Taking Connor(58)

“You know she could do better,” she spits, turning her attention to Connor.

“Mother,” I hiss. Looking around us, I notice there are three other people in this aisle with us, having stopped their browsing of the shelves when they heard my mother.

“You’re jail trash. Nothing like Blake.”

“Stop it,” I order, stepping in front of her. “How dare you talk to him like that.” My heart is pounding as anger rushes me. A fierce need to protect Connor; defend him takes over. “He’s a good man, and he is my choice and if you don’t like it, feel free to stay away from us.

She huffs in offense and walks past us. “I thought I raised you smarter, Demi.”

I want to yell something more at her, call her a name . . . something, but I decide it will only antagonize her more. My gaze moves to Connor, and I immediately hug him. “I’m so sorry. She is such a bitch sometimes.”

Connor backs away from me and shrugs, scratching the back of his neck, like usual. “She’s not wrong, Demi. You could do better.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Don’t give up on this before we’ve even started, Connor. And just so you know, she didn’t like Blake either.”

He gives me a faint smile as he twists his neck and eyes the other people in the aisle with us who are pretending to look at items on the shelf but are really listening to us. Shaking his head, he starts pushing the cart again. “Let’s get out of here.” And gone is the happy and relaxed Connor Stevens. My mother has brought forward the brooder.

We head home and unload the groceries. Connor barely says a word, and when we’re done, he heads outside to the garage. I feel awful. Leave it to Gladys to ruin a perfectly good day with her unwarranted negative opinions.

When the girls arrive, we head out to get pedicures and when we return, Connor is still tinkering in his garage, working on the bike. When dinner is ready, I invite him in to join us, but he refuses saying he has to get something on the bike done. The girls and I eat and watch a movie until bedtime. When they’re settled down, I go outside to check on Connor only to find him getting on his Harley.

He doesn’t see me as he fires it up and takes off. My heart sinks. My mother got to him. I sleep restlessly all night, waiting for the sound of Connor’s motorcycle pulling in the driveway. It isn’t until the next morning that he returns while I eat breakfast with the girls.

“I want to see Mr. Jenson,” Mary-Anne insists.

“Maybe later I’ll take you over there.”

“I can go by myself,” she sasses. “He said I could come over whenever I want, and he’d give me candy.”

“You’re not going over there by yourself, twerp,” McKenzie snaps as she leans toward Mary-Anne and fixes her gaze on hers. “You go over there without Demi, I’ll knock you senseless.” Her tone is deadly serious.

“McKenzie!” I scoff. Where did that come from?

“I’ll tell Mom if you hit me,” Mary-Anne promises.

“No one is going to hit anyone,” I assure Mary-Anne as I give a pointed look to McKenzie. “I’ll take you over there later. I promise.”

“You two get dressed,” I tell them. I was up at dawn, unable to sleep, so I’m already dressed. Once they’re upstairs, I head outside in search of Connor.

He’s in the garage when I find him, throwing tools in drawers. I had to enter through the side door as both bay doors were closed. It was probably his way of saying, leave me alone. Too bad for him, I’m not listening.

“Hi,” I say, quietly. He stills but doesn’t turn to face me.

“Hi,” he replies gruffly.

“Are you . . . okay?” I ask delicately.

“I’m fine, Demi,” he retorts.

“Okay . . .” What do I say here? He’s obviously upset about something and trying his damnedest to give me the cold shoulder. Two nights ago I was sleeping in his arms. Now, he won’t even look at me. Has he changed his mind? Does he not want this anymore?

“It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind. We were drunk and—”

I’m stunned when he whips around and walks up to me, grabbing my face and pulling it to his, our mouths crashing together. My arms weave around his neck, and I cling to him as he walks me backward and pushes me against the wall, pressing his body to mine.

Pulling away, he stares into my eyes. “I want you. I do. But I’m not good for you.”

My eyes narrow. “You are good, Connor. I see it every day.”

Pressing his forehead to mine, he breathes, “You love blindly, Demi. I’m a bad man. I’ve done bad things.”

“What are you saying, Connor? Have you changed your mind? Is this just your way of backing out?” My voice cracks and even I’m surprised by how emotional I sound.

“I think we should think about this,” he says. “I don’t want to ruin our . . . friendship.”

Pushing him away from me, I snort. “Wow.” It’s been two days and he’s already backing out. “I don’t understand. I’m just . . . confused. I mean, weren’t you just kissing me a second ago?” My emotions have taken a turn, and now I’m angry. What is this? How does a man kiss me like that then tell me he’s not sure we should be more?