Just Once More...: Once is Never Enough / One More Sleepless Night / The One She Was Warned About. Lucy King
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of his mouth. “Don’t look at me. I thought about asking her out back before I left, but she ‘friended’ me so fast there was no point in even trying.”
Jesse was one of the few friends Garrett had maintained regular interaction with over the years. He’d been a mellow, genuine guy from as far back as Garrett could remember. And through those first years after losing his dad, when it had seemed like the world was going to collapse around his shoulders and there was no way he’d be able to be everything he needed to be for everyone who needed it, Jesse had unrelentingly been there for him, refusing to let Garrett be alone no matter that the life he’d been a part of—the one with sports and chicks and hanging out—was gone. He’d been the guy to get his twenty-four-year-old sister to babysit once a month so Garrett could go out for a couple hours. The one who hadn’t crowed about cheap conquests. The one who’d understood. Maybe his artist’s mentality gave him more insight than the other meatheads. Whatever. He was a good friend—one of the only ones he truly felt comfortable confiding in.
An hour later Garrett was having to put significantly more effort into not feeling like a stalker than he generally cared to. But, honest to God, he just couldn’t keep his eyes from working their way back to that auburn tumble of hair and contagious laugh.
“She like this with everyone?” he asked Sam, watching as she yucked it up with yet another group of what he’d bet good money had been strangers until just that night. It seemed like she could talk to anyone about anything.
“What do you mean—friendly, easygoing?” Sam flagged the bartender for another round. Then, at Garrett’s nod, he shrugged. “Pretty much. But she can take care of herself. With one recent exception, nobody gets past her ‘friend’ zone. Some jack-off burned her pretty bad a few years ago and she’s been avoiding the flames ever since. So you don’t really need to worry about looking out for her. Aside from doing a damn good job of it herself, she’s got a lot of people who care about how she gets treated.”
There was an edge in those last words that had Garrett’s head cranking around to where Sam was watching him, a matter-of-fact look in his eyes. “You talking about me?”
Jesse covered his mouth with his hand, but a low laugh escaped regardless.
There was no way Jesse’s little brother was warning him off of Nichole? But, sure enough, he was.
“Relax, man. I’m not going anywhere near her.”
“You’ve already been near her. And the way you’ve been watching her all night….”
Garrett was about to tell Sam he was nuts when that same sort of gravitational pull had him turning around again … and locking eyes with Nichole. Who’d been watching him.
Her lips parted, and from across the room he could actually feel the catch of her breath in his chest.
And then there it was—that blaze of heat working up her neck and cheeks. The one that made him wonder if he would feel the change it brought against his lips if they were positioned in just the right spot.
The corner of his mouth edged up as he tapped his cheek, mouthing the word red to the woman he was suddenly alone with across the expanse of this crowded bar.
Her answering smile was too many kinds of different to count from what she’d been giving to every other guy there tonight, and it hit him like a pile-driver to the gut, effectively knocking the wind out of him as he turned back to his closest friend and shook his head in genuine bewilderment.
Jesse let out a low chuckle. “I’m starting to wonder if the real question isn’t how you got past her, but how she got past you.”
“YOU AGAIN?” Nichole cocked a brow at Garrett as he slid into an empty seat across the narrow table running the length of the trendy downtown gastropub. Not that she was surprised. After three weeks of bumping into the guy most every time she went out, these rendezvous were becoming the rule rather than the exception.
At first they’d both been surprised. Accepting. Maybe even amused.
When it had become obvious that the crossing of their paths wasn’t simply a fluke but a consequence of the overlap of their friends, they’d found a few minutes to talk away from everyone else, both wanting to ensure the other was comfortable.
And they were. Mostly.
The conversation always came easily. Naturally. So much so that by the end of an evening more often than not she and Garrett would discover they’d been so caught up in their own interaction they’d lost the rest of the group along the way. Which was when things became the littlest bit less comfortable.
The laughter would die down between them, the break between one topic and the next filling with an awareness of the things they didn’t want. They’d look around for another conversation to dive into, but they’d be alone. Which would lead to the moment when her focus would drop to his mouth, the open collar of his shirt, a button or two even lower …
And then she’d realize how late it was. Or he’d remember the early call he had to get up for. Or they’d both catch sight of someone and quickly return to the group, going on as they had before, figuring it would get easier along the way.
Eventually.
Only as Garrett’s long legs brushed hers beneath the polished benchtop, and her breath sucked in with the unwilling image of their legs caught together in a tangle of heat and skin, she realized eventually couldn’t happen soon enough.
“Red,” came the gruff observation from across the table. Quiet enough the rest of the group, chatting in their usual animated fashion, didn’t seem to catch it.
But if anyone had bothered to look up as she had, no one would have missed the heat in Garrett’s eyes.
“It’ll go away,” she murmured, flipping her menu open in the hopes of shielding herself to some degree.
Only then the contact that had been inadvertent just the moment before was back. This time blatant and intentional. The press of his leg along hers, holding until she met his eyes.
“I’m starting to wonder.”
Garrett glared into the men’s room mirror after trying to stop the low simmer running through his veins with a cold splash of water. It wasn’t working.
So much for thinking this coffee shop concert would keep him out of trouble just because they wouldn’t be able to talk. He’d seen her. Seen when her eyes met his. And he didn’t need words because already he knew too much about her. And every damn time he went out … whether Nichole was actually there are or not … he found out more.
And, God help him, he liked it all.
She was cool and funny and clever and thoughtful and generous and loyal … and, damn it, he knew just exactly how good she tasted on his tongue.
And he couldn’t have her. Because he didn’t want her. And she didn’t want him.
They’d talked about it. More than once. Probably more than they needed to. Except for some reason it was one of those topics that seemed to require excessive amounts of reinforcement. He was starting to think maybe this girly splash of cold water wasn’t the way to go. He needed the reason hammered into his head.
Handy that he owned his own construction company. He ought to be able to find someone to do it for him.
With a hard shake of his head, he stalked out of the men’s room into the back hallway and came up short at the sight of Nichole at the far end.
This was the problem. The pull. With words or without, it was like there was some kind of force drawing them together … and it wouldn’t stop until they were as close as two bodies could be.