Second Chance Boyfriend (20 page)

I get irritated just thinking about it. So it’s best I don’t.

A knock sounds at the door and I scowl. Who the hell is here at seven in the morning? Stomping over to the door, I look through the peephole but I see nothing. I throw open the door and peek to the left, then the right. No one’s there.

Then I glance down and find a gorgeous bouquet of wildflowers sitting on the thin, faded doormat. The vase is full of a riot of colorful blooms, I can’t identify any of them beyond their pretty colors. I know in an instant who they’re from.

Drew.

Grabbing the vase, I clutch it in my hand as I step farther outside, my gaze steady as I study the parking lot. But I don’t see his truck. I don’t see any indication he’s been here at all but the flowers in my hand.

How the heck did he get them here and then disappear? I know he’s fast on the football field but come on. Where did he go?

“Who the hell was knocking—oh. Lover Boy.”

I turn to see Owen grinning at me, wearing a stained T-shirt with some unknown and I’m sure crappy band’s logo on the front, and black faded skinny jeans. We both walk back into the apartment together. “That’s what you’re wearing to school?”

He glances down at himself. “I’m not going to the prom. Gimme a break. Hey, you got any smokes?”

“Owen! Promise me you’re not smoking.” The guilty look on his face says it all. If the flowers weren’t so beautiful, I’d hurl the vase at him, I’m so pissed. “You’re too young to smoke. It’s a horrible, nasty habit.”

“You do it.”

“Not all the time. I mostly quit.” Yeah, that sounds lame as hell.

“I only smoke every once in a while,” Owen whines. “It soothes my nerves.”

“Such a bullshit answer. I’m sure if I dug around in your room right now, I’d find some weed too. Am I right?” I raise a brow, just daring him to deny it.

His eyes widen the slightest bit right before he goes for pure defiant nonchalance. “Oh, who cares? You act like you’ve always been on the straight and narrow. I bet you’ve smoked a few bowls in your life.”

Not really. Drugs don’t do much for me. I smoked a joint here and there through high school but nothing major. Cigarettes were my major vice. The occasional keg party would do me in, too. Make me do stupid things. After a while, that’s why I avoided them. “I’m twenty, you’re fourteen. There’s a difference between what I’m doing and what you’re doing.”

“Such crap,” Owen mutters as he walks away from me, heading toward the couch where his sweatshirt is flung over the back. “I’m outta here.”

I set the vase down on the kitchen counter, my pleasure at receiving the flowers evaporating when I realize I’ve not only just got into a huge fight with my brother, but I did the same thing with Drew last night.

Who’s the one with the problem, hmm?

“Owen, look. I’m sorry.” He stops at the door, as if he’s waiting for me to further explain myself. “I just hate to see you make a bunch of stupid mistakes like I did. I wish you could learn from me.”

“I’m going to do what I do no matter what, Fabes. I wish you could see that.” He turns to face me, looking like a ragamuffin in his faded black sweatshirt streaked with bleach stains. Who the hell does his laundry? Oh, that’s right, he does. “I’m not a bad kid. I get decent grades. I only skip class sometimes. And I have good friends. So I smoke here and there. So I get high and forget about my troubles for a while. Is that so bad?”

Yes, I want to shout at him. I want you to be perfect and well behaved and never give me any problems. I don’t want you doing drugs or smoking or drinking or fooling around with girls. I want you to be eight years old forever.

“Maybe we can talk later?” I suggest. “I should be here when you get home from school.”

“What else is there to talk about? You’ve already made up your mind. We’re moving without Mom, you hate that I smoke and you think I’m a fuck-up. Whatever.” He leaves the apartment without another word, slamming the door behind him, and I’m left standing there, so shocked my mouth is hanging open.

Holy. Crap. I’ve stepped in it all over the place. Why am I so confrontational lately? What the hell is my problem?

Regret settles over me and I sit heavily on the creaky barstool. Way to go and screw up that conversation. Clearly I’m the one with the bad attitude. I keep picking fights with my favorite people. Not the smartest move I’ve ever made, that’s for sure.

I run my finger over one of the soft flower petals. It’s a bright, sunny yellow, such the complete opposite of my morose mood.

Look at me. A man leaves me flowers on my doorstep and I’m all mopey. I should be the one apologizing and he’s the one making grand gestures. No guy has ever brought me flowers.

Ever.

My gaze catches sight of a small cream-colored envelope nestled among the blooms and I snatch it up, opening the envelope with trembling fingers.

Fable is…

Faithful

Amazing

Beautiful

Loving

Exquisite

I’m sorry. – Drew

A wistful sigh full of longing escapes me. I think he’s trying to slowly tear me apart so he can be the only one who puts me back together. His words kill me. Slay me dead.

And they fill me with so much hope I don’t know how I could’ve ever doubted him.

Drew

My head is throbbing when I wake up, my brain foggy. I lay awake in bed most of the night, replaying my conversation with Fable. Unable to figure out exactly where everything went wrong but since I’m a world-class screw-up, it had to be my fault.

I finally gave up pretending to sleep and climbed out of bed, threw on some clothes and went to a local supermarket. Found a beautiful arrangement of wildflowers and bought it without thinking twice. Yeah, maybe I should’ve got her some roses since they’re twice as expensive and supposedly are more romantic, but they didn’t seem Fable’s style.

The note made me work a little harder. I wanted to get it just right. No way could I use the word “marshmallow.” She would’ve killed me. I’d like to see her use it on me again. The one time she did, I almost blew it and didn’t show up.

But if she ever did use our code word again, I’d love to see that moment of sweet surprise wash over her when I come to rescue her so fast, her head spins.

Instead, I write her a little poem using her name. Much like I did for my tattoo, though this one is simpler. Sweeter. All about her.

Once I got back home, I crashed out. Woke up hours later with the hangover feeling, the sun’s light deathly bright in my room. Feels like the day is already half over and when I check my phone, I see that it almost is.

I also see I have a bunch of text messages from a certain someone.

Drew is…

Delicious

Real

Extra sexy and…

Wonderful

My heart threatens to crack. She wrote me a poem back. I can’t fucking believe it.

You got the flowers then,
I text her.

She replies immediately.

I love the flowers. Thank you.

A smile forms on my lips as I answer her.

You’re welcome. Did you like the note?

I loved the note even more. I think you’re a closet romantic.

My smile grows.

Only for you.

She doesn’t answer and I wonder if I somehow screwed up.

Then I get pissed at myself for always thinking I screwed up.

What are you doing?
She finally texts back.

I’m still in bed.
I pause. Should I say what I really want to say next? Aw, fuck it.

Thinking of you.

I send the text, my heart rate increasing. I hope she’s forgiven me. I’m dying to see her.

Are you naked, Drew? Because I could totally get on board with that image.

I burst out laughing at her text and quickly reply back.

You want me naked? That can be arranged.

I’m only in sweats, not even wearing any underwear. That I’m thinking like this almost makes me want to laugh.

Also makes me want to suggest we indulge in some of that phone sex/sexting thing we talked about a few nights ago, which sort of blows my mind.

But with Fable, I’m willing to do just about anything.

Only if I’m naked with you.

A few words typed on a screen and I’m hard as steel. Damn, this girl.

My doorbell rings and I go completely still. Who the hell is that? I head toward the door and open it, shock rendering me frozen when I find Fable standing on my doorstep, her cell phone clutched in her hand. A wicked smile curves her lips and I let my gaze wander over her.

She’s wearing bright pink cotton shorts and a black long-sleeve T-shirt that clings to her breasts and makes them look huge. Her hair is pulled back in a long braid, wild blonde strands brushing her cheeks. Her face is devoid of makeup with the exception of some gloss slicking her lips, making them extra shiny. Extra kissable.

My girl is gorgeous. Those shorts should be criminal. They’re like a lethal weapon. I swear if I keep staring at her legs I’ll keel over from witnessing too much hotness.

“I keep getting these crazy messages from some random guy.” She holds her phone up. I see the last message I sent her on the screen, along with her accompanying reply. She’s just as guilty. “He says he wants to get naked with me.”

I lean against the door. If she wants to play this game, fine. I’m up for it. Might make things more interesting. “Hmm, weird. Why would anyone want to get naked with you?”

She rests her hands on her hips. “I don’t know. Looks like you’re almost naked.”

Glancing down at myself, I scratch my bare chest. I can feel her eyes on me and I look up, watching her as she blatantly checks me out. Just like I blatantly checked her out only moments ago. “I assume you’ve accepted my apology?”

Her expression changes in an instant. Those pretty green eyes dim and her mouth softens. “I’m the one who should apologize. I feel like I’ve been picking fights all over the place.”

I grab her hand and yank her inside, shutting the door behind her. Without giving her a chance to think, let alone escape, I pin her against the door and hold her there with my body, my hands on her waist. Her skin is warm, I can feel her heat through the thin barrier of her shirt and I want her.

Beneath me, over me, with me. Always.

“Who else are you fighting with?” I slip my fingers beneath the hem of her shirt so I can touch soft, pliant flesh.

“My brother.” A shaky breath escapes her. “I’m sorry we argued last night, Drew.”

I love how she always cuts through the bullshit. There are no lingering misunderstandings or grudges. We argue, we challenge each other, we apologize, we move on.

“I’m sorry too.” I lean in closer to her and inhale the subtle scent of her shampoo. She smells so good. Everything about her smells amazing. She’s warm and fragrant and soft in my arms, her breasts nestled against my bare chest, her arms going loosely around my waist. “Wanna have makeup sex?”

She giggles—and I don’t think I’ve ever heard Fable giggle—just before I rain kisses along her slender neck. The giggles turn instantly into a low moan and she slides her hands up my back, her nails skimming my skin. “I would love to have make-up sex.”

Before she can say another word I lift my head, settle my mouth on hers. I’m hungry for her sweet lips, her tongue. I devour her, holding her in place as I cup her head with my hands, my fingers tangling in her hair, ruining her braid. She whimpers against my mouth, her hands diving beneath the loose waistband of my sweats, and I hear her murmur of pleasure when she discovers I have no underwear on.

“You are so bad,” she whispers, her tongue darting out to lick my lower lip as she shoves my sweats down so they fall in a heap around my ankles. I step out of them, kick them out of the way, my tongue doing a slow search of the inside of her mouth.

No one who knows me would ever consider me a bad boy. I left that image up to other guys, always happy to stay in my good-guy place. Girls preferred bad boys so I walked the straight and narrow.

Plus, I flat-out didn’t like feeling bad. Being full of secret shame does that to a person.

Fable makes me want to be bad for her, just to hear her say it. Her pleased tone is unmistakable. I think she likes corrupting me.

My mouth never leaving hers, I grab her ass and lift. She twines her legs around my hips, clinging to me, the heat of her burning my dick through the thin fabric of her shorts. I frantically tug at them, dropping her so her feet fall to the ground only so I can push her shorts and lacy panties off, her helping me the entire time.

Regret flashes through me as I watch the delicate scrape of fabric fall to the floor. I’d have to linger over those pretty lace panties next time. I’m too eager, too caught up in the moment to take it slow. I needed to be inside her. Now.

“Drew.” She pants my name against my lips as I lift her back up, those sexy legs going around my hips, her ankles digging into my ass. “I want to feel you.”

“You’re feeling me right now, baby.” Oh hell yeah, she’s feeling me, and I’m feeling her. She’s so slick and hot, the head of my cock nudges against her folds and all I want to do is plunge inside her. Fuck her until I can’t see straight and I’m coming so hard I can’t think.

“I mean…oh God, I can’t think when you do that,” she whispers, her voice trembling when I thrust against her, nice and slow. “I’m on the pill, Drew.”

“That’s awesome.” Yeah, no babies for us. We can barely handle each other, let alone throw a kid in the mix.

She tugs on my hair, getting my attention. “I mean, I want you inside me with no barriers. No condom.”

I stare into her eyes, my breaths coming in ragged pants, my skin already glistening with sweat. And I haven’t even been inside her yet. I’m so worked up, so ready to do whatever she asks me to do, I don’t give her suggestion a second thought. I’m fully on board.