After the Storm Read online

  “Thank you, I am too. I thought I put that empty pit in my stomach—no pun intended—to rest. But tonight—”

  What did happen tonight to open up old wounds? I can only imagine.

  “Tonight I found out my ex-husband is having a baby girl. With his new girlfriend. And fucking Facebook was the bearer of this wonderful news. So, that’s why I was a basket case. And now that you know I’m damaged goods you can stop holding my hand and we can go back to being boss and employee, because I’m not about to start something up with someone who deserves a better future than the one I can give him.”

  I keep my grip on her hand, proving her allegations wrong. “First of all, we’re more than co-workers. We’re friends. Second, you’re not damaged goods, Willow. You’re so special and beautiful and good that I find myself thinking about you when I know I shouldn’t. I don’t know how to make you feel better about all of this, but it doesn’t make me think any differently of you. It just makes you that much more relatable. I told you . . . we all have issues. Some worse than others, but having people we care about in our lives makes all of those issues easier to deal with.”

  She takes a moment to let it soak in. I hope she’s really absorbing it, because it’s true. It sucks. I hate that this had to happen to her of all people. I mean, look at Tori. The world is cruel sometimes. There’s no way around it.

  After she takes the last swig of her beer, she places the glass on the table before she speaks. I can’t say it’s awkward because it’s not—there’s an effortless current between us, even in the midst of such an intense discussion. Pulling her hand from mine, she tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear and smiles. “That means a lot, Noah. Thank you. I needed this. I’m glad I didn’t run away before you came to my rescue tonight.”

  “I’m glad too. I’d like to say this was fun, but it totally wasn’t.”

  She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “I know, jeez! How terrible are we?”

  “Nah. We’re good people. And it only means we have to give it another shot. A real date . . . no digging up the past or old skeletons. What do you say, Willow Jones, would you like to go out with me sometime?” I don’t know how things came to be this way. I was so adamant about staying away from her. But now—I don’t think I can stay away.

  “I say good people deserve good people. I’d love another chance to get to know you better.”

  Her willingness makes me almost giddy. I’m going to sound like a total dork, but I really don’t give a shit. “In that case, are you free tomorrow night?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  I rest easy for the remainder of the evening, enjoying my company and the fact I don’t have to eat my cherry pie alone this time.

  Noah pays our bill and makes a trip to the restroom before we head out of the diner. I’m not concerned about the twenty minute car ride to my house because our conversation is easy and effortless. Even with all the drama that unfolded, I had a good time. But my stomach’s in knots thinking about the goodbye. We’re going on another date tomorrow night. We’ve already shared a first kiss. Will there be a second? Do I thank him graciously and exit his car with a peck on the cheek or do I throw caution to the wind and do what I really want—give him something to think about until our next time together?

  When he kissed me earlier it was so spontaneous and exactly what I needed in that moment. I wasn’t forced to overthink or analyze. I relished the feel of his hands on my body, his firm lips and skillful tongue washing away my sadness. But now, I can’t help but overthink and I hate it. Is it selfish to get involved with someone so perfect? Without jumping the gun about where this is headed, I’ve laid it all out there and he still seems interested. That’s a great sign, but I’m not getting my hopes up. My husband who was in love with me for over five years had been okay with it too—until he wasn’t.

  Am I setting myself up for failure? Will I always be? Maybe I should go on some dating site to find a specific type of guy. The kind who never wants a family. It seems like my only hope.

  “Hey, you ready?” Noah comes up behind me, snaking his arm around my waist.

  I ignore the doubt running through my head, bend into his welcoming touch, and let him lead me out the door.

  He escorts me to my side again, opens the door and helps me onto my seat. As he rounds the front of the truck, I admire what a gentleman he is, ogling the way his T-shirt fits snuggly in all the right places. Noah Matheson is the whole package. I thought so from the moment I saw him. And now I’m finally getting what I want—dates, kisses, his affection—and all I can think about is how greedy I feel for taking it from him when I have nothing to give in return.

  “I had a nice time tonight.” He starts the key in the ignition, bringing his rugged machine to life, his statement bringing my body to life, pushing aside all my thoughts about how selfish it is to want him.

  “I did too. Thank you for knowing what I needed.”

  After he backs out of the parking spot and puts the car in drive, he glances over at me with a devilish grin and winks. “Yeah, I’m a good kisser. I know.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the kiss, Mr. Cocky.”

  “Cocky? Are you talking about my member now, Ms. Jones?”

  God, he gets me way too worked up to even think straight. I better shut up before I say anything else that can be taken as an innuendo. “No! Forget it. I had a nice time. Can we leave it at that?”

  “Absolutely not. There’s no need for the shy, reserved act anymore. I’m being honest here because you bring that out in me. As much as you needed this, I needed it too. I haven’t sat and talked and shared the things we shared with each other in that booth back there with anyone in a really long time. So, even though my original plans for you are out the fucking window, I’m putting it all out there.

  “I like you. I think you like me too. I’m going to kiss you again when I drop you off. You’re going to like it. You’re going to think about it until you drift off to sleep. You might even dream about it. Then you’re going to wake up all giddy and excited, remember that kiss and anticipate our second—real—date. And when I pick you up tomorrow night, you’ll be all smiles and Oh, Noah, you’re so sweet. Because we’re allowed to have fun. It’s our God given right.” He stops speaking, taking a moment to appraise my openmouthed shock and then reaches over the console with his palm up in invitation.

  “Are you looking for a high five? Because that speculated speech of yours certainly deserves one.”

  “No. I want more. You have to know that by now. Take my hand, Willow. Succumb. I can’t promise you anything, but I can promise that I’m a good guy with a good heart who wants to share it with someone.”

  “And you’re suddenly convinced that someone is me?”

  “I wouldn’t call it suddenly. I’d say it was more of a gradual process. You’re beautiful, there’s no denying that, but you’re also young, and in the beginning I think I misread you. Now that I know more, now that I’ve had more of you—I want more. Does that make sense?”

  More, more, more. The theme of this ride home might make me break out in hives. I can’t give him more. Well, the ultimate more. But I can give him everything he’s asking for right now. Aren’t I allowed to enjoy that? Who said every boyfriend has to turn into a husband? There are no written rules. Maybe we’ll date a few times and realize we’re better off as friends. Maybe he’ll decide to move back east and the distance will seal our fate. Maybe—maybe I’m simply overthinking again when I should stop taking what’s right in front of me for granted.

  “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but yes, it makes total sense.” A blanket of unexpected relief embraces me. Up to this point, past hurt and insecurities have hindered my happiness—letting go of that heaviness leaves me feeling free, weightless and able to fly.

  “Good. Now that we’re in agreement, where would you like to go tomorrow? What’s your ideal date?”

  The first thing that comes to my mind po
ps out of my mouth, unrehearsed. “I’d have to say April 25th. Because it’s not too hot, not too cold, all you need is a light jacket.”

  “Huh? What are you talking about?”

  My laugh roars through his pick-up, creating a curl to Noah’s insanely scrumptious lips. “I guess you never saw Miss Congeniality?”

  “That Sandra Bullock flick? Yeah, I’ve seen it, but what does that have to do with our date?”

  I wave my hand in the air, shake it back and forth and dismiss my failed attempt at a joke. Noah grabs it, brings my knuckles to his lips and kisses each one with a gentle brush of his lips. My insides melt, my limbs become weak. Jokes, sarcasm, plans—there are no masks to hide behind with this man. I can’t control how good he makes me feel. “My ideal date would be anywhere you’re willing to take me. You decide. I’m game for anything.”

  “Oh, Willow. You so shouldn’t have said that.”

  After I give him directions to my place, the rest of the ride flashes by in what seems like stolen seconds. I don’t want this night to end, but it’s nearing one am and I’m exhausted from my earlier meltdown. If I’m up all night thinking about the kiss he’s about to give me the way he said I would, it’s time to call it a night. I’ll need beauty rest for whatever it is he has planned for tomorrow.

  We pull to a stop at my curb; Noah shifts his truck to park and lets it idle. The radio is tuned to a local country station, the muted melody an unfamiliar but hauntingly beautiful song.

  Brazenly, I lean forward to adjust the volume knob and turn up the song so I can get a better listen. “This is pretty. Who is it?”

  Noah’s eyes go bright, his smile a megawatt glow. “Now, this is seriously fate. I think the band is called Gloriana. The song—ready for this?”

  He turns up the volume even higher so I can hear the male vocal croon the words, “And I kissed you goodnight, and now that I’ve kissed you it’s a good night, good night, baby. Goodnight.”

  “Kissed You Goodnight.”

  My panties immediately dampen, but I try to hide my squirming. “Wow! No joke. What perfect timing on the part of the sappy radio frequency gods.”

  Reaching over to caress my cheek with his strong, calloused hand, Noah’s baby blue eyes turn cobalt. “Don’t joke about it, Willow. I told you I’d give you something to remember. But I don’t plan to make the same mistake as the guy in the song.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “What mistake is that?”

  He leans closer to whisper, “You’re not getting anywhere near your door before I kiss you.”

  With that, his free hand cups my face and his lips are on mine again. A soft stroke of his tongue on my bottom lip is followed by a tug of his teeth on the same flesh, sucking it into his warm mouth. I moan with the slightest, most pleasurable touch I’ve felt in a long time, parting my lips and winding my tongue with his in a sultry rhythm to match that of the song tailor-made for our evening.

  As his fingers burrow into my scalp, tangle into my hair and pull me closer, I fight the deep-seated urge to jump over the console and straddle his lap. His kisses are heaven mixed with all the perfect parts of hell. So good and pure, yet so dangerously delicious. I could get used to this—and not just this. I’m sure if he’s this good at kissing, he’s a master in the bedroom.

  My breaths become shallow gasps as his mouth continues to explore mine—deeper, faster, softer, gentler. And I can’t control my damn hands. They can’t get enough. They want to touch all of him. I sink my grip into his brawny biceps, anchoring my hands so they behave. But they don’t. Of their own accord, they travel down his rock hard torso, graze the button of his jeans, and land right at the bulging center of his lap.

  Before my hands can grab what they came for, his fingers wrap around mine to stop them from claiming the overflowing handful of man they desire. “Fuck!” He groans, and his throaty growl sends shivers over my sensitized skin. “Not tonight. Not yet. I want this. I want you, but not tonight.” He rests his forehead against mine, our breathing decelerates back to normal.

  “You’re a tease.” Frustration claws at my core.

  “And you’re a goddess. A goddess who deserves a lot more than a pickup truck fuck.”

  With my head still resting on his and my hands still wrapped inside his fingers, I laugh—a hearty, healthy, happy laugh. “I think you just titled your first original country song. Pickup Truck Fuck by Noah Matheson. That has quite a ring to it, cowboy.”

  His own gravelly laugh vibrates through his chest, causing our bodies to shake in unison. “It does sound quite nice, but not as nice as those sweet little kitten purrs you made a few seconds ago.” His soft lips graze mine again, dissolving me into a flimsy state of feather floating bliss.

  “Mmm,” I moan, giving into the ecstasy engulfing all five senses. “Okay, it’s time to say goodnight before we wind up saying good morning in my bed.”

  “That visual isn’t making it any easier to let you out.” His hand flies up to the lock on his door, clicking it a few times for good measure.

  “Holding me hostage?”

  “Is that a question or a request?”

  “You were the one who told me to stop.”

  His gaze falls from mine, down to his lap, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know. Mixed signals is usually the girl’s thing, no? I’m glad I have a good sixteen hours or so to get that in check.”

  I do the mental math, unclicking my seatbelt. “So, I guess that means you’re picking me up at five?”

  “Let’s make it six. I have some things to . . . arrange. Give me your phone?”

  I dig through my purse and hand it over without question.

  He takes it and dials a number, an audible ring coming from the other end. After a second, a whistle-like ringtone comes from his pocket. “Now I have your cell number. I probably should’ve before, being your employer and all, but we’ll let that one slide.”

  He hands me back my phone and punches something into his—probably adding me to his contacts.

  “Good night, Noah. And thank you again for a great evening.”

  “No, thank you. I’m glad it worked out the way it did.”

  He releases the lock on the door—damn it! You’re setting me free?—and I ask, “I don’t mind tomorrow being a surprise, but can you at least tell me what to wear?”

  Leaning back in his seat, his eyes roam my entire body. My skin tickles from head to toe. When his gaze returns to meet mine, his lips spread across his strikingly handsome face to reveal a perfect smile—flawless save for one crooked, character building, lower canine tooth. “Wear your most candid smile, love. It’s your finest feature and it makes the rest of you sparkle like a twelve carat diamond.”

  Holy mother of God. This man is insanely good. These can’t just be pick-up lines. He’s reeled me in, but now—all the things that make him even more faultless than I believed are making me want to take up permanent residence in his heart.

  Before I turn into a puddle on his leather seat, I sigh, recompose myself, and with one last look over my shoulder, flash a bit of the smile he’s talking about—the one he brings out in me. The truck door slams closed behind me when I give it a hearty shove. I wave goodbye, pull my keys from my bag, and practically skip up my walkway. The entire time my face is plastered with a smile so big my cheek muscles beg for mercy.

  “Well, that sounds way fucking better than what you originally had planned. I mean, I feel bad she was upset, but, dude! This is good! You’re totally going to score.”

  I scowl into the phone. “Why is it always about scoring for you, Blaze? I thought Fitzgerald knocked some sense into you.”

  “And I thought Willow pulled the stick from your grumpy old ass.”

  I could sit around and let Blaze get the best of me all day with his ridiculous outlook on life or I could get to the real heart of the matter. “Never mind, asshole. Can I borrow your car?” I hate asking for favors from anyone, but I’d like to forgo the truck tonight for something a l
ittle more classy. “She’ll probably have on a dress and heels and I want her to be able to slide into a sedan comfortably, not have to hike up onto the running board of my pickup.”

  Blake hesitated, the stingy SOB. “You know I don’t like lending out my Benz.”

  “Are you fucking using it? We know you’re not, so quit being Scrooge and do your friend a favor.”

  “Only if you give me all the details about her tight ass, her smoking tits, and those fuckable lips.”

  “That’s enough!” I growl. Yes, I’m defensive. He may see Willow as a hot piece of ass, but I don’t. I mean, I do, but . . . you know what I mean!

  “Alright, alright, alright, don’t get your boxers in a bunch. No more badmouthing your girl. Oh shit! Noah has a girl, Noah has a girl.”

  “Blaze, you on Oxy again? You’ve gotta be high.”

  “Only on life! And I’m living vicariously through you since I ain’t getting any action for God knows how long.”

  “Wish I could say I feel bad for you, but I don’t. Your last taste of action’s what got you in your crippled state. This dry spell might be good for you—your priorities are a little whack.”

  “Well, there’s definitely been some whacking, but I’m not a lefty so it’s been a struggle.”

  “Blaze! Really? Just . . . can I use your car or not?”

  A throaty chuckle escapes him. I picture his good hand flopping his way-too-long hair out of his face as he laughs. I just want to get off this phone already and plan my evening with Willow. “Where are you taking her?”

  That’s the question of the day. I had so many ideas run through my head: a picnic on the beach in Laguna, a carnival, the latest chick flick, all the typical first date things. But Willow isn’t typical. I’d love to do something special for her. But what?

  “You have no clue, do you?”

  “Nope. Got any ideas?”

  “Wow, so this is a far cry from booty calls at Tori’s, I take it?”

  I’m not even answering that. He knows better than to classify those two women in the same category. “Blaze . . .”