.
“That’s like oral sex times one thousand.”
“Shh. Quiet down, you horny pregnant woman.” I laugh.
She leans back in her chair, hands folded over her swollen belly, and stares at me. “So, are you going to elaborate on what is going on here between you and Mr. Sex on a Stick in there? Does he sex you so good you say blah-blah-blah?”
“Who said...we haven’t...it’s just—”
“Sounds like someone’s saying blah-blah-blah”—she laughs—“so I’ll put a checkmark in the incredible-sex box, thank you very much.”
“He’s just...infuriating. And does everything just right. And he—gah—he doesn’t back down—and, never mind. It’s hard to explain.”
Her laugh is full and her belly moves with it. “Those are the best kind of men, sweetheart.” And of course, she would know, given her husband. She’s clearly amused by my inability to talk coherently. “The ones who you can’t describe and can’t stop thinking about.”
“Whatever. You know me, I don’t get like that with guys.”
“Uh-huh,” she says with a lift of her brows and a knowing smile.
“Seriously. He’s just nice, and it’s been a while since I’ve met a decent and nice guy—”
“Who’s incredible in bed. Comes over and fixes your broken pipes—”
“How did you—?”
She holds up her hand to cut me off. “Grant told me,” she says, throwing me for a loop.
“Wait, you knew about him and didn’t tell me?”
“Ha. Don’t get your feelings hurt, sister, because it’s not like you told me about him either.” She holds her finger up to stop me when I begin to talk. “I’m not finished with my list yet.”
“You and your lists.”
“Where was I? Oh. Right. Who’s teaching you self-defense. Who’s installing an alarm system. Who has you stuttering out a response.” She eyes me. “Should I continue?”
Our eyes meet, hold, and then I lower mine to look at my hands folded and fidgeting on the table. “It’s complicated,” I murmur as Reznor walks past the window, phone to his ear, the tenor of his laugh soft so as to not wake up Taylor but still vibrating to where we’re sitting.
“He fits in seamlessly,” she says. “Even the dogs don’t get worked up over him like they do everyone else.”
I nod and stare at him through the window as the drill sounds off and he reaches above his head to install an infrared monitor.
How was it that two months ago I didn’t even know him? It’s almost as if I can’t remember not having him here or nearby...and that’s scary. He fits in seamlessly.
“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
I sputter and then choke on a breath as I rip my eyes from him and look at her wide-eyed and in disbelief. “Will you shut up?” I gasp. “You’re being utterly ridiculous.”
A smile curls up one side of her lips. “You never answered my question. Are you?”
“How can you even ask me that?” I glance to where Reznor was to make sure he’s still there and out of earshot of this asinine conversation. “I’ve known him less than two months.”
Memories of growing up flicker in my mind: a new man would start coming around, a new declaration of love by my mother shortly thereafter, a swift departure by said man within weeks.
That’s not me. I’m not her.
“Two months...meh.” Emerson shrugs. “I know people who have fallen in love in a lot less time.”
“We are not having this conversation right now.”
“Why not? Does it make you uncomfortable?” I hate the cat ate the canary grin and how her words are making my mind spin and question and wonder.
“You need to be quiet. He’s not...I don’t...this is just—”
“All I’m hearing is blah-blah-blah,” she teases, and after all the shit I gave her—pushed on her when she was dating Grant—I know she’s enjoying the hell out of this.
“I’m not in love with him,” I assert in a harsh whisper so she takes me seriously, and so Reznor doesn’t hear me.
“But you’re in a whole lotta like with him.”
“What’s not to like? He’s hotter than hell and good in bed.”
“I think he’s a whole lot more than hot to you. That you neglected to tell me you were hooking up with him speaks for itself.”
“Slow down, turbo. It’s only been a few times.”
“Exactly.” She lifts her eyebrows. “Only a few times when he lives twenty feet away means you guys don’t want to ruin this so you are trying to take it slow. I can respect that.”
“Earth to Emerson? Are you listening to yourself? This is me we’re talking about here.” I laugh, but it’s solely to abate the nerves this conversation is giving me. If she sees them, she’ll know her answer, and I’m not even ready to give an answer on this topic yet.
Am I? No. It’s ridiculous. I can’t be in love with him. Especially when the pattern would follow my mother’s...I tell him I love him and he leaves.
No, Des. That’s not what this is.
“For a woman who pushed me to sleep with Grant, why are you shying away from him?”
“I always shy away,” I lie.
“That’s such a load of crap and you know it.”
“It’s me. Do you know anyone who I’ve kept around longer than a few weeks? It’s been a few weeks...so it’s only inevitable what’s going to happen next.”
“Next? If I were you, I’d kick me and Taylor out and go in there and thank that man properly for installing a security system.
Mm-mmm-mmm,” she murmurs as she leans back in her chair so she can catch a glimpse of him.
“Just his name—Reznor—it oozes sex and that bad-boy appeal and basically everything you love in a man...so the fact that you’re hitting that hottie only a few times and then backing away slowly says you like him more than you’re letting on. ”
And this is the problem with having a friend who knows you so well. She sees through all of your bullshit lies. Even the ones you’re telling yourself.
“He’s here for a short time.”
“Exactly. Just how you like them—here and then gone—so tell me why you’re not taking advantage of him?”
Because he’s too close.
The thought repeats in my head later when the house is quiet and everyone has left. I walk back and forth in front of the infrared sensors Reznor installed just to watch them turn from green to red and back to distract me from thinking about my conversation with Emerson.
I’m not in love with Reznor.
She definitely has pregnancy brain if she’s thinking that.
I can’t be.
And yet one particular part of the conversation keeps replaying in my mind.
“So Grant says he’s been trying to convince you to stay here in Sunnyville, Reznor.”
Reznor stopped mid-motion as he released the chuck on his electric drill and nodded. “He has indeed.”
“We’re not exactly a small town anymore. I know we’re not San Francisco, but we’ve grown a lot in the past few years. Now we have a lot more crazy,” she says and laughs. “Grant thinks having an experienced SWAT commander is a good thing. Besides, it’s safer here...and we have lots of wine.”
I’m here, I thought.
“It won’t be easy going back, that’s for sure,” he said as he looked at me, those brown eyes of his giving nothing away before looking back at Emerson. “But yeah, I’ll be going back. My guys need me.”
The pang of pain from his words hits me just as hard now as it did when he spoke them.
Maybe even harder. Because I hear other words about when he is leaving. It could be sooner unless I find something here that piques my interest enough to want to stay. And clearly, I haven’t piqued his interest.
Em was wrong.
Admitting that hurts just as deeply.
I glance out the window toward his place, where the soft glow of the light reflects against his closed curtains.
Want to know the best way not to have your heart broken, Desi?
Keep your guard up, heart closed, mind clear. In other words, don’t let yourself fall in love to begin with.