Touch & Go Page 7

  And that was before they found out about the baby.

  Now, the guy looks like the walking dead and when he smiles, it’s got the same effect as someone scratching his fingernails down a blackboard.

  Yeah, fifteen minutes and Sam was rock solid on all the reasons why he’d never risk what he had with Ava by getting greedy and trying to turn it into something more.

  For crying out loud, if Jasper couldn’t do it—and the guy had had a pretty exemplary record as a boyfriend prior, complete with multiple long-term relationships and not even a hint of commitment aversion—Sam didn’t even want to think about how bad a guy with his own track record could fuck up. So, he didn’t cheat, but it was pretty easy not to dick around when most of his relationships could be counted in hours, with the few standout exceptions stretching into weeks. Okay, he’d gotten pretty serious about Shannon at the end of high school, but hell, he’d learned his lesson with her.

  His empty bottle hit the bar.

  Yeah, Sam wanted more of what Ava had given him. But he wouldn’t risk what they had to get it. And if it took some time before he was able to look at her without seeing something he wasn’t going to get again? So be it. They had all the time in the world.

  —

  There was something different about the way Sam was looking at her tonight. It was in that extra instant their eyes held. In the single beat when his gaze dropped to her mouth, lower, before flicking back up to where it belonged and then away. And each time different reared its ugly head, all the parts of Ava working in concert to protect her from a hope that could break her—well, they got all warm and tingly and distracted from the task they’d been dedicated to for nearly two decades.

  Which was bad. Because deep in that most betraying, hopeful heart of hers…she knew different wasn’t what she hoped it would be. And yet she couldn’t resist the pull of it. Couldn’t be the one to look away first. She couldn’t stop her breath from catching every time she noticed his eyes moving over her lips.

  She wanted more.

  But for all the different she was getting off Sam, one thing was the same. He wasn’t doing anything about it, and she was getting more restless by the second.

  “Ava, you need to lay off the sauce,” Tony said, leaning an elbow on the bar so his body became a physical barrier between her and Sam, who’d turned away as soon as Tony slid between them.

  What she needed was to take the edge off.

  And her mind kept drifting back to the solution she’d stumbled upon while shopping for a sexy bachelorette party gift for Maggie. One wrong click and she’d found herself in the back end of a website with all kinds of edge-easing alternatives. Why hadn’t she just clicked “buy” instead of staring at the offerings with her mouth hanging open and her pulse in overdrive?

  “You might be right,” she conceded. It was probably true about the booze. She’d been sucking down longnecks like lemonade all evening, trying to numb something that had only managed to get a little achier than usual.

  “No ‘might’ about it, Ave. You’ve got an oddly available look about you. Even when you’re looking at me. Time to belly up to the water trough before I have to make Sam carry your pert ass home.”

  Ava nodded, and gratefully accepted the water Tony passed to her.

  Pouring the cool liquid back, she felt it evaporate on her tongue when Sam pushed back from the bar, stretching his arms out to the side and then rubbing his hands over the back of his head so the muscles of his shoulders, upper arms, chest, and back all got in on the action.

  He was hands down the hottest guy she’d ever seen.

  And this image of him would be the one she pulled to mind when she arrived home, powered up her PC, and ordered herself some relief to be delivered next-day air.

  Chapter 11

  Pushing through the turnstile with hip-cracking speed, Ava rushed for the L exit and then hit North Damen at what she’d like to think was an inconspicuous clip. But even if it wasn’t, who the hell cared? The entire Wicker Park community could see her sprinting with her suit skirt riding up her thighs and her commute sneakers burning up the street, and it would be better than the alternative she’d made every reasonable effort and possibly a few less reasonable efforts to avoid.

  She had to get home in time.

  Deliveries usually came between three thirty and five P.M. And, checking her phone, it was now three forty-seven. Which meant even though Ava had all but feigned appendicitis to get out of her meeting early, there was a chance the truck had already come.

  No. She couldn’t have that kind of bad luck.

  She just—oh cripes, the truck was parked in front of their place.

  Her stomach plummeted.

  And there was Sam—what the heck was he doing at home?!?—resting against the stone footing at the front of their walk, long denim-clad legs crossed at the ankles, a small brown box tucked beneath his arm as he signed that little electronic pad.

  That was her package.

  He had it.

  And she was still the better part of a block away.

  Throwing an arm up into a wild wave, she forced her already straining lungs to gasp his name.

  Only it was no good. Some hot rodder was revving his bike and Sam didn’t even look up.

  Winded and sweating through what had been a gorgeous suit when she put it on that morning, she pushed her legs and tried again. “Sam!”

  But he was still chatting it up with the delivery guy. They were laughing about something and maybe that was better anyway, because then she could act all nonchalant when she swept in and snagged her box.

  Except then, Sam was digging in his pocket and pulling out that folding tool thing he always had on him.

  “No. No, no, no no nonono.” Her arms were pumping, her lungs raw. “Sam! That’s mine! Don’t open that. It’s my package! Sam!!”

  And that last he must have heard because his head came up and he nodded in her direction with a smile, before looking back at the delivery guy to resume whatever they were talking about.

  His hands were turning the cardboard box over and around in his hands, and then he was prying up the lid. Ava lunged the final distance, stumbling into him as she slammed her hand onto the cardboard, wheezing, “My package…Thanks for signing…I’ve got it…from here.”

  Sam’s chin pulled back as he met her eyes and then turned his attention to the box caught between their hands. “Uh, Ava? This one’s mine. Yours are behind me.”

  Yours? Like plural, as in more than one box?

  Leaning over Sam to look at the ground behind him she saw that there were in fact three boxes. Two medium-sized and one a little bigger than the box in Sam’s hand. Longer.

  “Oh, right.” Her face, already flushed from that desperation-driven run, burned even hotter. “Of course.”

  How much had she actually ordered?

  “What is all this stuff? I’m usually the one getting the deliveries.”

  Right, because when Sam got bored in the wee hours of the night, the guy tended to get an itchy trigger finger when it came to the “As Seen On TV” offerings. And honestly, Ava was usually the lucky recipient.

  Which gave her an idea.

  “I can’t tell you. They’re presents.”

  Sam’s eyes went wide, and then all that river-washed blue cranked down to the boxes in question.

  She should have known better, because she knew Sam, and while giving presents was really his thing, when he got them—

  He had the awkward stack balanced in his arms and was halfway to the front door before Ava realized her mistake and started staggering after all her dirty secrets.

  “Sam, wait!”

  The security door was on its backward swing when she got a hand on it.

  “Sam, stop it. I’m serious,” she called, chasing him up the stairs, her messenger bag slamming with each step. Shoving past her still open door, she gasped, “Don’t open them. They aren’t—”

  Too late.

  Sam was
standing at the bar, his utility tool lying beside the three open boxes and an avalanche of popcorn stuffing spilled around his feet. He shook his head, a smacked look on his face as he lifted what might have been her third or possibly fourth impulse buy from within.

  “So I’m guessing the vibrator isn’t actually a present for me, then.”

  —

  Who was he kidding? This little treasure trove was the kind of gift that just kept on giving. Possibly forever. Because holy fuck, it looked like Ava had bought out the entire stock of self-gratifying toys, and seeing her arsenal—knowing what it was she might be using on herself just one freaking floor away—

  He stepped behind the bar, resting his elbows in a casual stance he only hoped would cover the rock-hard, aching evidence of just how much he appreciated this very special present, indeed.

  Only then he noticed the hot burn working up Ava’s neck and cheeks looked like it had moved past embarrassed fluster and into apoplectic territory.

  “What the heck, Sam?” she demanded, her foot actually stomping the floor beneath her as her fists balled at her sides. And he wanted to laugh because like that, she was eight years old in front of him again, and he loved it so much he wanted to pull her into his arms and give her a bear hug until she squealed and kicked his shin to make him stop.

  Only then he caught a glimpse of her bedtime buddies and—hello, whiplash—she was back to the all grown-up woman he’d had a taste of the week before. Ergo, he was thinking about the noises experience had taught him she made when she was getting close and he was wondering which one of her new toys would have her making them the fastest.

  “Sam, stop looking!” she demanded, and, yeah, he knew she was right, but he’d be damned if he could tear his eyes away from what hours—hell, minutes—from now she might be working into that tight body of hers.

  “Sam!”

  And the screech levels of that plea were enough to break through.

  He turned back to Ava, his favorite flavor of forbidden fruit, and seeing the mortification burning too bright, and without the usual laughter that accompanied any embarrassment they shared, all that hot and hard riding him fizzled to brain-functioning levels.

  She was really upset.

  “Hey, Ava, com’ere.” He stepped out from behind the bar, more concerned about the hurt in her eyes than the obvious lingering effects of seeing the contents of this box. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  He pulled her into his side. Better to avoid any obvious obstacles to a serious conversation. But the girl who’d always melted into him was stiff in his arms. “This is why I can’t ever have anything private in my life.”

  He pulled back, his brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”

  Her shoulders slumped and she pulled away. “I’m talking about you being into everything, every part of my life. Every corner of my home. Can’t I have a few secrets I don’t have to worry about you shining your spotlight on?”

  His fingers were still, resting at the small of her back, the contact maybe more for him than her. Especially hearing her talking like there wasn’t enough distance between them, when for as far back as he could remember the closeness they shared had been as important to her as it was to him.

  His gut wrenched, because there was only one thing that had changed.

  The sex.

  Jesus. It had seemed so right. It felt so right. And when he’d looked into her eyes the way he’d been doing since they were kids, he’d seen how right she was with it too. How confident she was that their single night wouldn’t impact their friendship. But here Ava was telling him he was too close.

  “Ava, talk to me. Where’s this coming from?”

  She laughed, and the sound of it made the center of his chest hurt, because it wasn’t the laugh he loved. Counted on. It wasn’t the laugh they shared, and that was making him start to panic.

  Had he fucked everything up? Risked the one thing that mattered to him more than anything else on the planet for a single night? A single fucking night?

  Only that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just the single night he’d been lying to the both of them about being enough. If it had been, then he wouldn’t have been watching her the way he was, thinking about what it had been like to be inside her, fantasizing about all the things he’d wished he could do. Looking for any sign that she was doing the same.

  Had he driven a wedge between them?

  “It’s not you.”

  Bullshit. If it wasn’t, she’d have her arms looped around him and her forehead buried in his shirt.

  “Then what is it?”

  Ava’s hands came up to her face and she turned her back to him. Another first. Another fist to his gut.

  Why hadn’t the one night been enough?

  “It’s what happened, Sam.”

  He was nodding, because what else could he do? He already knew. But at least she was talking to him. If they were talking, then they could work through anything.

  He wouldn’t believe anything else.

  “It was stupid, Ava. I’m sorry. But it doesn’t have to be any big deal. We can work through this.”

  She turned to him, confusion in her eyes. And then frustration as they raked down the length of him. “Of course we’ll get through it. I’m just…I’m wound too tight. You know I’m not like you, with all the casual company and regular outlet for sexual tension. And I guess it had been awhile for me. Long enough that one night—one great night, because it really, really was amazing and you shouldn’t feel bad about it or like you didn’t deliver, because you totally did—”

  Didn’t deliver? What was she talking about?

  “—but now, it’s like I’m ready to burst. Like what we did was just enough to make me want more. And I’ve been going crazy. And because I’m not quite so casual as you, I figured my best bet for letting off some steam was a few personal accessories. But I was kind of hoping the whole world wouldn’t have to know about it.”

  Sam blinked. “So if I have this right, you pulling away from me just now wasn’t because I’d gone and fucked everything up by taking you to bed. It was because you needed more than the edge taken off and you were embarrassed for me to see that you were taking matters into your own hands. So to speak.”

  Chin pulling back, she shook her head.

  “Why would you think things were effed up with us?” she asked, her voice starting to get that pinched sound that told the story of just how worried she was. “Is that how you feel?”

  Giving in to a relieved laugh, he pulled her close. “How I feel is like maybe our mutual problem isn’t that we gave in to a night between us, but after twenty years of close proximity, we thought a single night would be enough.”

  Chapter 12

  Ava had to be hearing him wrong.

  Either that or she’d actually died of embarrassment right there in her apartment and this was heaven rolling out the welcome wagon to greet her. Because the idea that she’d heard him right? That Sam wanted more than the single night they’d shared? That maybe, finally, after all these years he’d realized he wanted more from her than friendship—that he wanted it all? She couldn’t let herself go there. Couldn’t give in to the temptation to believe in something with the ability to wreck her completely if it wasn’t real.

  Only then Sam’s hands were coasting back to her hips, his thumbs coming to rest low against her abdomen in a hold too intimate to pretend it was anything other than a return to the night this man made her body his own.

  Oh God, was it possible?

  “It wasn’t enough for you?” she asked, her voice thready, unsure.

  The eyes that met hers were the softest blue, gently frayed at the edges from a life of wear and tear, a life they’d spent so much of together.

  “I thought it would be. Hell, I thought one kiss would be enough. But Ava,” he breathed, the fingers at her hips gripping tighter, “I’m going out of my head here. And the things I keep thinking about…it’s like every wayward thought I’
ve had since sixteen is suddenly making a play for attention, asking for a second chance at becoming more than the fantasy I knew better than to give in to.”

  “Sixteen, Sam?” Tears pushed at the backs of her eyes and clogged her throat, making it hard to breathe, to talk. He’d thought about her. He’d wanted her. Through all those years she’d been dying inside because he didn’t feel what she felt. Because he didn’t want her the way she wanted him. She didn’t care if it had taken twelve years to learn the truth; she didn’t care why he hadn’t told her.

  He cocked his head to the side, offering a single-shouldered shrug to match his half smile. “I know. And I’m not proud of it. But guys are guys. We get ideas about everything. Everyone. And you were there all the time. The most familiar female around. I didn’t want to look. I mean, it’s never been like that between us, but you’re beautiful, and every now and then something would happen.”

  “Something?”

  “Something like I’d see you pulling your hair up into a ponytail when you had on that yellow bikini with the little ruffle. Or when I walked past your room and you were lying on your bed doing homework while you went to town on one of those Sour Apple Blow Pops you couldn’t get enough of.” He looked at the ceiling and then back to her. “That rainstorm.”

  Her heart was hammering in her chest, because she remembered that rainstorm, knew without asking which day it had been. How they’d been out in the woods sitting in the tree they’d made their fort as kids and still hung out in, when suddenly the wind picked up and the air took on an almost electric charge.

  There was a clap of thunder and the sky opened in a downpour. Sam had grabbed her hand and they’d run for the shelter, both of them laughing like maniacs when she tried to dig in her heels, pulling against him as they both got soaked to the bone. She was smaller, and he probably outweighed her by sixty pounds at least, but she’d been determined.

  Finally, he’d turned around and, without a second’s warning, swept her up and threw her over his shoulder, carrying her the rest of the way to the little hut at the far end of the park. She’d made all her usual noise and beat her fists ineffectually against his back, but inside she’d been loving every second. Relishing the way he’d taken control—because that was just so Sam. The ease in which he’d tossed her over his shoulder, carrying her like he could do it for miles. The warm heat of his shoulder against her belly.