Sledgehammer (Hard to Love 2)

“Did you beat the snot out of them? Was there a nice spinning hook kick to the face?”

His chuckle is low and husky. The vibration travels through the air and lands between my legs. I grip my knees together and pray he doesn’t notice.

“Only in my mind. Everyone was very civil. I even went to the wedding.”

“Do NOT tell me you were the best man.”

He gives me a one sided smile that I know is hiding some leftover pain. “No…he asked, though. We were close once, really close.”

For some incomprehensible reason I want to go Hulk right now. I want to turn green, stomp off to find his infernal brother, and beat some sense into him––for Ethan’s sake. I don’t want Ethan to be hurt. I don’t want him to have that look on his face. He’s a grown man and yet I want to pet his pain away. To be clear, this is bad.

“Then what? They ride off into the sunset of their epic love story and you skulk away quietly?” I do my best to temper the anger in my voice, though apparently my best is not very good at all. I can hear myself shrieking and it’s not pretty.

“Then…” He sighs, gazing blindly at the television. “Then, I went back to school, partied too much, got kicked off the tennis team, slept my way through the female student population, and wound up in the ER with meningitis.” His gaze flickers to mine, searching for a reaction, maybe looking for judgment that he won’t find.

“Impressive.”

“Cal saved my life. If it wasn’t for him, I’d probably be dead.”

Wait a minute…dead? I try to imagine never having met him, not having him in my life, and a pain grips me, the likes of which I’ve only felt one other time in my life––when Eileen sat me down and said I wasn’t going to live with her anymore.

“He took me to the ER when I refused to go…even got a black eye for it.”

He’s rendered me speechless. We sit in silence as I process all the stuff he’s lobbed at me.

“Why on Earth couldn’t you leave that part out?”

“Pardon?” He looks confused.

“I have to be nice to him now. Like all the time. Do you have any idea how difficult you’ve made my life?”

He takes a long, hard look at me, his lips twitching in repressed mirth. “I’m flattered, Jones. If you’re even considering being nice to Cal, you must like me a heck of a lot.”

“Slow your roll. It’s not a done deal yet. Being nice to Cal requires a serious amount of like.”

A huge, white grin spreads across his face. A real one, the kind with the capacity to halt trading on the DOW and cause a power outage in lower Manhattan. “It’s an embarrassing amount, isn’t it? You hate yourself for it.”

In a swift change of mood, all evidence of the humor that was on my face seconds ago is gone. Boy did he hit a nerve. That’s what it feels like. Part of me does hate that I like him so much. And that’s the last thing I need, or want.

He sees the look on my face and the smile melts right off of his. “I didn’t mean it, Jones. I was teasing.”

“I have laundry to do,” I mumble, shooting up off the couch. I don’t get far though, because I’m suddenly tackled to the ground, sandwiched face down between the wood floor and two hundred plus pounds of muscle. I struggle for about a half a second before I give up.

“Get off of me, you load.”

His low chuckle tickles my ear and makes me shiver. “Not until you accept my apology.”

“Ever consider going on a diet?”

He flips me onto my back and secures my arms over my head with scary ease, his hips holding mine down, a slow heat working its way along my body. The weight of him alone is giving me enough pleasure to drive a loud sigh up my throat. And by the smug grin he’s just given me, he noticed.

“I was teasing you. I know you don’t like me. You’ve made that very clear.”

I struggle some more. I huff. I refuse to look at him. I do everything to avoid giving him even an ounce of satisfaction. “This is funny to you?”

“A little,” he states with a smile as smug as I’ve ever seen on him.

That’s when I feel a very, very hard protrusion against my leg. The smirk that overtakes my face is downright evil. “Who likes who now?”

“That’s biology. A reflex. I could rub up against a lamppost and it would happen.”

Umm, really? Because I’d be interested in seeing that.

“It’s biology alright, it’s a freaking anaconda!” I shout, feigning appall. “I’m reporting you to PETA for animal cruelty.” Is he blushing? Oh good, he’s blushing. “I’m telling them you keep that thing in inhumane conditions.”