Taking Connor(38)

“He’s not,” I argue after wiping my mouth. “Blake had everything set up. You know that. I don’t have to worry about anything.”

Shaking her head, she lets out an aggravated sigh. “Blake was a good man, but for the life of me I’ll never understand why he put you in this position.”

“He didn’t put me in any position,” I clarify, sternly, looking her straight in the eyes. “Connor is a good man, and I’m happy to help him.”

“Demi,” she sighs as if exhausted with my naivety.

Standing, I take my paper plate to the trash and toss it. “I know you’re worried about me, but please stop this,” I beg. “I’m a grown woman. I’m not an idiot. Connor may have made . . . mistakes in the past, but people can change, mother. He is a good man, and I’m telling you right now, if you meet him and show him anything but the utmost respect, I will be very angry.”

Pursing her lips in annoyance, she starts working on her chicken again, not looking at me. “Between you and Lexi, I don’t know who is worse.”

I smile a little. It’s time to give Lexi a taste of her own medicine. “Well, Lexi is dating this really nice guy named Bob.”

My mother’s gaze flies to mine. “She is?”

“Says he’s the man of her dreams. Next time you see her, ask her to show you a picture. I think you’ll love him.”

I stay a bit longer, and we both dance around the subjects my mother really wants to discuss and stick to the more mundane ones; her next hair appointment, bingo night, etc. And when I leave, as we hug, she says, “I’ll stop by soon.”

Guess there’s no avoiding it, eventually my mother will meet Connor. God, help me. And Connor.





When I get home, the garage is closed, and I see no sign of Connor. For some reason, I feel restless. Being around my mother always puts me in a mental tizzy. Add to that I still haven’t heard from Wendy, and I’m worried that I may have damaged our friendship irrevocably. Connor cut the grass a few days ago, but it looks like it’s starting to get a little shaggy, so I decide to change into some old cutoff jeans shorts, a tank top, and pull my hair in a messy knot on my head, and gear up for a little exercise.

Colorado experiences hot days, but, fortunately, there’s no humidity. But even without humidity, sweat blankets my skin as I pull out the old push mower and wheel it to my starting point. After a few pulls, the machine roars to life and I begin walking straight lines. Connor takes a lot more pride in this task, mowing at angles and making the lawn look like a golf course. Me, if I can get it cut without completely screwing it up, I’m happy. When I finish the front lawn, I move to the back and continue my boring straight lines. About halfway through, the mower starts sputtering and shuts off, having run out of gas.

“Son of a biscuit,” I groan. Hearing the sound of someone chuckle, I whip around and find Connor is leaned over the bottom railing of the stairs to his apartment, watching me. He has a lazy smile on his face, and I try not to stare, but he looks so damn delectable. The easy smile against the hard body and tattoos, there is something positively divine about it. Suddenly it feels a lot hotter out here.

“Didn’t hear you pull in,” I note as I walk toward him.

“I know. I would’ve cut it, ya know?”

“Yeah, but I kind of wanted something to keep me busy. A little exercise never hurt.”

“Well, let me put fuel in it at least.” He walks in the garage and comes back out with the gas can. After he fills the lawn mower, he stands and smiles at me. “There you go.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“So, I know we said dinner tonight. I was thinking, wanna head into town for a bite?”

I had planned on making meatloaf, but the day is hot and heading out for a cold beer sounds amazing. “Um, yes, but it’s my treat,” I remind him. “I owe you for the childcare this past weekend.”

“You don’t owe me, but fine,” he folds. “Any chance you’d ride on the bike with me?”

My brows rise. “I’ve never been on one.”

This time, his brows rise and another beautiful grin spreads across his face. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirm.

“Well, I understand if you don’t want to. We can drive.”

I look over at his bike in the driveway and feeling shame deep inside, I realize I want to ride the bike. But the only reason I want to, maybe, is because I want to feel what it’s like to sit that close to him and wrap my arms around his body. Damn, I’m a head case. “No, I’d like to ride the bike,” I finally say.

“Okay, then.” He nods. “Leave around 6:00?

“It’s a date,” I slip out, then shake my head. What did I just say? “I mean . . . not a date. It’s a . . . dinner or whatever.” Shut up, Demi. Stop the madness.

Connor chuckles and walks past me. “See you at 6:00.”



We meet in the driveway at 6:00 pm on the dot. I’m wearing a pair of jeans and a black tank top. Connor is wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.

“Well aren’t we adorable, matching and shit,” he jokes as he puts on his helmet.

I laugh. “Should I change clothes?”

“Hell no. You look hot.” Rounding the bike he approaches me with another helmet and I pray my arms, neck and cheeks haven’t taken on the shade of a beet after his compliment. He slips the helmet on my head and begins tightening it around my chin. “You’re adorable when you blush, you know?” he murmurs. There went that.