Hesitate Page 3

  “Damn, I knew you were drunk, but I didn’t think you were that drunk.”

  I hum in agreement.

  “I was pretty wasted too. Still… I shouldn’t have let you leave with him.” I don’t like that she feels guilty.

  “It’s all good. Everything worked out.”

  “I’m glad. What are you doing today?”

  When the light changes to yellow, I slow to a stop. “Errands. I want to get everything done so I can spend the rest of the weekend grading papers. What about you?”

  “I have errands and stuff to do today as well, but then I’m taking Cassie to her dad’s, and I have dinner plans with my mom. Maybe I’ll stop by tonight afterward. I’ll need a cocktail in me after dealing with her questions about my life.” She laughs, and I pretend to find her comment funny, but in reality, I wish I had a mom who drilled me with questions rather than one who never cared to ask about my life and was only concerned with hers.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I’ll text before I drop by.”

  Pressing the accelerator when the light turns green, I respond, “Sounds good.”

  We hang up, and it’s not long until I pull into the parking lot of the grocery store. I’m walking in when I hear my name called. Spinning around, I see Connor, a student in my class, waving at me. “Hi.” I smile and wave back.

  He runs up to me. “Hi. I bought SpaghettiOs like you said, so I can spell words!”

  My lips quirk. “That’s so great. Be sure to write them down so you can show me on Monday at school.”

  “Okay, I will.” He waves to me again. “Bye, Ms. McKenna.” His shaggy brown hair flies as he runs back to his dad, Allen, who is paying at the register.

  I give him a small wave strictly to be polite. He gives me all sorts of bad vibes, especially because I’ve seen bruises on Connor before that don’t look consistent with boys being boys. I watch as Allen’s eyes trail down from my face to my feet and shiver at his creepy gaze. “Bye, Ms. McKenna!” Connor screams.

  “Bye, Connor,” I reply, not nearly as loud but flailing my hands in the air to make him smile.

  He laughs, and it reminds me why I’ve worked so hard to be the exact opposite of my mother. I want to put as much joy into children’s lives as I can since my childhood was stripped from me. I had the desire to be someone kids looked up to, and I’ve accomplished that. A sense of fulfillment envelops me every single day, knowing I’ve touched young people’s lives in one way or another. Just being around innocence and the unfiltered happiness of kids makes me forget about all the bad things in the world and allows me to be happy.

  I didn’t need much food, so I hurry through the aisles. After I check out quickly, I make my way to my car when I turn the corner just outside the entrance, and my cart crashes into a wall. “Shit.” When I look up to make sure my wine didn’t slide out of the bag and break, I see the wall is wearing faded jeans and a black T-shirt. I also see the wall with a grin and sparkling green eyes. “Are you following me?” I accuse.

  Q’s grin shifts to a smile. “You ran into me.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He points at the entrance. “Shopping.”

  I peek into his empty hands. “You’re not doing a very good job.”

  “Haven’t stepped foot inside the door yet. Kind of got delayed by a pretty… what color is that, anyway?” He points at my head.

  “What?”

  When he leans closer, his sweet woodsy scent penetrates my sense of smell, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand up. He tugs on a chunk of my hair and then rubs it between his fingers. The gentle touch sends a shiver down my spine that doesn’t dissipate until it reaches my knees. “Oh. It’s bejeweled raspberry.”

  He looks at his shoes and nods his head, but his shoulders are shaking.

  “Something funny?

  “No, not at all.” He meets my eyes again, but he’s still trying not to laugh. “As I was saying, I kind of got delayed by a pretty bejeweled raspberry-haired woman who tried to run me over with her cart.”

  Dammit. He’s even hotter when he’s joking with me.

  “Since you’re done getting your groceries, what do you say you let me take you out to eat, so I don’t have to go in there and deal with the whole shopping thing?”

  “Are you… did you seriously follow me to the grocery store to ask me out on a date?”

  Tilting his head to the side, he smirks. “I come here all the time, sweetheart. Actually, I live in the same building as you…”

  “You do not.” I put my hand on my chest.

  “I do.”

  “How long have you lived there?”

  “Not long. A month or so.”

  I can’t believe I haven’t seen him around before because surely, I’d remember him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You didn’t want to hear anything I was saying this morning, and if I would have told you last night, you would have forgotten. Besides, the point seemed irrelevant.” He lifts his chin. “So, what do you say? You wanna blow this popsicle stand?”

  My eyes roll, and I laugh, the saying somehow comical coming out of his mouth. “Seriously?”

  “Not much I joke about, sweetheart, and when it comes to spending more time with you, nothing about that’ll ever be comical to me.”

  Crossing my arms, I take in the sudden seriousness of his tone. He’s a very muscular man. Like, I can picture him throwing me over his shoulder and carrying me away caveman-style muscular. And if he wanted to hurt me physically, he’s already had plenty of opportunity.

  My hesitant thoughts must be obvious because he clears his throat. “Listen, I like you, okay? I don’t know why, I just do. I’m a single guy, and there aren’t many options for finding single women. The online shit is a joke because everyone acts different behind a computer and sends filtered pictures that aren’t real life. Blind dates are always a bad idea because if you don’t like the person, then it’s awkward around the friend who set you up in the first place. Clubs are a crap shoot, and people are usually only good for hooking up, but I lucked out last night when I met you. How the hell else am I supposed to meet a woman to date? I know you’re afraid, but I think I’ve already proven I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to get to know you better, and I want you to know me. But I can’t do that unless you let me spend time with you. And running into you again is like destiny or some shit.”

  I get what he’s saying. Dating is hard. Lord knows I’ve had my fair share of bad dates, and then even worse dates, but that doesn’t negate the fact that he went home with me with the intent to have sex. “I’m sure you can go out tonight and try your luck again. Like I said, last night wasn’t me, but it’s obviously who you are, so I don’t think we’d work very well.”

  “I disagree.” He grabs the end of my cart when I start to push it away from him. “It’s been a long time since I met a woman like you, and I think we’d get along extremely well.”

  I huff. “You’re hot. All you need to do is crook your finger and you’ll find a woman, Q.”

  “But none of them are you.” He doesn’t deny the fact he’s hot and doesn’t have to do more than lift a finger to get a woman.

  He’s not the kind of guy to give up, which I find attractive, and a part of me doesn’t want him to, either. So I give in… because why not? “Fine. But I have ice cream in my cart. I need to take it home first so it doesn’t melt.”

  “We can’t have that now.” He lowers his voice and jokes huskily. “Come on, I’ll walk you to your car and then I’ll follow you back to the apartment.”

  “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’ll just meet you there.”

  He clasps his other hand on my cart and gives it a little tug so I lurch forward. “I wasn’t giving you an option. I was stating a fact, and it’s one you need to get used to because if you’re trusting me enough to give me a chance, then you can bet your sweet, tight ass that I’m gonna make sure it gets home safely.”
r />   * * *

  “There is no way that’s what you do for a living.”

  Q swallows the last of his beer and lets the bottle dangle between his fingers. After he loaded my groceries into my trunk, he followed me back to my apartment building… or ours, rather. He waited in my kitchen for me to put the groceries away and grab a sweater, and then drove us in his stupidly expensive car to a new Mediterranean restaurant that’s pretty close by. The food was delicious, but what I’ve enjoyed even more for the past couple of hours is his company. “Why is me being in IT so unbelievable?”

  I slap my hands on the table, and the silverware jumps on the plates, crashing loudly. “Look at you.” I motion to his body, like he doesn’t know what I’m referring to. “You’re like… you should be a Marine or a cop or something, an underwear model where you get to show off all of those big muscles. Not sit in a chair and… and code all day.”

  There’s an almost unnoticeable tic in his jaw, and I worry I offended him and slink down in my seat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s fine. I’m not offended at all.” He sets his bottle down and grabs my hand across the table. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a teacher. First grade. The money sucks, but I love my job.” I can’t help the little jiggle I do in my seat as I talk about my passion.

  His eyes darken as he watches me, but in a blink, they’re back to the green they were before. “I can tell you’re happy about your career, seeing as how you just danced in your chair.”

  Running my fingers across the lip of my water glass, I nod. “I am. I’ve always wanted to be a teacher, and I’ve worked my ass off to be where I am today, all by myself.”

  “No help from your parents?”

  “Excuse me? Would either of you like another?” The waiter comes to our table and asks the question, but Q directs it to me. “You need to head back, or wanna have one more?”

  Looking at the drop of wine remaining in my glass I got to pair with my gyro, I nod, hoping Q wasn’t asking just to be polite and actually wants to spend time with me. “I’ll take another.”

  And when his lips stretch into a genuine smile, I know I’m right. “Yeah, man. Another round. Thanks.”

  The waiter grabs the empty glasses and dirty plates before scurrying off through the covered patio into the restaurant. String lights hang in elegant waves from the ceiling and give off the perfect ambiance, making the colorful décor stand out amidst the dark wood floors.

  “So your parents didn’t help you?” Q prompts.

  “Is it time for this talk already?”

  “It’s just a question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He leans in, clasping one hand on my knee and the other behind my neck, drawing me close. I hate that I love his dominant tendencies, but when you’ve spent your whole life making every single decision on your own, to have someone be so sure about things is refreshing and, frankly, welcomed. “Everything that happens between us will be because it’s what you want, never what you don’t. Understand me?”

  “Yes.” I sigh.

  He drops his forehead to mine for a second, then closes his eyes. When he pulls away, I immediately miss his touch. “So… parents are off-limits for you?”

  “No. It’s just… they… my mom… I haven’t spoken to her in years, for a lot of reasons, but I don’t want to talk about them.”

  He simply nods, and says, “Fair enough.” The waiter comes back with our drinks, and once he steps away, Q continues. “Tell me something else about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Everything.”

  “I can’t just talk about myself. That’s weird.” I laugh and can feel the effects of the alcohol even though I’ve only had wine. I shouldn’t be drinking at all, but the best cure for a hangover is more booze, so…

  He leans back in his chair. “It’s not weird. I’m asking you to talk about yourself, Madeline. It’s not like you’re walking up to strangers on the street, tapping them on the shoulder, and narrating your life story.”

  True. “Well, what do you want to know? I can’t just… just babble about myself.”

  “I want to know everything, but let’s start with your favorite color.”

  I take a swallow of my wine. “Would it surprise you if I said pink?”

  His lips twitch. “No. Your nails are pink, your bra is pink, your bathroom towels are pink, and your bedroom walls are pink, so I’m not surprised that’s your favorite color.”

  My jaw becomes loose, and his figure blurs. No man remembers that many details, and the fact he did means more to me than I can even process right now.

  Chapter 3

  Q

  “I can’t believe you remembered those things.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Told you I was paying attention.”

  “What about you?” I don’t hear the words because I’m too busy looking at her lips, but I read them as they form.

  “My favorite color?”

  “Yeah.”

  My brow arches, and I grin. “Would it surprise you if I said pink?”

  She giggles, and the sweet, soft sound makes my dick twitch. “Yes.”

  “Good, ’cause it’s not pink. I don’t think I have one actually.”

  “Everyone has a favorite color.”

  Not sure I do, so I give her the truth. “I mean, I have a lot of black shirts, and my car is black… so?”

  “So black, then?”

  “I guess.”

  Her perfect little white teeth sink into her bottom lip, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say she was a fuckin’ expert at this shit. She knows exactly how to draw a man in and want more from her. But I actually do know better. Which is why I’m able to play her like this and give her exactly what she needs to feel comfortable around me and open up. “Favorite movie?”

  “Before I tell you, I want you to know why because you’re going to laugh at me.”

  “Oh, man.” She leans closer and makes a show of getting situated. “This’ll be good. Is it a fairy tale? Like Cinderella and you always wanted to be someone’s Prince Charming? Or no… a chick flick, like How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days?”

  I cross my arms. “No, and I’ve gotta say, you set the bar low, so now I feel better. It’s because I saw the way they messed with wires and feeds and thought it was awesome. I wanted to figure out how to do that stuff, so that’s where my love of IT was born.” I tell the truth.

  “What movie?”

  “Speed.”

  She tosses her head back and laughs. “No way.”

  “Yep.”

  “That’s my favorite movie, too. But not because of the wires.”

  I actually didn’t know that about her, so I genuinely ask, “Keanu?”

  “Duh.” She takes a swallow of wine. “He was my first crush. Was Diana yours?”

  She wasn’t, but it’s easier to just say, “Yeah.”

  “How old were you when you had your first kiss?”

  I lean back and rest my forearms on the arms of the chair, letting my beer dangle from my left hand, actually surprised by the quick change of topic and her question. She really is a lightweight. “Sixteen.” The truth is I was twelve, but to make her feel better since she had her first kiss at seventeen, I lie to her. “You?”

  “Seventeen.” I refresh my memory as she’s talking. Taylor Williams was the kid’s name. “On prom night.” She laughs. “I was such a loser in high school.”

  She wasn’t. She could never be anything but awesome. “There’s nothing wrong with not being easy, Madeline. Believe me, most guys respect that a lot more than the alternative.”

  “Says the guy who brought me home from a bar expecting to have sex.” Her brow rises, and she tilts her head.

  Fuck. I walked right into that one. Twice now, I’ve done that with her, which is totally off my game. “I did. And if you’d have spread for me, I’d probably have fucked you and then never seen you again. But that didn’t happen. Instead, you fel
l asleep with your head on my shoulder, and in your sleep, you were so… vulnerable. It made me want to look after you and protect you. I got something from you that meant more to me than sex.”

  “But you said—”

  “I know what I said, and it was true. All of what I said is true. I was watching you all night and wanted to fuck you. I’m not lying about that. But the thing is, most men don’t want easy. If you’d have given me that, I probably wouldn’t have thought much more about you after you gave it up.” Her mouth falls open, and she glares at me. “Don’t get all pissy. I’m just telling the truth. Look what happened when you didn’t, Madeline.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “It’s supposed to be honest, sweetheart.”

  She crosses her arms. “So what, if I’d have said no to bringing you home, you’d have just moved on to someone else?”

  “No. I only wanted you last night, so if you’d have said no, I wouldn’t have left without your number and making sure you got home okay since you were so wasted. Then I’d have called you and asked to see you again.”

  “But if I would have fucked you last night, you’d have just up and left and not called me again?”

  I take a swallow of my beer and shrug. “Typically, yes. But I also think it’s different with you. So maybe not.”

  “Again, is that supposed to make me feel better, Q? Because the more you talk, the more you’re making me question your intentions.”

  Good. If it was easy, she’d just give up, but because she’s a fighter, she needs to be challenged. Have her independence and self-worth questioned. “My intentions?” I grin.

  “Shut up.”

  “Listen.” I sit up and lean toward her. “I like you. I want to get to know you, but I want you to get to know me, so I’m just tellin’ it how it is. Would you rather me lie?”

  I observe the stubborn pride in her eyes and watch as she challenges herself and wait for her to come to the conclusion I know she’s going to. And I see it the minute she does when she mimics me and leans forward. “Please don’t lie to me,” she pleads.