Fumbled Hearts (A Tender Hearts Novel) Page 8

  I raise an eyebrow at her. She shrugs, popping some dry cereal in her mouth.

  Parker laughs. “Someone fell for Austin’s charm last night.”

  “And the night before,” Mia adds with a laugh.

  “Congratulations, assholes. Now go away. I’m sleeping,” I tell them, rolling over and tucking myself under the blanket.

  Parker wraps his arms around me and scoots in. “Lolli Bear, we’re hungry.”

  My voice is muffled by my blankets. “Then go eat.”

  “You’re the only one who knows how to cook,” Mia whines. “Come on, pleeease?”

  When I don’t budge, she goes in for the kill.

  “Parker needs his energy, he played his little heart out last night.”

  God damn her, pulling the athlete strings.

  I throw my blanket off my head and cross my arms.

  She grins from ear to ear, knowing damn well she won.

  I turn to find Parker giving me his puppy dog eyes and groan.

  “Fine.” I shove him, but he doesn’t budge. “Get out of my bed, you big brute.”

  He chuckles, squeezing me harder, then releases me and stands.

  “I’m going to rinse off really quick,” Mia says, as she walks out the room and into the bathroom in the hall.

  “Come on, Lolli Bear.” He reaches down and scoops me up, bridal-style. “Feed me.”

  Parker carries me to the kitchen, sets me on my feet and hops up on the bar stool while I start pulling the stuff out to make French toast.

  Once everything is set up and ready to go, I turn on the Keurig and make a quick cup of coffee.

  “You want one?” I ask him, not bothering to turn around.

  “Nope. I’m still a growing boy,” he jokes.

  I settle in on the stool next to him, waiting for Mia to get out of the shower before starting breakfast.

  “So.” Here it comes. “You and Nate, huh?”

  I narrow my eyes at him.

  “What?” he asks innocently.

  “You gave him my number.”

  “I did.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause, it would have taken you a minute to swallow your pride, and give it to him yourself.”

  I smile into my mug, knowing he’s right.

  He’s still looking at me expectantly.

  I roll my eyes. “We watched a movie. He left. The end.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

  I stare at him blankly, making him laugh.

  “Shit. Good job, Lolli Bear. You’re officially the only girl at Alrick High with the willpower to hold out on my boy.”

  “What about you, Hero?” I change the subject. “Any girls fall at your feet last night?”

  He shakes his head. “Nah, the downfall to being the party thrower. Gotta keep shit in check.”

  “Okay,” Mia walks into the kitchen, looking fresh and clean, hair up in wet, messy bun, donning a pair of my sweats and a t-shirt. She pops a pod in, making herself a cup of coffee, and leans her elbows on the counter. “Now, you feed me.”

  “And me,” Parker pipes up.

  “Us. Feed us,” Mia corrects herself.

  We eat and chat about the night before, the game, and my first few weeks at school. Mia grills me about my night with Nate. Parker covers his ears when she tells me about Austin and his ‘preferences’. I really didn’t need to hear it, but girls will be girls.

  The morning transitions into the afternoon and, before we know, it’s nightfall. It was, quite honestly, one of the most relaxing days I’ve had in a long time.

  Mia looks up from her phone with a huff. “Alright, guys,” she says. “I’m going home. My mom says I’m required to show my face for a few minutes today.” She stands and walks to the front door. “Night,” she calls over her shoulder before leaving.

  Once she’s gone, I tell Parker to pop a movie in and give me a minute. I take a quick shower, throwing on a pink tank, a matching pair of sleep shorts, and fuzzy slipper socks.

  I reclaim my spot on the couch, laying across it, and Parker squeezes himself behind me.

  “No movie?” I close my eyes.

  “I was too comfortable to move,” he laughs.

  I smile and kiss the arm that’s under my head.

  We lay there in the quiet, just relaxing, but I can feel him thinking.

  After a while, Parker clears his throat softly.

  I hate this part.

  This is why I prefer solidarity.

  As if on cue, he whispers into my hair, “What’s your story, Lolli Bear?”

  A friend who’s curious, he’s simply asking, and my throat closes.

  I don’t do deep shit.

  I laugh. I joke. I make inappropriate comments.

  I don’t share.

  Parker’s great, and in the short time I’ve known him, he’s somehow become my best friend. And while I’ll always be honest and loyal…I don’t share.

  I open my mouth to tell him so and, praise the Dr. Pepper gods, I’m saved by the bell.

  I look back at Parker with creased brows.

  “Mia?” he guesses.

  I shrug, “Come in!” I yell, having no energy to attempt moving.

  When the door opens, Parker lifts his head to see who has walked in, then looks back at me with a huge smile. He kisses my temple and hops off the couch. “I was just leaving,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice.

  My eyebrows pull in, and I sit up to look toward the door.

  Nate.

  Nate’s standing in my doorway, looking every shade of sexy, a little uncomfortable, and a lot pissed off.

  “Sorry, man.” Jaw set tight, he turns to leave. “I’ll go.”

  But Parker makes it to him in a heartbeat.

  “Oh, no.” He grabs Nate’s shoulders and turns him toward me. “You stay. I’m out.” Parker turns to me and winks. “Call me tomorrow,” he tells me, laughing at my scowl as he walks out the door.

  Nate looks from the closed door to me.

  “Hey,” I offer.

  His scowl deepens a bit. “Hey,” he says, sounding as puzzled as he looks.

  “Are you gonna come in or just stand in the doorway?”

  His scowl doesn’t quite go away, but he walks toward the living room, looking around before crossing the threshold of the tile to the carpet.

  I grin. “It’s safe. I locked Nauni in the back room for the afternoon. She kept jumping up and swatting at Mia’s bun.”

  His face relaxes just a hair. “Mia’s here?”

  “Was,” I tell him, confused by his reaction.

  His scowl deepens again and I can’t help but laugh.

  “So, what’s up? Jonesing for another wild night?” I tease, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

  “Did I interrupt something?” he asks, still standing at the head of the couch.

  “No.” I reply, holding eye contact.

  He raises a dark brow, his eyes hard. “You sure about that?”

  “Be a man about your shit, Nate,” I tell him, leaning back against the cushion. “If you wanna know something,” I lift my hands, “ask.”

  “Fine. You and Parker fucking around?” he accuses, sounding all too sure of himself.

  Zero hesitation. Nice.

  “If by fucking around, you mean fucking all around, as in, on this couch,” I look down and run my fingernails across the red suede. “On the floor,” I peek up at him through my lashes, “and on my bed,” his brows are practically touching his eyeballs now, they’re so furrowed, “then, no.” I smirk. “We’re not ‘fucking’ around. But if you mean, are we friends, homies, compadres, then, yes. Yes, we are.”

  His eyes roam my face, trying to decide if he believes me or not. He either does or realized it doesn’t matter, because he sits down, runs a hand down his face, then turns to look at me.

  “What?”

  He doesn’t say anything, but after a few seconds, he shakes his head and looks away.

  “You eat y
et?” I ask, simply to change the subject.

  “I have a pizza in my truck, actually,” he admits, looking around the room. “Thought maybe you wanted to watch something.” He glances at me briefly.

  “Why you nervous?” I razz him.

  His eyebrows shoot up. “I’m not nervous,” he quips, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “No?” I challenge, biting my lip to hold in my grin.

  “I don’t get nervous, Kalani,” he snaps, sounding just as exasperated as he looks.

  “Alright.” I try hiding the laughter in my voice. “You’re not nervous.” I shrug one shoulder. “But you did bring me pizza, right?”

  He finally smiles, a nice easy one. “I did.”

  “Well, get your ass up and go get it. I’ll grab us something to drink.”

  He doesn’t say another word, but stands and walks out the door to get said pizza.

  I’m just making my way back to the living room with paper plates, Ranch dressing, and two cans of soda when the door opens and closes.

  I look over my shoulder when I don’t hear his footsteps, and find his eyes zoned in on my legs. Or maybe my ass.

  It takes him a minute to meet my gaze, but when he does, a look of possessiveness passes through them briefly. Weird.

  He sets down the pizza box and opens it. I pass him his plate and drink and we both grab a few slices. As soon as I start to take my first bite, he breaks the silence we’ve settled into.

  “I’m sorry.” He shakes his head and sets his plate down. “You’re telling me you invited Parker over here wearing that,” he motions with his eyes only, “and you’re just friends?”

  As much as I want to punch him for basically calling me a slut, and definitely calling me a liar, both of which I’m not, I don’t. I’m going to assume he thinks he’s asking a completely rational question. It’s not his fault no one’s ever thrown him a curve ball, football player and all. So, deciding to fuck with him, I mask my pissy bitch and go for nonchalant.

  “No, actually.” I shrug. “When he carried me out of my bed this morning so I could make breakfast, I was still wearing what I had on last night when you were here.” I look back at my food to keep myself from laughing at his manic expression. “I didn’t change until after I took a shower about an hour ago, hence the wet hair.” My face is blank as I look at him.

  Oh, shit.

  His jaw is set so tight, I’m afraid he may break a tooth. His eyes are hard around the edges, and unblinking. As strange as it seems, I’m pretty sure he’s honestly crazed right now.

  “Parker?” His tone is scary.

  And exciting.

  It’s scary that it’s exciting.

  “Yep.” I make sure to pop the ‘p’ and hold eye contact.

  “He was in your bed?” I swear he sounds like the Hulk right now, about to flip his shit.

  “Uh-huh,” I breathe, continuing to spur him on.

  “Don’t fuck with me, Kalani.”

  I must be asking for it, whatever it is.

  “I’m not,” I say innocently, and he growls.

  Actually growls.

  I finally let my smile break free. “I woke up this morning to him jumping on my bed, demanding breakfast, while a hungover Mia took a shower. Then, we all kicked back and watched movies all day.” I’m full-fledged laughing by the end of my explanation, or confession, whatever it was, but neither of which he deserved.

  He searches my face. Once he’s satisfied, he releases a long breath, his eyes narrowing in on me. “That wasn’t funny.”

  With the sudden need to lighten the mood, and not marvel in my own thoughts about why he would care, I channel my inner Heath Ledger - the Joker version. “Why so serious?”

  His smile is instant and he chuckles. Leaning forward, he places his elbows on his knees, a go-to move of his, I’ve noticed, and turns to look at me. “You’re something else, you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told,” I say with a smile and he nods. “Can I eat now?”

  He nods again. “Yeah, brat. Let’s eat.”

  “Question?”

  He shrugs.

  “This masterpiece in front of us…” A smirk forms on his lips; he knows what I’m getting at.

  “I overheard you tell Austin he owed you a pepperoni and jalapeno pizza for helping him in class. Figured it was a safe choice.”

  I smile. “It was a fan-fucking-tastic choice.”

  Nate grins, and we settle in eating.

  “So, what’d you make for breakfast?” he asks a few minutes later.

  “French toast and bacon.”

  “I like French toast and bacon.”

  I turn, giving him an amused smile. “Is that right?”

  “It is,” he responds, taking a large bite of his pizza.

  I laugh and take the bait. “Well, then it’s settled, Handsome. I guess I’ll have to make French toast and bacon for you some time.”

  “How about tomorrow?” he asks, looking me right in the eye.

  “You sure you won’t be sick of me by then?”

  He shakes his head. Slowly. Purposefully.

  “All right,” I swallow. “Tomorrow it is, but don’t expect me to wake up before nine.” I wince. “Make that nine-thirty, that’s hella early as it is. Understood?”

  His eyebrows lift. “You’re serious?”

  When I look at him like I’m not following, he explains. “You’re actually agreeing to make me breakfast?”

  “Uh… yeah?” I draw out.

  He reaches for his napkin and wipes his hands. “I’m holding you to that.”

  “You do that.” I laugh, not at all understanding his reaction.

  After setting my plate down, I lean back on the couch. “Okay, I am officially stuffed.”

  He kicks off his shoes and turns to me. “Can I ask you something?” he asks, suddenly serious.

  No. “Sure.”

  “How’d Parker know you were talking about me?”

  I blink at him. “Huh?”

  “Last night. You didn’t mention me by name, but somehow Parker knew you were talking about me.” His lip twitches. “How’d he know that?”

  “How long’s that been on your mind?” I ask, amused.

  “All night last night, and all morning and afternoon today. The drive over…and the entire time we’ve been sitting here.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Why, Nathaniel Monroe, are you trying to stroke your ego?”

  He shrugs, unashamed, his eyes full of delight.

  “Alright.” I turn so I’m facing him, sitting with my legs crossed on the couch. I lean in, locking my blues to his browns, and speak slowly. “He knew damn well who I was talking about because I told him I think you’re absolutely, ridiculously, totally and completely, unfairly,” I roll my eyes, “attractive. Ergo... Handsome.” I wink. “Though, I imagine hearing these things is nothing new to you.”

  Somewhere during my little speech his gaze did a one-eighty.

  No more signs of a playful Nate. No. He’s officially checked out.

  He’s staring at me, eyes hooded. Not moving, not blinking, just... staring.

  And I can’t move.

  Can’t retreat back to my corner.

  Can barely fucking breathe.

  “What else?” he rasps. His voice... that damn voice is drop dead sex.

  Fire spreads through my veins, heating me from the inside out.

  “What else what?” I ask, low and breathy. And turned the fuck on.

  “What else have you imagined, Kalani?” he dares.

  “Your hands,” I admit, admiring them, not bothering to try and hide the sheer desire in my voice. “They’re your instrument; your hardware, if you will.” My tongue darts out, wetting my thirsty lips. “Large. Strong.” I steal a glance at him, finding he’s fixated on my mouth, his eyes the darkest shade of brown I’ve ever seen.

  My attention turns back at his hands, and I examine them deeper.

  His knuckles are wide and thick with
a rugged and manly exterior; yet, somehow still graceful. Maybe it’s because I know what they’re capable of – on the field anyway.

  But off the field...

  A chill runs down my spine at the thought.

  “I bet they’re rough,” I whisper to myself, imagining the feeling on my soft skin. “Calloused. A product of...” Shit. “Devotion,” I say on a swallow. When his fingers flex, my eyes fly back to his. This time he’s looking right at me.

  This is bad.

  Eyes ablaze, he holds me captive, unable to look away if I wanted to.

  I don’t want to.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, he reaches across the single cushion separating us and gently wraps his long fingers around my sock-covered ankle.

  Pulling it toward him, he places my foot flat against the soft suede, wedging it between his thigh and the back of the couch, my leg now bent between us.

  When he lets go, he looks to his hand. Placing the tips of his fingers on the outside of my calf, he feathers them painfully slow up to my knee, then down my thigh, stopping at the curve of my hip.

  My breathing turns electric, coming in spurts, heady and heavy.

  Moving in, he lifts my right leg and sets it down on top of his left. He scoots even closer, erasing the distance between us.

  Nate brings his mouth within inches of my ear. “Are they?” he whispers, resting his forehead on my exposed shoulder. “Rough, I mean?”

  I shiver. The feel of his hot breath against my skin, mixed with the tips of his hair grazing my neck...

  Fuck. Me.

  “I can’t tell,” I manage to pant out, dropping myself back against the arm pillow behind me, forcing him to follow.

  He takes my move for what it is, an invitation to continue, to show me.

  The pads of his fingers find the waistband of my sleep shorts. He scratches at the elastic with his nails, before sliding his hand up and flattening his palm against the incline of my hip. And when he runs his hot palm up and across my ribs, I’m officially catapulted past ignition and straight into combustion.

  I was right. I was oh so very right. His hands are erotically tough in the best possible way.

  His forehead still rests on my shoulder, so when his hand slides back to my waist, I feel his once deep breaths turn ragged.

  And I can’t take anymore. I have to taste him. Like, right now.