Tanner
Apparently the most effective way to silence all the doubt in my head is to let Deacon kiss the hell out of me.
And fuck, that was nice.
It felt like I’ve never been kissed before, his whole body surrounding me in a way that makes it impossible to think about anything else but him. Like I’m finally alive. He smells like wood and soap, and I want to trace my tongue along his skin and see if he tastes just as good.
The thought has my face heating again, a reaction I can’t seem to quell no matter how hard I try.
“Can you grab the hamburger buns from the warmer? I’ll throw them on the grill quick,” he says before ducking outside. Locating the plate, I grab it and follow him out onto the deck, the evening air warm but not overly oppressive as the summer heat is finally giving in to fall.
“Thanks.” He grins as he takes them and places each piece face down on the grate. “I tried a new recipe but they should be good.”
“You made them?” I ask, both incredulous and impressed. Do I warrant homemade hamburger buns?
It seems like a lot of effort but then again, aren’t I worth it? Isn’t that what everyone is trying to get me to believe?
“I did. I cook at the bar sometimes still to help out, but for a long time, that’s what I did every day.”
“Did you not like it?”
Deacon pauses, staring down at the plate in his hands for a beat before speaking.
“It wasn’t my dream. It was the only thing my father had after my mother died, and then when Jude was old enough he joined the Marine Corps.
My father couldn’t do it all so I stayed.
” He says softly, “I helped and I did what I had to so Jude could take it over when he came home.”
“That would be a lot for anyone to shoulder.”
“I didn’t mind. Not really.” Thoughtfully, he sets the plate down and rubs his hands together. “But then Jude was discharged after he was injured, so I had to juggle taking care of him, our father, and the bar.”
“Wow,” I say, knowing just the few details we’d gotten when Jude had come to adopt Dez.
“I didn’t mind that either,” he replies. “Losing our father was the one thing I couldn’t handle.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“It took a while, but I still believe he died of a broken heart. He never remarried. Hell, he barely looked at another woman. I think that Jude getting discharged was the last thing he needed to finally let go. Jude was injured but he was home and safe, and I think that was enough.”
I swallow hard, the realization that I’ve never had that kind of love or devotion—never saw it growing up—sits uncomfortably in my chest. I’m lonely and I’ve been lonely for most of my life.
The thought is terrifying, the idea of saddling someone with that much baggage unfathomable. No one deserves that.
Deacon certainly doesn’t.
So, what am I doing here?
“You need me to kiss you again?” The rough scrape of his voice has me jolting from my wallowing, a knowing smirk on his face.
“What?”
“You look a whole lot like you wanna run.”
“Of course not.”
His rasp is low and full of gravel, and even though I try to resist, I can’t stop my body from reacting to the sound.
“Why don’t you just tell me what’s wrong?” he goads and I exhale, taking a sip of my beer and looking out into the well-manicured yard.
“I’m having a hard time reconciling things. I know I need to let you make your own decisions, but I can’t figure out why you’d want me to stay.”
“You don’t see the way you look at me.” I open my mouth and then close it because out of all the things he could have said, I wasn’t expecting that one.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s always interest when you look at me. A flash of desire.” He takes a step into my space and tilts my chin up with the side of his finger. “Need. Comfort. I like the way you look at me. And I think it’s the most unfiltered way for you to tell me you don’t want this to end.”
Leaning in slowly, I can feel my heart practically beating out of my chest with anticipation at the brush of his lips against mine.
“I don’t want this to be over, I just—”
This time instead of gentle, Deacon covers my mouth with his, pushing his tongue into my mouth and stealing my breath as the grill crackles behind us.
“I need you to not finish that sentence,” he murmurs and I relent.
“What sentence?”
“Good man. Now let’s eat.”