Taking Connor(46)

“I got this,” he murmurs, not looking at me. “You should probably lay down. Blacking out like that can really take its toll on a person.”

If my face conveys half of what his words are making me feel, it reads: I’m a giant *. I know I’m lying about blacking out last night, and so does he. But he’s not going to call me on it, and I’m going to run with that because I’m too cowardly to face what happened between us. I wish there were a way for me to tell him that, yes, it did mean something. I want to tell him that I wanted it every bit as badly as it seemed when I was in his arms; that the way my body moved to his, the way my mouth crashed into his was real. I wasn’t drunk. Well, I was, but not too drunk to know I was making a conscious decision. I want him to know that I think about him more than I should; that he makes me feel things I haven’t in so long. But why should I? Why should I tell him these things when it just can’t be?

“Yeah,” I finally manage after clearing my throat. “Thank you for breakfast. I think I will lay down.” I don’t look at him because I can’t. I can’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes. Of course, from what I can tell in my peripheral vision, he doesn’t seem to look at me either.

My cell phone chimes from my purse once I’m back upstairs, and I grab it, flopping down on my bed. It’s a text from Vick.

Can’t wait to see you tonight.



Geez. What kind of woman am I? I’ve made out with two different men in the span of forty-eight hours. Vick is a nice guy. Not to mention he’s hot and has an awesome sense of humor.

I need to stop thinking about Connor in any way other than Blake’s cousin.

I need a good distraction for this.

I need Vick.

I text him back telling him I’ll pick him up tonight. That I’d like us to go somewhere else other than Turvey’s if that’s okay with him. When he asks where, I tell him it’s a surprise.

He texts back:

I like surprises. ;)



We agree I’ll pick him up at 6:00 pm and then I call Lexi. If I’m ever going to move on in my life, I have to put myself out there. I can’t be afraid to be with a man or around one for that matter. I can’t keep being afraid to be a single woman. I’ll love and miss Blake every day for the rest of my life, but I know, as terrible as it sounds, I don’t want to be lonely for the rest of my days. And I know deep down Blake wouldn’t want that either.

The phone rings and Lexi answers, “Yes, Demi. It’s okay.”

“What?” I respond.

“To give him my number.”

“Who?”

“Dusty,” she says, with a yawn.

My brows rise in surprise. “Umm, hate to burst your bubble there Ms. Modesty, but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“It’s not?”

“No, but I admire your ego,” I laugh.

“He likes me,” she mumbles dismissively. “He just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

“Yeah. Him turning you down for dinner screamed he was jonesing for you.”

“Wow,” she huffs. “You’re kind of being a bitch today.”

“Ugh,” I groan. “Sorry. It’s been a rough couple of days. But listen. I need your help.”

“You do?” she asks, shock evident in her tone.

“I have a date with Vick tonight, and I want to look . . . good.”

“Define good.”

“Like . . . good, Lexi. I want to look pretty,” I snap.

“Like give him an instant hard-on look good or like instant chub look good?”

“Is there really a difference?”

“Of course there is,” she exclaims like I’m an imbecile.

“Lexi,” I groan.

“Okay, instant chub it is. Let’s take things slow. No need to rush these things. I’ll be there at four.”

“Thanks, Lex,” I grumble.

We hang up, and I set the alarm on my phone to wake me in a few hours. I need my beauty sleep after the long night I had. Taking a deep breath, I try to relax. I’d hoped making this plan, putting out the vibes of trying to be a normal woman, would make me feel better, but as my subconscious lurks and begins to drag me into the depths of sleep, I know no matter how much I laugh with Vick tonight, no matter how many time he makes me feel beautiful and special, all I’ll think about all night is how it felt to kiss Connor Stevens.





“God, I’m good,” Lexi praises herself. And egotistical or not, I have to give her credit. I look damn good. The place I’m taking Vick is outside, and a short dress or revealing top wouldn’t have worked. I’m wearing a knee-length flowy skirt that will allow me to sit on the ground if need be, and a white blouse that hangs off my shoulder. Lexi tied my hair up in a ponytail adding that little bump on the crown and my makeup is flawless.

“I must say, you really are,” I agree. “Thank you, for once again, coming to help me.”

“This help isn’t free,” she warns. “I’ll accept payment in the form of explicit details about the first time you two bump uglies.”

I shake my head. “You are so . . . wrong.”

“I’m kidding,” she pauses, “I mean I want to know, but maybe only minor explicit details.”