Mr One-Night Stand

‘A few years,’ he said. ‘Long enough for my gran to teach me how to play the piano.’

His head rocked to one side, his eyes resting on the piano and bringing to him the evocative memory of Jennifer playing. She had been so beautiful, lost in the music—and, fuck, it had hurt like hell. Memories of his mother doing the same were thrusting his past in his face, pulling him apart with love and loss.

This was why he didn’t let people in. This was why he shouldn’t be letting her in now.

‘How sweet.’

‘Sweet?’ Christ, he actually smiled, her choice of words sucking him out of the darkness descending. ‘I’m not sure Gran would agree. Teaching a grumpy teen something as uncool as the piano came with its own challenges.’

She gave a small laugh, and her amusement lifted him further.

‘I bet!’

‘But what can I say? She knew what she was doing. I was so full of angst and in need of an outlet for it. When sport simply ended in fist fights she opted to give me a more solitary hobby—even if I wasn’t so keen in the beginning.’

‘She sounds like a brave woman.’

‘Or simply stubborn,’ he said. ‘When she puts her mind to something there’s no stopping her, and she was determined that I should have something of my mother in me.’

‘And so you should.’ The emotion caught in her voice as she squeezed his leg. ‘It’s a lovely thing she did. I’m sure your mum would have been very proud.’

Lovely. Proud. He needed to get a grip on the situation. There was so much sentiment flying around he was starting to wonder where the real him had gone.

‘Are your grandparents still around?’

He nodded, his gut knotting as thoughts of them in the present brought a new kind of pain.

‘Do they still live in your home town?’

‘Not the same house,’ he said distractedly. ‘I helped them secure a little cottage a few years back—close enough to the amenities but away from the hustle and bustle.’

‘Do you see them often?’

‘As often as work permits.’ Liar. The knot in his gut twisted and turned with rising guilt. But going back—it was so fucking hard. ‘Not as much as I should, I guess.’

‘And your father—where’s he?’

Dad. Christ!

His nails pierced the backs of his hands and his breath left him on a rush.

Her fingers above his leg froze. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t—’

‘He’s dead,’ he cut in over her. ‘He died not long after I left home.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘I’m not,’ he said, sending her a look and seeing nothing but shock reflected back at him.

Hell, what did she expect? But then, what could she know about it? She’d been lucky enough to grow up safely ensconced in the love of her family, whilst he...

He quit the thought. His sudden anger was irrational—especially when it was directed at her, and especially when she’d been through her own kind of hell, losing her father and now her mother’s sickness.

Fuck, he was a mess. In a pent-up state of hurt and need. And that was her fault.

He needed this over with now—before he did something stupid...desperate, even. His earlier battle came back to haunt him as his eyes flitted to those parted lips and he thought about what he’d threatened do. Before she’d coaxed the tale of his past out.

Don’t do it. Sex is sex. You can get it anywhere.