22. Becca
TWENTY-TWO
BECCA
The old painted wood floor creaks and thumps outside my bedroom door.
Footsteps and sighs, frustrated grunts and muttered cusses.
A peek at the clock shows it’s almost eleven, my very last lights out.
But tonight I can’t rest because I can’t stop thinking about the man I saw working on my cottage.
Sinew in his muscles, the sheen of sweat on his collarbones and neck, his pants hanging so low there was almost butt cleavage, suggestive butt cleavage so hot the man could bring plumber’s crack into style.
Then to sweep his daughter up in those strong, defined arms and kiss her cheek until she squealed was just a cuteness overload.
And then when I went back to chat, Tyler was just . . . nice. He didn’t make any cutting remarks. Everything he said was kind. For a moment there, I wasn’t sure what to do with that because our relationship dynamic thrives on giving each other a hard time.
But he was really sweet. I didn’t know he had it in him.
Another mumble comes from the hallway, accompanied by heavy footfalls.
I highly doubt all that noise is Ellie choreographing a dance routine at midnight.
I sit up and flip the sheets off myself, rubbing my arms as goosebumps flare on my skin.
I run my fingers through my hair and tousle it a bit before I open the door.
Tyler is on the other side, breathing hard and with eyes possessed.
An old t-shirt hangs limp from his shoulders, plaid pajama pants covering his lower half.
His damp hair forms a single curl in the middle of his forehead.
The air is humid, the bathroom mirror across the hall fogged from where he just had a shower.
I’m just about to make a joke about already having said goodnight when his voice comes out, low and dark, with his hand braced on the door frame. “I’m not a chickenshit.”
I simper, itching with the need to irritate him. “If it quacks like a duck . . .”
His chest heaves and his earnest brown eyes meet mine. “I fucked up, Reba. I’ve had the wrong idea about what happened between you and CJ, and I’ve been an asshole about it. I’m sorry.”
I’m disarmed. Of all the things I imagined he’d be stomping outside my room about, it wasn’t apologizing for years of hurt.
My lips pop open as I look for the right words.
“Thank you for saying that.” My breathing is starting to pick up too.
He’s worked up, and this is much more than I bargained for.
I click my jaw, afraid to let out the deepest part of the hurt.
“I wish you would have trusted me earlier. Trusted Dustin.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, swallowing hard. “Me too. I’m lucky you’re willing to do this. But I’m scared too. I’m scared of what happens if it fails.”
I nod because I couldn’t agree more. The consequences if we fail at this are huge. “I know,” I whimper.
He’s still panting, licking his lips with his eyes flitting between mine.
I gasp when he reaches for me and pulls my hips flush with his, one hand cruising up my back until he finds the bare skin between my shoulder blades.
His eyes are pure liquid amber, his fingertips gently brushing my spine.
I’m surprised to find my hands resting on his pecs, where they landed of their own accord.
“I wasted years trying not to look at you, Reba.”
The way he holds me is in stark contrast to his words. His words sound like he hates me. His touch feels like he wants me.
And for once, I’m utterly speechless.
His grip is steady as he walks me backward to press me against my bedroom wall.
His hips hem me to the wall behind me and the hand that was on my back slides to my waist. The other hand tucks my hair behind my ear before it comes to rest on the column of my throat.
If he’s about to murder me, at least this is hot as hell.
“Years trying to stay away from you,” he shakes his head, “but now you’re fucking everywhere.”
I think he’s going to sink his teeth into me, my lips, my neck, but instead he pauses. He moves his hand from my neck to my face. His fingers slide under my ear before his thumb coasts along my jaw, angling me up to him.
He shakes his head again before mumbling, “Everywhere.”
My lips feel full and heavy, waiting for whatever comes next. His gaze is fixed to my mouth while beat after beat passes between us. My voice is sultry and a smirk curves my lips. “All this talk, but it still seems like you’re a chickenshit to me.”
Something flares in Tyler’s eyes and he drops his hand to my throat once more before crushing his mouth to mine.
Years of antagonizing me, of avoiding each other, of ignoring everything that had once passed between us go up like a piece of paper over a candle.
I can’t help myself. My hands slide up his chest to his shoulders, then to hold the side of his neck as we melt deeper into the kiss. A giddy, electric feeling passes through me as I rise on my toes to get closer, to touch more of him, to try to climb his body and be all the hell over him.
His tongue sweeps across my lips to beg for entry, and even though he’s been an asshole, even though I could hold all the things he’s done wrong over his head, this feels too good to waste time on grudges.
I’m letting him in.
Everything that was once tame turns wild. Tyler breaks our kiss to haul me up into his arms and to his waist. His grin before he dives back into me is something I haven’t seen on him in years: eyes shining, dimple popping, pure and utter glee. But there’s also something new there.
Adoration.
I’m not holding back and neither is he. There’s desperation in the way he kisses me: clawing hands, soft tongue, a deep growl when I tug his lower lip with my teeth, a whimper when I clutch his face in my hands.
My deep ache and the moan I let out when his hard length brushes me through my thin sleep shorts.
Tyler’s mouth opens wider as he coughs a shocked laugh, our eyes meeting.
He swallows hard before he rocks his hips again, a move that makes my nipples bead into tighter peaks.
My moan is smothered by another painstaking kiss, one that I wish meant there would be more, but one that I know means the opposite.
Tyler breaks our kiss and leans his forehead against mine, breathing hard. “Is that convincing enough?”
I ratchet my arms tighter behind his neck and kiss him again, pleading for more of the same and more than that too. He parts from me with one last soft kiss, bending to set me back on my feet. I whine, but he just chuckles and pats my butt twice with a grab and rub at the end.
He heads for the door and my body screams in his wake.
“Tyler.”
He turns in my doorway, cast in profile by the hallway moonlight. How could a man possibly look that gorgeous? “Yeah?”
I shake my head and grin while my whole face heats. “It’s not enough.”
He glances pointedly at the tent in his pants. “I know.” We both laugh, and god, there’s that fucking smile again.
I lift a shoulder and smirk. “I can help with that sort of thing, you know.”
He bites his bottom lip harder and groans, bending backward to look at the ceiling. “Trouble. Every damn time, you’re trouble.”
“It’s kinda my thing.” I wink at him and he rolls his eyes with a face-splitting smile.
“Night, Reba.”
“Night, Ty.”