First and Forever (Heartache Duet #2) - Jay McLean Page 0,56
tongue soft when he uses it to part my lips. I tilt my head, get lost in the moment with him. Minutes pass, and I can feel the heat start burning inside me, feel his hardness press against my stomach. He pulls away before I’m ready, his eyes on mine. “Do you think you’d be interested in me if you still lived in a house like this?”
“And that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”
“Is it, though?”
“My mom was in the military, Connor. It doesn’t pay shit, obviously. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be in the situation we’re in. The house was the only thing her parents left her, and I wasn’t raised like”—I circle a finger in the air—“this.”
He dips his head again, and I think he’s going to kiss me. Instead, he says, “I once had dinner here, and they had two different sized forks.”
I laugh under my breath.
“And knives. And spoons, too. And I’m pretty sure I ate a pigeon.”
My head tilts back with the force of my guffaw. “You probably did.”
His eyes soak me in. “I love watching you laugh.”
My heart soars. “I love you.”
He smiles, standing to full height again. “Did you have a pool house?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Did you have a game room?”
“Uh huh.”
“Did you have wings?”
I giggle. “None of the houses on the other side of the road are as extravagant as this, but we had the lake.”
“The lake?”
I nod.
“There’s a fucking lake?”
I can’t help but laugh at his response. “Yes.”
“Jesus. In Florida, we had swamps.”
“With gators?” I ask.
“I’ve never seen one.”
“You had endless summers.”
“And deadly acts of nature.”
“Do you miss Florida?” I ask him.
He shakes his head, adamant. “I have everything I need right here.” He takes my hand, kisses the inside of my wrist. “Do you miss the lake?”
“Yeah,” I admit. “We had a little patio that sat out over the water, and whenever Mom was home from deployment, we’d sit out there, watch the fireflies, and talk all night about anything and everything.” A lump forms in my throat. “I miss that patio, and I miss that version of her.”
“She’s still there,” he assures, tapping at his heart. “In here.”
I wipe my sudden tears on his shirt, wondering how it is he can make me feel so much in so little time.
“Let’s go,” he says, dragging me toward the door.
“Where are we going?”
“To your patio.”
“Connor!” I dig my heels into the floor, stopping him. When he turns to me, I tell him, “You can’t just go onto someone’s property and sit out in their yard.”
“Bullshit,” Connor scoffs. “Watch me.”
Only minutes later, we’re standing on the porch of my old house. Connor looks down at me with the goofiest grin on his face, before raising his fist and knocking twice.
I grasp on to his arm. “This is stupid. Let’s just go.” I start to pull him away just as the front door opens.
A middle-aged man pops his head out. Brow knitted, he asks, “Can I help you?”
“Hello, sir,” Connor says, tightening his hold on my hand so I don’t run. “My name’s Connor Ledger, and this is—”
“Who is it?” a woman says from somewhere inside. The man opens the door wider and his, I assume, wife appears next to him. She looks first at Connor, then at me, her eyes widening when she sees me. “Ava?” she asks.
I have no idea who she is or how she knows me. Still, I find myself nodding. “Yes, ma’am.”
She places her hand on her husband’s chest, moving him out of the way. “I’m sorry, I probably sound crazy right now, but I recognize you from when I went through the house with the realtor. You were here with your… brother?”
I nod.
She adds, “Yeah, you were packing up all your stuff.”
Memories flood my mind, darkened moments of that time in my life when nothing made sense, and everything felt like it was crumbling around me. “I don’t remember you,” I murmur, unconsciously stepping toward Connor. I use his arm to shield me, because if she knows me, then she probably knows everything else about me.
“Did you want to come in?”
“No,” I rush out, tugging on Connor’s arm. My neck cranes when I look up at him, heat burning behind my eyes and nose. “Can we go?”
“I’m sorry,” the woman says. “I didn’t mean to cause you any…” Pain? Discomfort? Heartache? She could use any of those words, and they’d all be correct because standing here, in front of a door I used to call mine, an entry to a