Chapter 11
ELEVEN
“You are a true friend,” I say to Sloane as I watch her hang wallpaper. I’ve been struggling for weeks to get it right, and in an hour, she has the entire bathroom done and looking great.
“It’s no problem. I love doing this kind of thing.”
“You’re good at it.”
She finishes smoothing down the last strip and steps back, admiring her work. “This paper is gorgeous. Where’d you get it?”
“I didn’t.” I lift a hand and trace the outline of a white flower.
It’s a peony, I think. Big white and pink peonies against a black background.
I never would have chosen this design, but it’s perfect.
Somehow the room looks bigger and way more stylish while seeming timeless too.
I guess my mom had a flair for design. “The wallpaper was sitting on the counter in here when I got the place. She had lots of little projects going. The bedroom had new roman shades I hung when I first moved in, the office room has a bookshelf that needs to be assembled, and I found dozens of paint sample cards and floor planks in a variety of colors.”
Sloane gives me a sympathetic smile. “How long had your mom lived here?”
“A couple of years. She had a townhouse before that. Those cute ones across town near Café Moon.”
“Oh yeah. I have an aunt and uncle who lived there for a while. Small world.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Anyway, the real estate agent said my mom had big plans for this place before she . . . before she d-die—” I stutter before finishing the last word. “Before she died.”
Despite having basically no relationship with the woman who gave birth to me, it still feels weird to talk about her not being here. Especially when I’m living in her house, seeing the world the same way she did every day.
“I’m sorry,” Sloane says.
“Thanks.” I smile back at her, then focus back on the wallpaper as I push thoughts of dead moms out of my head. “This room is done.”
We step out of the small space and into the living room. The late afternoon sun streams in through the windows.
“Can I buy you late lunch or early dinner to repay you?”
“Payment is not necessary,” she says. “And I’m driving to my parents’ house for dinner tonight anyway. You’re welcome to come with me. My dad makes a mean lasagna.”
“Thank you for the invite, but I think I’m going to plop onto my couch and stay there the rest of the day.”
She laughs lightly. “That sounds perfect.”
I walk her to the door. “Thank you again.”
“It was fun.”
“Only you could find hanging wallpaper fun.”
With a shrug, she steps out onto the porch and waves over her shoulder. “See you Monday.”
When she’s gone, I head back into the bathroom to stare at it again. It turned out better than I could have imagined.
“You had great taste, Mom,” I whisper to the empty room.
I snap a picture and send it to Victor. I’ve been keeping him updated on the house progress, even though he refuses to take any interest in it.
Our mom left the house to both of us, but Victor made it clear immediately that he wanted nothing to do with it.
I think he expected me to have the same reaction, which is why my moving here hit him so hard.
The message goes to read without a reply, like all the others I’ve sent him about the house, but it’s still disappointing. I need someone else to admire my/Sloane’s hard work.
Without thinking too hard about it, I send the same photo to Conrad. It’s been a few days since we texted, but he replies quickly.
Conrad
Looks great. Arms sore?
I smile down at my phone.
Me
They would be if I had done it myself. I had to call in reinforcements.
Conrad
I wish I had known. I could have helped.
Me
Have you hung wallpaper before?
It’s a nice image: a shirtless Conrad working around the house.
Conrad
No, but what I lack in skill I make up for in sheer determination.
A chuckle slips free. I have no doubt that’s true.
Me
Don’t worry. I have plenty more house projects. How are you with building bookshelves?
His reply comes in the form of a picture of a large entertainment center.
It’s black wood with drawers and cabinets.
A big TV sits in the center and there are shelves on either side filled with books and framed pictures, as well as a few other random decorative objects.
I zoom in to get a good look at every detail like it’ll give me more insights into him.
Conrad
Don’t look too closely at the middle drawer. It doesn’t quite line up with the others, but I’m pretty sure that was a manufacturing defect.
Me
It looks great. This is your place?
Conrad
Yeah. Well, mine and D-Low’s.
Me
That would be Danny Marlowe?
Conrad
Sorry. Habit calling him that. Yeah, that’s him.
Conrad
Wait. You know him but you didn’t know me?
Oops.
Me
I didn’t know his name a few months ago either, but I’ve recently taken more interest in my local team.
Conrad
We have a game tomorrow if you’d like to come cheer your team on in person.
My face hurts from smiling. I start to type out a reply that I’d love to come, but then I think about Victor.
He would freak if he found out and make a big deal of it.
Even texting Conrad feels like I’m going behind his back.
I knew from Victor’s reaction to my meeting Conrad, and Conrad’s to finding out Victor was my brother, that they didn’t like each other, but the fight in the game the other night was hard to watch.
And while I know it’s a longshot someone would spot me at the game, I have to consider the possibility that it’d get back to Victor somehow. I know my brother. He’d feel like it was a betrayal even if their rivalry has nothing to do with me.
Me
Wish I could, but I have plans with a friend.
Conrad
Offer stands any time.
The next night I text Conrad after the game.
Me
Congrats on another win
As soon as I hit Send, I rethink the fire emoji and seriously consider editing it, but then he’ll see I did and know I’m overthinking like it’s my job.
I turn off the TV and toss my phone onto the coffee table.
Fifteen minutes later, as I’m reheating Chipotle from lunch, my phone pings.
I rush to the living room to grab my phone.
Conrad
Thanks.
The disappointment at his one-word reply is quickly replaced with excitement when another text pops up below the first.
Conrad
Still out with your friend?
I forgot I told him I had plans tonight.
Me
No, I’m home. Are you going out to celebrate?
Conrad
I think the guys are planning on it, yeah.
Me
You deserve it. You played a really great game.
Great game is sort of an understatement. He scored two goals and had an assist, which puts him at the top of the points for defenders across the league. And he didn’t get into any fights with my brother tonight (probably only because they weren’t playing Houston), so that’s a bonus for me.
The timer for my food beeps and I start back for the kitchen. The ping from my phone stops me.
Conrad
What if I wanted to celebrate with you instead?
My pulse is already racing when headlights shine into the front window.
Conrad
I’m here
I tug at the hem of my shirt and smooth a hand over my hair as I walk to the door. My heart is beating so loudly that I barely hear the light knock. I take one last steadying breath before I pull open the door. All those nerves fall away as soon as I see him. He looks even better than I remember.
“Hey.” The word comes out a little winded like I ran a mile to the door.
He smiles at me, looking as tentative as he does handsome. “Hey.”
I step forward and grab a fistful of his shirt, which seems to be all the encouragement Conrad needs. His mouth drops to mine and then we’re kissing and he’s walking me backward into the house.
“How was your day?” he asks, barely moving his lips long enough to speak.
“Great. Yours?”
His answer is a nod and then his tongue sweeps into my mouth. I pull him to the couch instead of my bedroom because it’s closer. He sits and tugs me onto his lap. His hands are already under my shirt, and he’s hard beneath me.
For a guy who had never had sex until last week, he’s a fast learner.
He pulls back, face flushed.
“What is it?” I prompt him, reading his hesitation and hoping to ease it.
“The, uh . . .” His mouth finds mine again.
Whatever it is, he doesn’t seem to want to stop kissing me any more than I do.
He lets out a small, pained groan as he breaks away again.
“I want to see the bathroom,” he finally says in a quiet tone just before his teeth graze along the column of my neck.
I let my head fall to the side as I decipher his words. “The bathroom?”
“The wallpaper.”
“Oh, right.” I suck in a breath as he nips at my collarbone. “Later.”
Then I crash my mouth down on his again. Our movements are quick and hurried like maybe he’s thought about nothing but this since the last time. The same way I’ve thought about him nonstop.
He lifts me off him and practically tears my leggings and panties off.
“I need to taste you again.” He drops to his knees in front of me, and before I know it, his mouth is on me.
I squeak out a surprised yelp that turns into a moan. He mutters something that sounds like, “Just as good as I remember.”
So is he.
I tangle my fingers in his hair and shamelessly roll my hips to get the friction I need. If it weren’t apparent how quickly he’s trying to get me off, I’d be more embarrassed about how fast he makes me orgasm.
He keeps going, still licking and sucking and dragging sounds out of me that I’ve never made before. I’m trembling, barely able to stand, when he finally pulls back and looks up at me. His hands slide around my hips and he grins. “Now, that’s a celebration.”
I’m giggling when he sits back on the couch, taking me with him. I settle onto his lap. Without pants, my sensitive pussy rubs against his jean-clad bulge.
“Happy to help,” I say as I move over him. Somehow, I’m the one who’s too impatient to take off his pants even though I just got off.
Not that Conrad seems to mind. His fingers dig into my hip as he drags me over the length of him.
“Oh shit. I . . .” He groans. “Fuck, Whitney.”
The way he says my name, quiet, reverent, has goose bumps dotting my skin.
Our breaths are ragged, and our movements frantic.
“Do you have condoms?” I ask as another shudder ripples up my spine.
“In my wallet.” He removes one hand like he’s going to get it and shifts, but the new angle has us both stilling.
“Ooooh.” I roll my hips and grind down a little harder.
“I’m so close,” he says, hand coming back to guide me over him just the way he wants.
All I manage to do is hum my agreement and move a little faster. I couldn’t stop if I wanted to. He feels so good.
“Let me just grab . . .” He trails off with another loud groan. His body tenses, and he shudders beneath me. “Oh fuck. I’m going to . . . oh, oh . . .”
His fingers grip me so hard as he shudders around me. It’s a heady thing to have this big, muscular man trembling.
I pull back, jaw going slack. “Did you just . . . ?”
“Fuck,” he whisper-hisses under his breath, then looks up at me with big, apologetic eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
My grin widens. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”
His brows lift in surprise.
“I’m not kidding.” I’m not even mad about the second orgasm I almost had. Making Conrad come in his pants is a memory I will not soon forget.
“Glad you think so because my pride just took a real hit.” He glances down and shifts uncomfortably.
I fight a giggle that threatens to escape. “Now might be a good time to show you the bathroom.”
“Yes, please.” He wears a sheepish expression as I stand and take his hand, then pull him to his feet.
I lead him down the hall and flip on the light. He glances around and a smile lifts both corners of his mouth. “Wow. The picture didn’t do it justice.”
“Sloane did a great job.” I admire it again myself.
“Sloane?”
“A friend from school. She did most of the work. I’m helpless with wallpaper.”
“You have other talents.” His cheeks are tinged in red as he leans forward and brushes his lips over mine.
My body tingles all over. I force myself to step back and give him some privacy.
When he comes out of the bathroom, he looks more composed but still embarrassed.
“Want something to drink?” I ask from where I stand in the kitchen.
“No.” He shakes his head. “Thanks.”
He comes to stand on the opposite side of the counter. He briefly glances around like he’s seeing the place for the first time. In this room there are five different paint colors.
“Another one of your projects?” he asks.
“Yeah. I can’t decide which I like best. What do you think?”
He brings one hand up and rubs the back of his neck. “The yellow, maybe?”
“Really?”
He shrugs and lets his arm drop. “I’m probably not the best person to ask. My apartment has white walls throughout because neither D-Low nor I cared enough to change them.”
I let out a small laugh. “Fair enough.”
I look at the paint swatches again. “Yellow, huh?”
“It’s fitting for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“You wear it a lot,” he says. “The dress on our first date, your water bottle . . .” He tips his head toward it next to the sink. “And your hockey stick was wrapped with yellow tape.”
“It’s my favorite color,” I say, studying him. The man is quiet but observant, apparently. “What’s yours?”
“Black.”
“Black?” I don’t think anyone has ever answered with black before. Not that I make a habit of asking people’s favorite colors.
His lips curl up and he points his gaze toward the floor. “Hockey pucks are black.”
A laugh breaks free. “I should have known.”
He lets his smile pull higher, and we stand there grinning at each other for a beat.
“My brother’s favorite color is silver . . .” As soon as I mention him, I know it’s a mistake, but Conrad already knows Victor is my brother so there’s no point in pretending. “Because of the Stanley Cup.”
He tries to keep smiling, but it’s obvious I broke the unspoken no-mentioning-Victor rule.
“Anyway,” I say, looking away.
“I should get going.”
“Okay.” I lean back against the counter.
He crooks one arm behind his head and runs his fingers through the back of his hair. “Can I see you again this week sometime?”
I nod, already looking forward to it, and he hasn’t even left yet. I don’t know where this is going, but I’m already counting down the minutes. Maybe next time we can keep our clothes on long enough for me to find out more about him. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll text you.”
He hesitates, then steps backward to the door before opening it. As he steps out, he glances over his shoulder at me and smiles.