Wreck (Sphere of Irony 4)
No. I can’t keep my feelings out and I shouldn’t be friends with him. But without a doubt I know despite all that, I will do both, and when it comes back to bite me in the ass, the pain will be spectacular.
* * *
“Well, this fat lady is going to bed.” Kate stands up and stretches, her enormous belly protruding comically as she bends back. “Ugh! I can’t wait until she arrives.”
I giggle at her frown. “Then you’re going to lose all of that precious sleep you love so much.”
The guys laugh at my joke. By the time Hawke and I returned to the house, overloaded with bags of Italian food, Dax had lit the fire pit in the sprawling backyard. We sat outside and ate as we reminisced and the guys entertained everyone with stories from their last tour, including some scary ones about the stalker who’d been threatening the only bandmate missing from the fun tonight, Gavin Walker.
Kate snorts. “I hardly sleep now as it is. There isn’t a single comfortable position when you’re as big as a beached whale.”
“You’re gorgeous, angel. Don’t say such horrible things.” Dax caresses her belly with his big hand. “Besides, your loud snoring is like music to my ears every night.” A mischievous grin splits his face in two.
“Wanker!” Kate playfully jabs her husband in the stomach with her elbow. “I’m off. See you tomorrow.”
“Right. Me too. I’m knackered. Too much slaving away for my lovely wife.” Dax cracks his neck and follows Kate into the house. “Hey, make sure the fire is out before you go to bed,” he tosses out over his shoulder.
“No worries,” Adam calls back.
Hawke is in the middle of telling me about Gavin’s boyfriend, Mitch, when we both notice Adam twitching as he falls asleep, repeatedly jerking his drooping head back up.
We exchange looks, grinning. Hawke lifts a foot and uses it to shove Adam’s knee. “Hey. You’re exhausted. Why don’t you go inside. I’ll kill the fire,” he offers.
“Huh?” Adam blinks tiredly. “Right. Yeah. Good idea.” He stands and claps a hand on Hawke’s shoulder, then bends to give me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Be good.”
I’m thankful for the dark night and the orange glow of the fire; otherwise, Hawke would see the prickly blush spreading up my neck over Adam’s warning. When Adam leaves, I glance over at Hawke. He’s scowling, his hands balled up into fists, glaring at Adam’s retreating form as he closes the glass door leading into the house.
What happened? Is he mad at Adam?
Confused, I curl up in my chair and replay the last few minutes. With my degree and my ability to read people’s emotions, I quickly pick out the reason for Hawke’s sudden hostility. Before he can catch it, I drop my eyes and hide my smile behind my hand.
He’s jealous that Adam kissed me. On the cheek.
While that makes me irrationally happy, I wonder if I can go there again with Hawke. We’re like oil and water at the best of times, codependent at the worst. Him being jealous means I’m not the only one with lingering feelings—feelings that will get us into trouble. But it’s been seven years; surely we’ve both matured enough to either remain friends or work out any problems between us like adults.
When I glance back up, my eyes meet Hawke’s hungry stare, and any chance of staying “just friends” vanishes in an instant. Desire mixed with nervous excitement sizzles through my veins. The sparks crackling between us are almost as loud as the real ones crackling in the fire pit a few feet away.
“Abby,” Hawke whispers, reaching out to grab my hand. With a sharp tug, he pulls me out of my chair and onto his lap to straddle his narrow hips.
Calloused hands sift through my hair. He uses his fingertips to tilt my head to the side. My eyes flutter closed as Hawke brings me in to touch his lips to mine, and in that moment, I do what I did so many years ago. I let go, allowing myself the pleasure of his touch without the analytical overthinking my brain tends to do.
He tastes so good, I part my mouth on a groan. Hawke takes advantage of the opening, thrusting his tongue into my mouth with a deep growl. His hands grip tighter in my hair. When the stud in his tongue brushes across the roof of my mouth, memories of long nights spent making out with Hawke, gaining intimate knowledge of exactly what that piercing can do, flood my mind and I know, I’m already right back where I was as if the last seven years apart never happened.
I’m still in love with Hawke Evans, a man incapable of ever truly loving me back.
Hawke
Abby’s body is rigid under my hands, her muscles tense when my mouth first lands on hers. The familiar scent and taste of her flood my system, tearing a groan from deep in my chest. The assault of memories mixed with primal need has me diving deeper into her mouth with my tongue.
She moans, and I sense the exact second Abby lets go and sinks into the kiss. Every curve, every dip of her body melts into mine, becoming soft and pliable. Taking advantage of the moment, I slide my hands around to her face and tilt her head further so I can deepen the kiss. Abby responds by running her tongue along mine and grinding her hips down in my lap.
“Jesus, Abby,” I murmur against her wet lips. We stare at each other as my heart beats an erratic rhythm. Memories of hours spent kissing those same lips has me both excited to have her in my arms again, yet scared shitless of revisiting all the reasons we didn’t work out.
“I’ve missed you,” she whispers, sliding her hands around my back and under the
hem of my shirt.
“God. You feel so good.” A ripple of pleasure shudders down my spine at her touch on my bare skin. I haven’t been touched like this since Abby, and I didn’t know how much I need it. I need her contact, her affection, her love. My fears vanish, replaced by the need to connect with someone, someone who knows me—the real me, not the one they see on TV or in magazines. Abby knows me. Better than most, and the thought is both terrifying and comforting at the same time.