27 Truths: Ava's story (The Truth About Love Book 1) (15 page)

He doesn’t answer, and I slide down his body and start to walk away as he holds where the very well-placed kick landed.

“Ava,” he groans, grabbing my arm. “Get. Inside. Now.”

“Hell no!” I spew, trying to pull my arm away.

“Right. Fucking. Now,” he says as he all but drags me into the building.

He pulls me into the cargo elevator, shoves a key in the keyhole, and when the door shuts, he leans forward and groans.

“Ava, never, ever kick me in the balls again.”

I say not one fucking thing.

He looks up. “Did you hear me?”

“I don’t speak asshole!” I snap.

“Oh, Ava,” he says, shaking his head. “You’ve got a lot to learn about me.”

“The hell I do,” I say as the elevator comes to a stop.

“Let’s go, love.” He forces a smile as he opens the door. “After you.”

“No.”

“Ava, my balls are literally in my stomach right now, and if I must carry you, I will, but I would truly appreciate it if you’d just walk your sassy ass in our home and—”

“You’re delusional!
Our
home? Are you out of your—” I stop when he walks over and picks me up again.

“You kick my shit again, and you’re getting your sexy little ass blistered,” he warns. “Twice.”

He sets me on my feet and closes the elevator door. Then he walks over and opens a stainless steel freezer that sits next to the industrial refrigerator. He grabs a bag out and throws it on the counter. Then he unbuttons his pants, pushes them down, and kicks off his workboats and then his pants. He grabs the bag of peas, I think, and sneers as he shoves the peas down his boxer briefs,

“Have a seat, love.” He walks past me, grabbing my hand and marching us to the white leather sectional. He sits and yanks my arm so I am sitting next to him as he leans back and groans.

“T—”

“How was your day, Ava?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “Mine was fine, thank you. Two women from Sirius XM 140 came over and did an interview with me, promoting the upcoming tour. Then I offered to take them for drinks, and then, well, I don’t have to tell you what happened next because you were actually there.” He sits up and looks at me like I should apologize.

“You forgot the part where you had your arms around them, walking down the street, hoping to bring them back here after drinks and fuck them,” I give a very weak and totally made up story as an excuse for my acting like a total psycho.

His eyes widen. “Is that what I was doing, or was I just being friendly with two women I have worked with a few times and have built a working relationship with?”

“Have you fucked them?”

It takes him a few too many seconds to answer, and I stand up.

“One. One of them a very long time ago, and she is married now.”

I sit back down. “The tall bitch wants to get fucked by you, T. Is that the ‘one’ you fucked?”

The pause is telling, and I start to stand up again.

“Ava, don’t make me chase you when my left nut is broken.”

“Don’t chase me. Stay and take care of your nut.” I stand.

“I will ignore my battered nut to take care of the girl I’m nuts about,” he says sweetly.

I look down at him, and he pats the couch.

“You crushed my nut, Ava Links.”

I sit down and cross my arms over my chest, mumbling, “Sorry.”

“You slapped me across the face two weeks ago, too.”

I lift my chin in the air. “I’m not sorry about that.”

“I’m not, either,” he says, closing his eyes.

“Are you serious right now?”

“Dead serious. Jealousy is a bitch, aye?”

“Yes, and if we’re going to do this, you better learn to keep it in check,” I warn.

He laughs.

“What? It’s not a joke.”

He looks up at the ceiling and smirks. “It’s healthy in a relationship.”

“I’m not interested in a relationship where you chase me down the road like a madman.”

“Oh, love, I am trying here, please stop.” He laughs.

“Stop what?” I’m a bit pissed now.

“You came to me. For that, I could bow down and kiss those lovely feet … again, so I should not bring up what just happened down there. But in the interest of keeping things real and honest, Ava, my sexy, confused”—he sits up and leans closer—“jealous, little woman—”

“I’m not jealous.”

He looks in my eyes and smiles. “You can continue this senseless debate, or you can kiss me. I’ve missed your sass, but I have missed those lips more.”

I look down, embarrassed, ashamed … turned on.

“I missed yours, too.”

He kisses me softly, unhurriedly, sweetly, and then sits back.

“Ava?”

“Thomas?”

“Next time you get angry at me, please think about how many times I’ve made you come before you batter my balls.”

“Does it really hurt that badly?” I ask.

He gives me a look like I must be joking.

“I really want to know,” I insist.

He smirks and adjusts the peas. “Let’s say you jumped out of a car going a hundred and thirty kilometers, and your body skidded across the pavement before you rolled off a bridge then fell fifteen meters into a belly flop.” He pauses and scratches his head. “Yeah, that’s about what it feels like.”

“I can make it up to you,” I say before kissing his cheek then moving down his neck.

“Oh, Ava, this moment is one I have dreamed about; except, my balls weren’t bruised and my dick wasn’t frozen.” He lifts my chin and kisses me.

I wake up on the couch, finding it’s dark outside. I can’t believe we fell asleep. My head is on T’s chest, his sweet smelling breath against my face. I inhale deeply, and then I do it again.

Bingo. Thomas smells like Bingo. He smells like home, and he smells like love. And at this moment, I don’t trust myself to believe I am right, so I smell him again.

I look up when he moves to see he is looking down at me.

“What exactly are you doing?”

“You smell …” I pause, trying to figure out how to describe it to him without sounding like a complete and total lunatic. I look up again to see he looks mortified, and I can’t help laughing when I realize he thinks I just insulted him. “You smell … wonderful. You smell good. I like the way you smell. I like it a lot.”

He sits forward, which forces me to sit up. Then he pulls his shirt to his nose and sniffs.

“I forgot cologne. Do you prefer that—”

“No! God, no. I prefer whatever scent it is you are putting off right now.”

He nods. “Okay?”

“You smell like Bingo,” I say, thinking it will make sense.

He lifts his shirt up and sniffs it again.

I smile. “Good, right?”

“Sure,” he says.

My stomach growls as I lie back down on his chest, listening to his heart beating under my ear.

“Bingo smells like home.”

“Should I be jealous of Bingo?” he asks, looking down at me.

I shake my head. “Bingo is a blanket that I’ve had since I was born. I threw a fit when I thought I lost it when we came back from a weekend in Jersey. Dad went crazy and tore the SUV apart and came in, waving it in the air, and said ‘Bingo.’ Ever since, my blanket has been Bingo.”

“You’ve had the same blanket since birth?” He smiles, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“So I’ve been told. They tried to trick me once when the silky trim started to fray and bought a Bingo replica. I knew immediately.”

He chuckles. “I wish I knew you back then. I bet you were even sassier than when I met you.”

“I wish I knew you then, too.”

He looks past me and nods.

“What were you like?” I ask.

“I’m really not sure.” he laughs uncomfortably, and I remember what Harper said.

I smile. “I bet you were the sweetest boy around.”

His eyebrow creeps up. “I don’t think that’s the case.”

“Well, I bet you were.”

He takes in a breath and leans forward. “I’m hungry. Are you?”

When I sit up so he can stand, he walks to the fridge and opens it.

“I have a little bit of everything. What would you like?”

“Are you going to cook for me, Thomas Hardy?” I ask, standing up and walking over next to him.

He presses his hand to his chest. “I would be honored to, Ava Links.”

I walk in front of him and look in his fridge. “Wow, you don’t have a little of everything; you have a lot of everything. Wow, do you eat this much food?”

He wraps his arms around my waist and rests his chin on my shoulder, pulling me tightly against him. “If I don’t, I throw out the old and buy more.”

The way he says it makes me stop myself from scolding him for being wasteful. I was raised in a house where two men prepped their meals on Sundays for the entire week.

“What’s your favorite thing to eat?” I ask.

“Ava,” he answers with a smile in his voice.

“Well, what can you and I cook together?”

“We can make a baby,” he says, and I laugh. “Don’t laugh. I bet you will be a wonderful mother someday.” His voice is serious, causing me to look back at him. “I’m going to make babies with you someday. Lots and lots and lots of babies.”

The thought that someone thinks I would be a good mother makes me smile. The thought that Thomas Hardy, sexy and sweet drummer for Burning Souls, wants to be my baby’s daddy is freaking hot.

“Should we start with maybe a chicken salad?” I ask, leaning my cheek against his as I pull out what must be a ten-pound container of organic chicken breast.

I try to move, but he holds me more securely.

“I’m serious, Ava. Someday, I am going to marry you, and someday, we’re going to raise a family.”

“If you say so.” I smile, still trying to dismiss the fact that I am stupidly giddy over the idea of him wanting that with me.

Girls have those dreams and fantasies. Boys don’t.

“I’m not trying to start an argument or bring up the past, but neither of them gave you those things, and it would be my honor to do so.”

“Well, you are steps ahead already.” I giggle. “Liam and I used each other to rid ourselves of our virginity in eleventh grade. There was nothing romantic about it.”

“You gave away your virginity just for the sake of ridding yourself of it?” He snickers.

“Sure did,” I admit.

Finally, he lets go, and I walk to the island and put the chicken down. Then I walk over to the electric range and turn it to three hundred and fifty degrees.

“Let’s hear how you lost yours.”

“You sure you really want to hear it?” he asks.

“Of course I do.” I smile.

“I was hungry, and I fucked a woman, hoping she would feed me.”

I laugh and roll my eyes, thinking he is joking. “Is that so?”

“Yes, it is.”

I look over at him, seeing he’s trying to gauge my reaction.

“How old were you?” I ask, straightening myself.

“Fifteen.”

“How old was she?”

“Older than I was,” he answers, still trying to read me.

“How much older?” I pry.

“If I had to guess, I would say at least fifteen years older.”

“Cool,” I say, trying to act like it’s not a big deal or that it doesn’t make me sick that he was hungry or someone took advantage of him like that.

He walks over and lifts my chin. “Is it cool?”

I shake my head.

“Does it disgust you?”

“She
disgusts me.” I shake my head again. “Not you.”

“What else do you want to know?” He pulls up a stool and sits with his legs spread before pulling me between them.

“Only what you want to tell me. I won’t pry.”

“I stabbed her husband when he came after me,” he admits. “Does that disgust you?”

I shake my head. “Was it to protect yourself?”

He nods, looking down. “I slept in the streets for most of my life. Does that dis—”

I again shake my head.

“I’ve fucked for money and food and let people fuck me for a place to stay warm and a meal. Does that—”

“No,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes.

“I’ve begged on street corners, delivered shit that I have no idea what it was for money. I have done some horrible fucking things for food and shelter, Ava. Does that—”

“No. Nothing you had to do to survive will ever disgust me.” I grip his knees to steady my hand.

“You’re trembling. Is it pity? Because I don’t want pity.”

“It’s sadness and anger, not pity.”

“Good, because I am a better man than that. I just didn’t know it then.”

“I know that.”

“And that’s all that matters.”

“When I googled your name, nothing about you outside of the band came up, so you couldn’t have done anything that awful.”

“Do you know Surge and the men who work for Maddox and what they are capable of?” He smiles. “Arrest records can be erased, Ava. Names can be changed, past mistakes wiped clean.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m trying to put it all out there. I trust you implicitly, Ava. Do you trust me?”

I nod.

“I’ve let men suck my dick. I’ve let them watch me fuck their wives.”

I look at him, half-expecting him to be joking.

“How do you feel right now?” he asks.

“Would it be awful if I said intrigued and slightly...” I pause and close my eyes.

“Christ, tell me you’re not turned on by that.”

I open my eyes. “No, but it piqued my curiosity.”

He scowls. “I won’t let any man fuck you, and I certainly wouldn’t watch one fuck you.”

“I wouldn’t want that.”

“I want to know that you are one hundred percent done with Luke Lane.”

“T, I don’t want to talk about it.” I’m shocked that, after everything I’ve said and done, it’s not clear to him. “What I want to talk about is that I am here because I am and have always been very attracted to you. I am here because you make me feel good when you’re not being an ass. I am here because, if what you said at my apartment is true, I want it. But I am also afraid. I’m afraid that you won’t be able to look past Liam and—”

“You’ve explained Liam. I’m fine with Liam. Liam didn’t break your heart. I want to know what Luke did to hurt you and why I should let him breathe for damaging something I am going to fix and cherish, because I am the luckiest man alive to be given an opportunity to be with someone who loves as fiercely as you.”