Chapter 4 #2
“You did,” I agree before adding in a louder voice, “Thanks so much, Karen. Just…um…” I reach for my sweater, wincing as my spine twinges, protesting the awkward twist. “Just give me a second.”
I manage to get my hands on the fabric, but getting it over my head without crushing Clover proves to be harder than getting it off. I shift my hips onto the console, hoping to balance there for a second, only to cry out in surprise as something sharp jabs into my ass through my jeans.
“Don’t hurt yourselves,” Karen calls as I’m trying to figure out what the hell it was.
“I’ll just leave it on the hood. Under your wiper so it won’t blow away.
” She cackles again as she places the coat, definitely enjoying this.
“And don’t forget your cane, sweetheart. It’s still on the ground out here.”
“Thanks, Karen,” Clover calls, reaching for the window button. The glass slides down, and cold air rushes in, sobering as a slap, as she adds, “Sorry about attacking Dean in your parking lot.”
Karen beams at her, red-cheeked and grinning in the now swiftly falling snow.
I’ve seen her kick people out for “grabbing ass” at the pool table, but I guess wandering hands in her parking lot are a different story.
“Not a problem, love.” Her gaze shifts my way, lingering on my chest a beat before returning to Clover with a wink.
“Doesn’t look like he put up much of a fight, now, did he? ”
Clover grins. “No, ma’am, he didn’t. As far as I can tell, he has no self-defense skills whatsoever.”
Karen rattles out another laugh before thrusting her arm over her head in a cheery wave. “Get home safe, you two. And don’t be strangers. You’re always welcome.”
Clover returns the wave. “Night, Karen. Thanks for the popcorn.”
“Night, Karen,” I echo to the bartender’s retreating form, her back still shaking with a case of the rusty giggles.
“I’ll grab my cane and your coat while you get dressed,” Clover says, reaching for the door before I can insist that I’ll do it.
But she’s steady on her feet as she crosses the few steps to her cane, collecting it from the ground before turning back to fetch my coat.
By the time she’s done, I have my sweater on and have eased out of the passenger’s side.
I help her in, brushing snowflakes from her hair and resisting the urge to kiss her again before shutting the door behind her.
No more kissing.
Not until we’re somewhere more private than a parking lot, anyway.
I slide into the driver’s seat as Clover finishes rolling up the window and reaches for her seat belt. I ask for her address for the GPS, and she gives it in a distracted murmur, a confused expression on her face.
“You okay?” I ask as I start the engine. “Sorry about that, by the way.”
She shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. And if I weren’t, it wouldn’t be your fault. You don’t have to apologize for anything. I just… I was wondering where Karen is from. Her accent doesn’t sound like other Irish accents I’ve heard before.”
“That’s because she’s not from Ireland,” I say, buckling my belt. “She’s from Sweden. Somewhere outside of Stockholm, if I remember correctly. I confess, I was tipsy by the time she started telling that story.”
Clover blinks. “Sweden.”
“Born and raised. But she always dreamed of being Irish and running an Irish pub. Her aunt, who’d moved to New Orleans, said America was the kind of place where impossible dreams come true. So, Karen moved here twenty years ago and…made it happen.”
“Wow,” Clover murmurs. “I’m not sure that’s how being Irish works, but good for her? I guess?”
I laugh. “That’s where I landed, too.”
She shrugs as I shift into reverse. “As long as the Irish people aren’t mad about it, it’s none of my business.
My family’s all from Scotland or Wales, so…
” She glances my way, her gaze lingering on my lips for a beat that reminds me I’m still half-hard.
Not even cackling Karen could completely kill my need for this woman.
“What about you? Kate sounds like an Irish name.”
“Dutch,” I say, forcing my attention back to the windshield. “For my family, anyway. It means a small farm. Or ‘hovel.’ My mom says she should have known my dad was bad news with a last name like that.”
Clover hums beneath her breath. “Is he? Bad news?”
I pull out of the lot, the headlights catching the torrent of flakes in the beams. There’s no accumulation on the road yet, but this kind of storm means business.
This is Minnesota weather, not Louisiana weather, and the roads down here aren’t built for it.
Neither are the drivers. By morning, half the city will be sliding through intersections in a panic.
It’s definitely time to get Clover home.
And to get myself home, no matter how much I’d like to go back to her place.
“According to the stories my mom’s told me now that I’m grown, yeah,” I say finally. “But I don’t remember him that way. I thought he was a fun guy, even though he was gone on business a lot. He died when I was fifteen.”
Clover makes a sympathetic sound. “I’m sorry. My mom died when I was young, too. I was three. I barely remember anything about her.”
“I’m sorry.” I decide not to mention my girls or their recent loss. Maybe Clover knows my ex died in a plane crash from her proximity to the Voodoo rumor mill, maybe she doesn’t. Either way, it’s best if we avoid baring our souls any more than we have already.
I glance over to find her shifted in her seat, watching me drive. With her make-up kissed off, she looks younger than before.
Another solid reason to take my ass home.
Not to mention…
“So, you and Blue are really close,” I say. “You’re the reason he moved in with Beatrice originally, weren’t you? You were the friend who needed help after getting injured.”
She nods. “Yeah. He’s the best. Beatrice, too. I don’t know what I would have done without them.”
“He’s a good man,” I agree, regret knotting in my stomach as I add, “and my team captain. And a friend.”
Clover hums beneath her breath. “Okay. Why are you making that sound so ominous?”
“It is ominous. Casual sex with a teammate’s sister is against the good guy code.”
“Surrogate sister,” she corrects with a sigh, “and the ‘good guy code’ stuff is ridiculous. I’m my own person, not anyone’s property. Blue would be the first person to agree with me about that, too. He’d be happy to know I’m about to get laid by a man who knows what he’s doing.”
“Would he?” I ask. “Even if that guy’s over a decade older?”
“Yes, I think so. But even if he didn’t approve, it doesn’t matter.
Like I said, I’m my own person.” She shrugs before adding in a softer voice, “And he’s not at the apartment, anyway.
He’s at the hospital having a baby. I’ll text him when we get to my place, make sure Beatrice is doing okay, and you can stop worrying about that part.
Blue doesn’t need to know anything about tonight.
We’ll just…keep it to ourselves. We already decided this is a fun, one-time thing, right? ”
I grip the steering wheel tighter. “Right.”
“So, let’s not overthink it,” she murmurs. “Let’s go eat some ice cream in my kitchen and see where things go.”
See where things go…
Currently, they’re going straight into a wintery mess. The wipers thump across the glass, smearing wet snow, and the trees lining the street as I pull into her Mid-City neighborhood are already white along the tops of their branches.
I could easily use the snow as my excuse. Tell her I have to drop her and run before the roads get too bad.
But I have four-wheel drive, and I don’t like to lie.
Especially not to people I like as much as I like Clover.
So, I force myself to say, “I love ice cream, and I would love to go home with you, but…” I pull in a breath, keeping my gaze on the road as I add, “But making you come was the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time.”
“Me, too,” she says carefully. “Why is that a problem?”
“I already want more than a night,” I say. “And I haven’t been inside you yet. Once I have been…” I trail off, not knowing what else to say except, “I’m sorry, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” she says, softly.
“Yes, you are. And I’m an old man who has to get home in case the power goes out, my mom can’t find the flashlights, and my babies get scared.”
She sighs.
I glance over, expecting to see her frustrated, maybe even angry, but she just looks…sad.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
She shakes her head, her gaze fixed on the road now, too. “Don’t be. I understand. And you’re probably right. I hate that you’re right, because I want you so much it hurts, but…”
I want her so much it hurts, too. My chest—and my balls—ache like someone’s punched me, all the way to her sleek high-rise.
I pull up to the curb, grateful to see the doorman behind the lobby desk.
She’s safe. Home. Soon, I will be too.
“Well, I’ll see you around, I guess,” she says, reaching for the door. She pauses before she opens it, catching my gaze. “I’m glad we had tonight, though, Dean. I really am. It was…good.”
“Yeah.” My voice is rough. “It was. Take care, beautiful.”
“You, too.” Her eyes hold mine for another beat. “Drive safe.” Then, she slips out, grips her cane, and circles around the front of the truck, hustling up the walkway without a backward glance.
I wait until she’s through the lobby, until the doorman lifts his head with a smile as she passes his desk, then pull back out onto the road.
I drive home with the smell of her still on my fingers, my clothes, lingering in a way that makes it impossible to keep from thinking of her as I close my hand around my cock in the shower. I jerk off fast and quiet, eyes closed and visions of Clover under me flashing behind my eyes.
I come with her name on my lips, wheezing it out beneath the sting of the shower spray, then promise myself that’s it.
This…whatever it is, is over.
No more jerking off to thoughts of Clover.
No more thoughts about her. Period.
It’s a promise I intend to keep. I really do.
But turns out Fate has other fucking plans…