Panty Dropper (A Sexy Standalone Contemporary Romance) (21 page)

I still haven’t called them. I’m not even sure they know I’m out of state. But I can’t worry about that right now.

“I selfishly miss you,” she says. “But I’m so ridiculously glad you got yourself out of that situation. Roger’s a psycho asshole. You deserve so much better than him. Maybe this hottie bartender dude will work out.”

I snort. “Right.”

“Hey, you never know.” I hear Michaela mumble something, probably to one of her kids. “Fuck, I gotta go. Brian’s being a little douche and drawing on the bathroom walls.”

“Well, he is your kid,” I prod.

“You shut your sass mouth,” she tells me.

We both laugh and with kisses and goodbyes, hang up. I sit there for a moment, savoring the sound of her voice still echoing in my head, wishing I could be hear her. Michaela was my rock. I miss her painfully. I tell myself I’ll see her again soon, that I’ll have her come visit me. Yeah, my apartment isn’t the best ever, but she doesn’t care.

Maybe she’ll like Rock Bridge.

I sure hope so, because I’m planning to be here for the indefinite future.

* * *

“
M
r. Danvers
, you need to take your medicine,” I coax.

He frowns at me, his brow furrowing with a hundred deep-etched lines. “I don’t need that shit,” he declares.

My first day on the job, and I can’t even get my patients to take their meds. To be fair, I was warned about him, how difficult he was with new staff. I have to take control now, today, or he will run all over me for the rest of my days at this nursing home.

I stiffen my spine and shoot him a stern look. “Your doctor says you need it. I may be new, but I wasn’t born yesterday. Take your medicine, Mr. Danvers.”

He eyes me warily for several long moments. Then he gives a painful sigh and extends his shaky hand. “Fine, but I’m doing this under duress. I want it noted in my files.”

“No problem.” I drop the pills in his hand, and he swallows them. “Have a good evening.”

My last patient, done. As I walk toward the nursing station and finish all the last-minute stuff to prepare the next nursing shift, I stretch my aching back. This nursing home is bigger than the one I left. There must be a lot more older people in Rock Ridge than I realized.

And they all are stubborn…and live in this nursing home.

A challenge, but I’m up to it. My soles ache, and my lower back is one big throbbing muscle pain, but I made it. And I have to admit, I do have a few patients who are awesome and made my first day on the job great.

If this job hadn’t come through, I wouldn’t have been able to leave the apartment Roger and I lived in. Snuck out in the middle of the afternoon while he was at work. That morning I’d gotten a new number assigned to my phone so he wouldn’t be able to find me. My heart had been a furious beating drum for hours until I crossed state lines.

Once I reached Michigan, I was finally able to relax. But even now, when I picture his face, hear his voice in my head, I feel my throat constrict and my stomach aches. My palms sweat and I feel nauseous. Getting away from Roger was probably the bravest, and scariest thing I’ve ever done.

So I don’t really care how hard this job is—I’m staying put. At least for a while.

Thankfully, the nursing home isn’t far from my place. Just under a mile. I lucked out on apartment location—everything I need is within a mile or so walking distance, from work to the store to even a small hair salon. I step into the warm afternoon air and start the stroll toward the grocery store. Last week I stocked up on a few essentials, but I need some stuff for lunch breaks at work. Seems like a good time to do so.

My time in the store is quick; I grab lunchmeat, chips, and juice. While I’m not destitute, I don’t get paid for three weeks, so I want to be savvy on how I’m spending my money. I load the bags into my arms and head toward home.

The blocks pass by in relative quiet. I hear a few kids giggling in the distance, not unexpected for summer break, and find myself smiling. The neighborhood is on the older side but quaint. The houses are brick, with nice lawns and inviting porches. Maybe someday I can save up enough to buy a house of my own.

I wanted a house so badly in the beginning, but Roger put his foot down, saying it was a waste of money for us to do so.

I make myself stop thinking of him. He’s out of my life, irrelevant. It doesn’t matter what he said in the past. He said so much and did so much. What matters now is what I want.

The thought puts a spring in my step. I continue the walk home. When I turn the corner, I see Outlaws a couple of blocks away. The sight of the bar makes my heart trip with mortification. Despite what Michaela said about not taking it so seriously, I’m still dying of embarrassment.

Maybe there is something unattractive about me. Maybe he could sense how fucked up my past is, and he doesn’t want any part in that.

Maybe I’m just not sexy enough.

My mood sinks a little, and I force myself to keep moving forward. It doesn’t matter. I’m not here to look for a guy right now anyway. I’m here to make a new start, without drama, without the fears of my past. I don’t need a man. I need to rely on myself. To know that I am strong and independent. It’s for the best that Smith pushed me away anyway. Because if he hadn’t, I probably would have… God, I probably would have done anything he asked me to.

In that moment, I was so wet, so turned on, I would have given him whatever he wanted.

I approach the next block and see a guy turn the corner and run toward me, shirtless, his tattooed chest gleaming with sweat. I instantly recognize the clipped beard, the spiked hair, the surly face.

Shit.

I draw in a steadying breath and cool my nerves. He probably won’t say anything to me, anyway. He’ll probably just pass me by and—

“Aubrey,” he says as he nears, then stops, barely panting. A small drop of sweat slides down his throat, down his chest, to the waistband of his running shorts, and I find myself leaning toward him and pull back. What the hell is wrong with me?

How does this man evoke such a strong reaction from me? I’m not supposed to want men right now. I’m on a break. For good reason. I don’t need to be attracted to someone who doesn’t even want me, anyway.

I give him a curt nod. “Hey.” My left arm aches with the bags in the crook of my elbow, so I shift them up. “I…have groceries to get home, so…”

He gives me a long look, as if evaluating me. It’s not what I want right now, especially when I know he finds me lacking in some way.

But then, without saying a word, Smith slides the bags out of my arm and into his large hands. “Lead the way,” he says.

“You don’t have to—”

“Lead the way, Aubrey.” There’s no room for argument in his tone. Smith gets what he wants, that much is clear.

And some stupid, ridiculous part of me wants to please him. What the hell is that about? As soon as he gets that tone, that look in his eyes, I find myself snapping to attention, homing in on him, shutting everything else out, pliant and ready to be told what to do. What does that mean?

And I have to admit, I’m so happy that he’s not totally repulsed by me. He didn’t have to stop and say hello, offer to take my groceries. This was all him.

Smith nods toward me, which I take as my cue to go home, so I do. I try to pretend I’m not aware of the sweat dribbling down his chest and neck and back. That I’m not aware of the tattoos covering him. That I’m not aware of the muscles of his arms and legs. I try to pretend my core isn’t tightening in response to his raw sexuality, pretend I don’t want him to drop those bags, push me to the sidewalk, and thrust his hard cock inside me.

God help me, I’m so attracted to him I can barely focus.

Worst situation ever.

We walk in silence for a block or so. Then he says, “So how was your hangover on Saturday?”

Great. Yes, let’s bring that up. A slow burn crawls up my throat. “I’m fine, thank you.” Hopefully we can leave it at that and not talk about what happened Friday night.

That kiss.

That fucking kiss that has haunted me, oh, every hour of every day since then.

We get to my apartment building and turn on the sidewalk toward it. I open the main door, and we stroll toward my door, him close behind me. I can practically feel his heat pouring off his skin, warming my own flesh. And here I am, looking unsexy as hell in my nursing scrubs. Splendid.

I open my door and let us in. It doesn’t matter if I’m sexy or not. I’m not going to go anywhere with him or do anything else. It was a random kiss and that was all.

A random kiss that practically knocked my panties off. But whatever. I don’t need another one. It’s fine. I keep repeating that sentiment in my head over and over.

Smith follows me to the kitchen and puts the bags on my countertop. He’s in my kitchen and his presence fills up the entire space and I don’t know what to do. How to respond. How to pretend like I’m not affected by him when I am.

I just hope he can’t read it on me. I hope my pretense of not caring is somehow working, and he can’t tell just how badly I want him.

I press my backside against the stove. “Um. Well, thanks for helping me carry my groceries.”

He gives a short nod. Turns.

Before I can stop myself, I find more words flying out of my mouth. “I’ll see you tonight.”

I don’t even know if he’s at the bar tonight, or why I said that. Why I invited rejection again. What is wrong with me?

It was nothing but pure panic, just me saying anything to kill the silence and not feel so overwhelmed in his presence.

Smith slowly spins back to face me, takes a couple of steps forward until there’s just an inch or two between our bodies. My heart slams against my ribcage and my skin vibrates with the need for him to touch me. God, I’d give anything for him to reach his hands up and caress my skin. To feel his fingers on me again, the way he did on Friday, when he stroked my back.

Smith levels his gaze on me, and there’s a distinct challenge in his eyes. The look penetrates me to the bone, rips open my soul and bares me to him beyond my control. He can see me, deep inside, see exactly how I feel for him, how badly I want him. And his responding look is so hot and intense it makes me melt. “I look forward to it.”

With that, he walks out of my kitchen, the front door quietly snicking closed behind him.

I stand where I am, body pulsing with need, throat closed, lungs tight, heart racing. It takes me several minutes to steady myself. To pretend that Smith isn’t totally changing everything in my world. That he hasn’t flipped my plans upside down. I wasn’t going to go to Outlaws tonight. But suddenly I can’t wait to see him again.

S
MITH

“
A
sher
, I need you to see if we have another keg of Barstones,” I bark to the back room as I release the tap. Fucking foam—someone should have replaced this keg by now. Why does it seem like I’m always the one to notice this shit? “Get on it—we have a customer waiting.”

I hear Asher sigh from the office behind me. “Fine, fine,” he mumbles. I wonder if he’s regretting coming home for summer vacation from college to help out at the bar. I tried to get him to stay on campus, find a local job, stay away from here, but he insisted on coming home. He’s a Beckett—stubborn to the core.

But Asher is going to be the one to escape this shit soon enough. To live his own destiny. Get his degree and forge his own path outside of the family business, the one that was dumped on our shoulders when Dad died a few years ago.

I don’t begrudge what I had to do. I made my choices, and I’m okay with it. And I knew before I even said anything about keeping the business afloat, that Jax would stay by my side. He’s an arrogant asshole most of the time, but he’s loyal as fuck. Not one to leave my side and make me handle Dad’s bar on my own.

Besides, Jax isn’t cut out for anything but this little world we inhabit.

Asher’s different.

Asher is our golden child, the one who excels in school and football, who’s going on to bigger and better things. Move out of our shitty town and be someone. Make our name proud. And here he is, not quite twenty-one, stuck in Shitsville with the rest of us losers because he’s too stubborn to take my advice.

Asher gets the fresh keg hooked up to the tap. When he’s done, he brushes his hands and looks at me. I know he’s seeking my approval, for me to not be irritated about him coming home. “Done,” he says.

I give him a brief nod. “Next time, don’t wait until it’s fucking tapped. Keep an eye on it. If you’re going to be here, at least do your job.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes at me, walking away. In the end, I just want the best for him. He may not like it, but so be it. I can’t worry about his frustration right now. I have bigger things on my plate. Like how the fuck we’re going to pay all our bills when we’re not making enough money. I’m barely paying the three of us as it is.

I peer around the Monday night crowd. It’s thin, too thin. A couple of people by the pool table. A few scattered around the bar, drinking cheap beer. How do I get more customers to bring their asses in here, spend their money? What should we do? The pressure of keeping Dad’s business alive is squarely on my shoulders. We’re barely floating by each month.