Heavy Issues (2 page)

“Sure, like there’s a chance in hell they’d give me the time of the day,” Christy said, rolling her eyes. Although Cole, the older of the Bowen brothers, always so contained, with that Viking-warrior vibe he had going on, those rugged, sexy looks, and that I’m-in-charge attitude, sure made her mouth water every time she saw him. And her nipples peak and her sex flood too, not that she was admitting to anything. And not that he responded in any way. Every time they were in the same place, he seemed to be in pain or pissed, more interested in finding the nearest exit than in talking to her. It was depressing, really. “Let’s get real here. Those guys are so frigging out of my league we might as well be from different planets. I’ll stick with your average, run-of-the-mill Joe, thank you very much. They do enough damage as it is.”

“You know, not everyone is like Todd.”

Todd? Ah…yes, Todd.

It was a pity not even five heavily loaded tequila shots and a couple of beers had the power to erase that lower-than-dirt sneak from her memory.

“I know not everyone’s like Todd.” She sighed, looking down at her sad, empty glass. Intent on remedying the situation, she reached toward the table, in the process almost knocking over several empty beer bottles, and grabbed the tequila. Tequila nights were definitely a great idea—finest idea since coming to Alden. Thank God she’d let Annie, her old roommate from college, convince her to come visit. It’d been a wise move. At first she’d bunked on Annie’s couch, intending to lick her wounds before returning to LA, but she’d loved the small town and the people and decided to stay. There was nothing back in LA for her, nothing at all. Besides, her successful career as a software engineer had left her in a very cushy spot financially, and she could afford the unpaid leave. Heck, she could even afford to invest her time in updating the town’s library for minimum wage.

“Has he been calling you again?”

Christy nodded wryly. He’d been calling. Her mom had been calling. All she needed was her LA neighbor to call.

“Asshole,” Holly hissed.

Yes, that he was. “He’s history. Back to reality. I hate to state the obvious, but someone has to. I don’t see a horde of admirers interested in me. And even if there were, I don’t want to go through the whole trial-and-error crap again.” Her shaky self-esteem couldn’t take any more hits. “I don’t want to date. I want to get laid. Big difference. And properly laid, mind you.”

The girls giggled while Christy clumsily poured everyone their sixth round, some of the liquid sloshing out from the shot glasses in the process. She looked at the salt and the limes on the table. Ah, forget it. They were past formalities. It was time for old friend José Cuervo straight up.

“You don’t want to date? Really?”

“Really.” It wasn’t so much that she didn’t want to but that she sucked at it, and by now was pretty much scared shitless of it. And tired of trying her damned best and coming up short—in the sack and out. Wasn’t the definition of insanity doing the same thing over and over, expecting different results? So there it was, certified nuts. Besides, Christy was well on her way to getting plastered and felt like giving in to excess, so she shook her head energetically, almost causing a dizzy spell. “Nope, no dates for me. As a matter of fact, now that we’re into soul-deep confessions and life-altering decisions, I’m going to do something I should have done long ago. Wait here,” she said as she left the glass on the table and shakily made her way inside from the deck. It was time. Drunk or not, now was the perfect moment to let go.

After tripping over her own feet several times, she decided to lose the summer sandals. There, much better, she thought as she found what she was looking for. Moments later and a bit wobbly from the extra movement, she made it out again to where her girlfriends were looking curiously at her. She released her tight grip and gave the pretty ring a last look. It was shiny, elegant, and beautiful. Pity she couldn’t stand the sight of it.

“Is that your engagement ring? Your twenty grand, drop-dead gorgeous engagement ring? What are you going to do?” Holly asked, concerned.

Emotional feng shui.

“I’m cleaning house. About time too.”

Before anyone could utter any complaints, she turned her back toward the yard, looked mischievously to her girlfriends, and, lifting on tiptoe, threw the ring high over her head as far away as she could manage. “There. Gone with the wind.” She exhaled, throwing herself into the chair. “No more searching for my soul mate; I’ve given up on that. I won’t ever deceive myself either. No more relationships. Obviously there’s no need for me to save any bucks for a mortgage on a big house, kids’ college funds, a minivan, or family vacations, so I’ll invest the surplus wisely—I’ll get the best escort money can buy, and I’ll get monumentally laid. Professionally laid. If I’m lucky and the work holds, more than once.” She’d always put the relationship before the sex, and neither one had worked. She’d felt inadequate in bed and unappreciated out of it. No more. Time to change tactics.

She reached for her tequila shot. Holly was wrong. Christy hadn’t been reading steamy romances. No, she’d been devouring self-help manuals, which was about to come in handy. “You know, it’s within everyone’s own reach to get what they want out of life. It’s just a matter of attitude and positive affirmations.” Without thinking too much, she clambered up, shakily climbed onto the empty stone flowerpot sitting at the edge of the deck, and raised her hands to the sky, spilling half her tequila in the process.

Holly chucked. “Get down from there. You’ll break your neck, and no one here is in any condition to take you to the ER.”

“What on earth are you doing?” Annie asked with wide eyes.

“Pledging myself to this new course.”

“Your stud won’t come from the skies, Chris,” Sophie answered. “You are a techie. You should know the Internet is a better option. Let’s just Google it.”

Christy ignored them. Extreme situations called for extreme measures. “My neighbor said the night of June twenty-fourth is magic, and she also said my backyard is strategically located. ‘Cosmically speaking, very powerful’ were her exact words.”

“Your neighbor’s loony tunes, and it’s the twenty-eighth, almost a week later, honey.”

“So? Some power must be lingering,” she said, refusing to be derailed, and her back to her friends, she proceeded to scream to the night, “I, Christine Sheridan, vow that I’m done. No more searching for husband material. Or for love. No more meaningful long-term relationships. Just give me orgasms! Big, mind-blowing ones!” she added, flashing a look at her girlfriends, who were dissolving into giggles. Christy fought to keep her face straight and continued, “I’m getting on with my sex life and I…will…get…my…stud!”

It took her some moments to realize that her friends’ laughter had suddenly died out and someone was clearing his throat.

“Holy tamoli. It works,” she heard Annie mumbling.

With her arms still up to the sky, Christy turned her head, and her gaze strayed to the left, where Cole Bowen was standing with his bulging arms crossed over that rock-hard chest, his left eyebrow raised. Her footing gave out.

“Careful there,” Cole said as he caught Christy on her way down, that raspy, low voice of his sending her pulse skyrocketing and giving her goose bumps even under her nails.

She landed in his arms, and less than a second later, the booze landed over his chest.

“Oops, sorry,” she whispered, trying to clean the liquid from his shirt, which did nothing but spread it out and give her a chance to totally and shamelessly feel him up. “When…? How…? Where did you come from?” she asked, equal parts awed and embarrassed.

“Mr. Spock, the quantum hyperparticles time-space disturbance has been spotted hiding in the stone flowerpot. The Federation is saved,” Holly joked as Sophie dissolved into laughter.

Christy threw both a hard glance.

“Hello, ladies,” Cole answered, his gaze never straying from Christy’s as he steadied her on her feet but didn’t let go. “I was on my way home when this landed on my head.” He showed her the ring.

“Oh.” Fantastic. Time and space were definitely conspiring against her. The ring was back. Not acceptable. She tried to straighten herself and appear less drunk. If not less drunk, then at least less slurred. “Thanks, but I meant to throw it away,” she managed to say, those deep green eyes of his holding her spellbound. Jesus, he was handsome. Rough and masculine, with dirty-blond hair framing harsh, angular features and a glint of golden stubble marring his jaw. And not only was the sight of him mesmerizing, but his scent…wow. So male, so sexy. Mouthwatering. As a matter of fact, this close, if she swayed a bit his way, she bet she could taste him. Flick her tongue over his gorgeously tanned skin without him noticing. Before her fuzzy brain could process the thought, her body leaned toward him, mouth already open. Oh God, what the hell was she doing? She jumped away. She had to put some distance between them before she convinced herself that giving him a big lick was the thing to do.

She cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean to litter. Please leave the ring in the Salvation Army’s donation box, will you? Or in the church’s. It’s just at the end of this street. Someone should benefit from it, after all; no sense in throwing good money down the sewer,” she said as she sat down on her chair.

“If you insist,” he replied, a slow smile creeping across his face. Whoa. He never smiled—at her, that is. Around her he had only two moods: either he was glowering or about to. Which was good, work conducive really, because if he was handsome while glowering, when smiling he was just devastating—flat-out irresistible.

“Are you ladies okay?” he asked, looking around.

They all nodded. “Ladies’ night in.”

“I see. Good night then,” he said as he turned to leave.

Boy, the man looked as good going as he did coming. He had without a doubt the most magnificent body she’d ever seen. Broad shoulders, lean hips, strong, powerful legs, tight a—Yeah, well, tight.

When she managed to unglue her eyes from his backside, she noticed Annie was making her way up on top of the flowerpot. “What are you doing?”

She was already raising her hands to the sky. “What do you think I’m doing? Claiming my stud, of course!”

Cole looked through the library window to the diner across the street. The same diner Christy had entered two minutes before.

Man, this was a dumb move. A really dumb one.

He should let it go. Keep his mouth shut. Stay put.

But fuck if there was half a chance of that now.

“Mike, take care of things here, will you? I’m gonna grab some lunch,” Cole said, heading for the door.

Yep, definitely the dumbest move since…since fucking ever, probably.

“You got it.” His foreman smugly waved to him. Was that a smirk on his face? Damn. Maybe he was more transparent than he thought. And he’d been congratulating himself on his discretion and show of restraint. Fool.

Cole had kept his distance—and that damn ring—for several days now, hoping against hope to cool off and regain some modicum of common sense. It hadn’t worked yet. Chances were it wouldn’t, especially as images of that sexy-as-sin spitfire demanding a stud from the sky had plagued his nights and played havoc with his head and his dick. She’d been soft and rosy and so damn female. Half-naked too, with her long hair flowing and that flimsy summer dress lovingly hugging her soft curves, riding high on her thighs—so damn high it’d almost given him a heart attack.

She never wore revealing clothes, or tight ones, so this scene had sent him into overdrive. Not to mention that her I’m-done-searching-for-husband-material-just-give-me-mind-blowing-orgasms statement had fried his synapses. Then again, his brain had been fried a long time ago, the first time he saw her, actually. She’d appeared in town with black circles under red and puffy eyes, her thick hair pulled up in a ponytail, tendrils escaping all over. She’d been dragging a huge bag she hadn’t allowed anyone to help her with, much less any man. The girl had “nasty breakup” written all over her. So not worth it. Too complicated, and when it came to women, Cole didn’t do complicated—ever. It went against all his beliefs. But for some stupid reason he couldn’t figure out, he’d been drawn to her ever since. Five months, one week, and four days, but who was counting?

He’d done his damned best to stay the fuck away from her, but his father’s construction and demolition company, the one he now ran, was doing the renovation of the town’s old library, and with the head librarian falling ill, Christy had stepped in. So as of a month ago, she’d been wiggling her luscious rear all over his work site. And what a rear that was! He was an ass man through and through, and hers had taken his breath away until he couldn’t think for the need of her.

Yet even in the face of this undying lust, he’d managed to ride the storm, reminding himself again and again that she was a complication he didn’t need. Until that little sparkling fucker had landed on his head; then the last of his restraint had gone bye-bye.

She was game, finally. And thank God for it. He wasn’t used to denying himself, and even though he wasn’t into public displays or sporting a different chick on his arm every other day like his baby brother, Max, did, he was a very sexual man and long dry spells were not his thing. He could have easily scratched that particular itch, found himself a willing woman or two; God knew they threw themselves at him constantly. But it was pointless. By now, short of fucking Christy unconscious, there was no way of getting his glands to see reason. Which pissed his disciplined, rational self off to no end. He had perfect impulse control, dammit—legendary actually—yet, courtesy of that woman, here he was, unable to make his cock stand down even if his life depended on it.

As he stepped into the packed diner, several familiar faces greeted him. He offered them a distracted smile and looked around, spotting her right away. It never failed. It was as if he was tuned to her on a primal level, as if she was his beacon. Hell, all he had to do was close his eyes, follow his dick, and it would invariably lead him to her. She was hell on his libido. Soft and curvy, with more than generous breasts that he was dying to taste and round hips that he was dying to feel against him.