Touch & Go Page 6

  Ford nodded, his jaw cocked to one side as he looked to be fighting a smile. “And then there’s Sam and Ava, right?”

  Sam raised a brow, but Ava yanked around so hard she spun out, stumbling into the arm of the couch and then right over the edge and onto Tony, who’d still been lying where he’d been “shot.”

  “Ford, look what you just made me do,” she grumbled, shoving up on straight arms and scowling down at Tony, whose wide grin suggested that he had, in fact, been buried in Ava’s chest for a minute there. Something Sam would normally laugh his ass off over but suddenly didn’t find so funny.

  Not only was he half cursing himself for not being the tool flopped back on the couch poised to take that sweet, soft incoming cleavage, but there was something else. Something darker. Something—

  “Cripes, Tony, it was an accident, so stop looking at me like I just made your Christmas morning.”

  “Serendipity, Ava. And just so we’re on the same page, you’re welcome to use my face for a landing pad anytime you like.”

  “Knock your shit off, Tony.” Sam walked over to where Ava was dusting herself off. “You okay?”

  She nodded, an evil grin stretching her lips. “Except for the nightmares to come over Tony’s suggestion I use his face for recreation.”

  And cue Tony groaning as he jackknifed up to sitting, waving everyone off for the minute he was sure to need after Ava’s retaliation.

  Jesus, she was bad.

  Sam wanted to brush the few stray hairs of inky silk away from her brow, but that he’d been thinking about it instead of just doing it without thinking? Probably better to keep his hands to himself. But then—

  Hold on. What the hell was Ford talking about?

  Ava must have had enough waiting too, because hand on her hip she spun around. “So what are you all Ava-and-Samming about?”

  Ford grinned into his beer, an unparalleled look of delight on his face.

  “Just thinking about poor Sam here and how I turned him down when he asked me for Ava’s hand.”

  Tony’s head snapped up and Ava’s mouth dropped open. But Sam just rubbed his palm over his mouth, giving in to the laugh bubbling up in his chest.

  “Oh, that.”

  He couldn’t believe Ford remembered it—he hadn’t even remembered it. But now it was as if he could smell the cookies Mrs. Meyers had been making that day. He could still feel that crazy tumble in his chest that, even after a year of being welcomed into Ava’s family, he’d only just begun to get used to—excitement, happiness—as he ran up to the door and let himself in like they’d told him to do.

  Kicking off his shoes, he’d set them in a neat row with all the others.

  “Hi, Sam,” Mrs. Meyers called from the kitchen, where she’d been wiping down the counter with a rag. He’d always liked their kitchen. He’d liked the bowl of green apples on the table and how there was a place for him to sit. He’d liked how many foods were in the fridge and pantry. And he’d liked that Mrs. Meyers had let him help plant the herb garden growing in the window over the sink.

  He’d tried to clean up his own kitchen some, but even though he’d been as quiet as he could, the noise from the glass and cans was too loud and then his old man was filling up the doorway, wanting to know what Sam thought he was doing with his stuff. He hadn’t been able to breathe right seeing how his old man was looking at him, knowing what was coming next, but he’d tried to explain he was helping out. It didn’t matter, and so he hadn’t tried that again. Which was probably better anyway, because when he moved the paint can to scrape up the crust from underneath, a piece of the counter came up with it.

  What a dump.

  Not like the Meyerses’ house. Not like the Meyerses.

  And he’d started thinking that when his mom came back for him, he’d help keep her kitchen nice. He’d plant an herb garden for her window and she and Mrs. Meyers could be friends. And maybe he’d marry Ava and then Mrs. Meyers could be his mom too. He’d liked the idea of that so much, he’d even gone to ask Ford about it.

  Needless to say, the guy had been less than agreeable, and that was the end of that. Until now.

  Ford cocked his head. “Now that you two crazy kids are all in love, figured it’s time we had that talk again, right?”

  Chapter 9

  Ava had no misconceptions—whatever bit of twisted history Ford was about to spring on them, it wasn’t what it sounded like.

  So she started with the obvious. “This being the first I’m hearing about it, I’m guessing we’re talking the ten-and-under years?”

  Ford seemed to be thinking back and then nodded. “I think maybe the second summer we were living there. This guy takes me aside one afternoon and says he’s been thinking about it and maybe he should marry Ava when they grow up.”

  Maggie let out a cough of laughter, settling next to Tyler on the couch. “So you were about nine? What in the world could you have been thinking at nine?”

  Sam wrapped his arm around Ava and, catching her chin with the hook of his finger, brought her eyes back to his. “I admit it. I had plans to use you to get to your mom. And I figured I’d better stake my claim early. I’m not proud.”

  Ava laughed, that tender spot in her soul that had been there since her parents’ car accident eight years before aching at their mention. At the reminder of how Sam had worshiped her mother, a woman with the biggest heart of anyone she’d ever met.

  She shook her head. “My mother, hmm? Honestly, I’m not surprised. Was she in on your plans? Because you know this would have tickled her pink.”

  That boyish grin she loved so much split Sam’s face as he turned his eyes to the ceiling. “I may have been a little less than subtle while I was fleshing out my plan. Asking if the guy who married Ava got to move into the house too. If he would be able to come for all the holidays.”

  “Subtle,” Ford chuckled, but there was such affection in the way he looked at Sam, Ava wanted to pull the whole lot of them into one big hug. Instead, though, she settled for Sam, because her arms had always been big enough for him.

  “You sweet thing. I bet she was totally buttering you up too. Let me guess—she started telling you about all the special meals she’d make for the guy who married me?”

  “There was Jell-O Pretzel Salad as often as he liked. And she assured me there would be perks, like Ava’s husband got the biggest crusty pieces from the honeyed ham first.” Sam let her go with a wink. “I’m telling you, I was in—until your douche brother told me to forget it.”

  Ford scoffed, “Douche? I was ten! Protecting my sister from guys who only wanted her for her mom. Besides, you didn’t need to marry Ava. Man, they loved you like their own.”

  Sam’s head ducked, the small smile at his lips bittersweet. “Yeah, I know they did.”

  For a moment, the mood weighed heavy, as all who knew her parents remembered them. But then Sam slanted Ford a look. “So douche might be too much. Dick? Dork? Sister-hoarding dweeb?”

  “Ah, come on.” Ford grinned. “I shared. And after all these years, she’s as much your sister as she is mine. Wouldn’t want it any other way, man.”

  Until a week ago, Ava would have taken Ford’s comment in stride. Hating it, and yet knowing it was true. But no more.

  Sam didn’t think of her as a sister.

  Not even a little.

  He loved her; she didn’t doubt it. But not like that. And not the other way either. Just in the way of friends who were as close as family and had had a single night of scorching hot, wildly creative, wet, dirty amazing sex between them.

  She was good with it.

  And though her own fantasies of marrying Sam had sprouted that very first day when he’d helped her climb the tree her brother had said she was too small for, then sat with his arm around her so she didn’t fall—now, Ava knew she didn’t need anything more.

  —

  Jesus. Sister?

  It took about all the tight-lipped self-control Sam had not to set Ford
straight on that one.

  But something told him giving in to the impulse to toss out a single, stern “Not really, dude” would be about as self-destructive and uncool as giving in to the impulse to show Ava how very unbrotherly his thoughts had been about her this last week.

  How close he’d come to doing something seriously depraved with those keepsake panties he’d promised himself he wouldn’t violate anymore than he already had.

  And it didn’t help when he caught her sly, knowing glance and sexy secret smile.

  Or maybe that was just her looking at him the way she always did and him seeing things that weren’t there because he hadn’t quite managed to slot Ava back into the friend zone the way he’d thought he would.

  But it was that mouth, Christ.

  And those berry-tight little—

  “Hey, Sam. What’s your schedule looking like coming up?” Tony cut into his thoughts, stepping between him and—shit, Ava, whom he’d been staring at while he thought about things he really shouldn’t be thinking of in front of her brother.

  Or anyone else.

  Or at all.

  “ ’Cause I was thinking about putting a bar into my living room like you built for Ava. What do you think?”

  Sam wrestled his brain back and in gear and focused on his cousin. And the job he wasn’t going to take.

  “Tony, you rent. I can’t build anything into your place.”

  “Ava rents,” he countered with a shrug.

  “Yeah, but she rents from her brother, who gave her free rein to modify anything she likes. Your landlord probably doesn’t feel the same way about you.”

  Sam listened to Tony go on about all the shit he’d change in his apartment with half an ear, grabbing another beer while they watched the rest of the game before heading out.

  Sister.

  He’d never thought of her like a sister.

  Another slug of beer.

  Laughter rang up around him and Sam moved his mouth into the same smile everyone else was wearing, falling back on the old trick he’d made himself master in order to blend, to survive. Something he didn’t need to do anymore but in that moment seemed the only way.

  Man, why was it eating at him that Ford thought he looked at Ava like a brother would?

  Because the truth meant he’d betrayed the guy.

  They were adults. It wasn’t as though he’d violated some bro-code. If it had been ten years ago, then yeah, he’d have something to feel shitty about, but there had to be some statute of limitations on the promises a guy made to his friend about a little sister who was now completely grown up.

  Then again it wasn’t like he could really check without giving up details he held private. And either way, the damage had been done before he’d ever even thought about Ford or the promise he’d made as a kid. Besides, it would be a total bullshit move to clue Ford in to the fact that he’d shagged his little sister with zero intention of pursuing a relationship.

  Which, even as he thought it, sent a shaft of guilt through him.

  Another deep pull from the longneck and the last swallow washed down, tasting slightly bitter.

  Stupid. Because both Ava and he had wanted it. They’d agreed to it and gone into it with their eyes open.

  She’d needed it, maybe even as much as he had.

  Jesus, the sounds she’d made before he even got inside her.

  The way her body clutched at him once he did.

  How responsive she was.

  How hot and wet and tight and—

  “You guys ready to head out?” Tyler asked, pulling Maggie up from the couch and into a quick kiss before adding, “The band’s going on in less than an hour.”

  —Fuck. What was he doing?

  Chapter 10

  The club was dark, the band was loud, the beat hard and the rhythm just exactly the right kind of hip-loosening groove Ava needed to get lost in. Amid the throng, Maggie was dancing with Tyler, in that nobody-in-the-place-but-us kind of way only certain couples could achieve. Ford was nodding along to the song, his version of dancing limited to the occasional shifting of his weight inadvertently timed with the beat, while some redhead he knew through one of his commercial rental properties picked up his slack with moves that were free and fun and made Ava wonder if maybe this one could be a good balance to her brother. Tony had somehow infiltrated a circle of girls, half of whom seemed to be pretending he wasn’t there and the other half…well, at least one of them didn’t seem to mind.

  And then there was Sam.

  He’d stationed himself behind her, somehow maintaining at least six inches of space between them in a club that—thanks to the growing popularity of the band onstage—was packed in a solid press of bodies extending nearly to the door. It was weird, but when she looked back at him beneath the roving lights, he was giving her that “totally relaxed, everything’s fine with the world” smile that sometimes she didn’t quite buy.

  Maybe it was just that she wasn’t used to him sticking this close when they went out. Normally she’d be catching his eye from across the dance floor and over the shoulder of some buxom blonde. They’d reconnect before leaving, or a few hours later when he’d show up at her door freshly showered, wanting to kick back and watch a flick.

  She’d told him he didn’t need to stand sentinel over her on the outside chance Steven showed up, but Sam shrugged her off, and so she was trying to pretend that space behind her wasn’t driving her nuts with all its empty potential.

  The song ended and when the opening notes from the next crowd favorite kicked off, the place went wild, everyone pushing in a wave toward the stage so that six inches was swallowed up in a breath, and then there was just Sam hot against her back, one arm locking around her waist while the other braced against the surge of the crowd to stop their forward advance.

  “Hey, you okay?” he asked at her ear, the low rumble of his voice distinct against a background that had dimmed at first contact.

  “Fine. Good. Really.” She tried to swallow past the tight knot in her throat that was making her voice sound funny and her breath not quite right.

  Sam hadn’t moved. His arm remained firm around her middle, his big hand closed around her hip bone, and suddenly her heart started to thump. Because she knew what happened last time she and Sam had gotten this close.

  They’d said it wouldn’t happen again, but she could feel his breath in her hair and one after another, every nerve in her body was coming online, charging up and starting to buzz.

  Slowly, she turned, looking back at him over her shoulder.

  “Sam?” she asked, but before his name had even made it past her lips, he blinked, and the guy she knew almost better than herself was back.

  “Sorry, did I step on your foot?” he asked, looking around them. When she shook her head, his mouth stretched to one side. “Pretty sure I nailed someone. Shit.”

  And then he’d caught her hand and pulled her back into the fray, dancing like they always danced. Like friends without a million question marks in the space between them.

  —

  Forty minutes later there was another band onstage, but Sam had needed a break from pretending the turn and swivel of Ava’s hips weren’t putting one seriously depraved thought in his head after another, so they’d settled in at the wall end of the bar where there was enough room for the group of them. Ava’s head was thrown back, and she was laughing with all her usual abandon, that full-bodied sound attracting a damn lot of attention.

  Male attention.

  One head after another was turning, locking on her silky stretch of neck and all that red, wide mouth curving in the kind of smile that got guys hard within one look.

  And Sam had been staring at it for the better part of the night.

  Which brought him back to the same what the fuck? that had been echoing through his thoughts since—well, shit. Since about ten minutes after he finished fucking his best friend.

  There was no denying it.

  Looking up at
the exposed pipes and ductwork of the ceiling, he swore.

  He wanted her again.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about all the things he hadn’t gotten to do with her. To her. All the things he was thinking about doing that very minute. Things that involved back hallways and quiet stairwells, and another addition to his sacrificial panty collection.

  Ava’s mouth and all its varied potential.

  Fuck.

  He was losing it. Because he’d seen what happened to friendships that crossed the line.

  Just the day before, he’d run into Jasper Fisk. Talk about a walking cautionary tale when it came to friends making a go at the whole more-than business. Jasper had been friends with Carol since high school. They stayed close through college, and once they’d both moved back to Chicago, they started a catering business together.

  By all accounts, they’d had everything.

  And then one day they show up holding hands. They’re together. In love. And planning their forever, because it feels like they’ve already been together that long. There aren’t any questions. There’s nothing new to learn. So why wait?

  Except after a couple of months, they aren’t holding hands and they aren’t laughing. They both have this haunted, pinched look about them everyone can see even though they’re hoping nobody will notice. And they’ve figured out that even though they’d been together forever as friends, being together as lovers is different. And it’s not working.

  Carol ends it, and they try to keep the company together, to fall back into friendship. But they can’t because they’ve seen something in each other friends don’t see, and they don’t like it. They can’t stand it.

  Jasper ends up screwing a vendor Carol is friends with. Carol empties the corporate accounts. People see them on the streets screaming at each other.