Down for the Count Page 2

  “Perfect.” She slipped off the bike and stretched, surprised at the stiffness in her thighs. She must have been holding on more tightly than she realized. Tugging off the helmet, she met Galen’s gaze.

  Their relationship over the years had been mostly snide banter with the occasional big-brother warning mixed in, but he’d gone above and beyond today and it was imperative he knew how much she appreciated it. On a day like this one, that kind of loyalty meant something. She hadn’t just lost her husband. She’d lost one of her closest friends. Cat and Galen coming through for her was one of the few things she had to cling to.

  “You’re a saint for rescuing me. I can’t thank you enough.” She bent and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then turned to jog up the stairs before he could react.

  She knew from experience what had happened today was all going to somehow come down on her. Her mother was the queen of assigning blame. Lacey made a decision in that second. She wasn’t talking to any of them about the merger or anything else until she had some time to lick her wounds and repair her armor. It was going to get ugly, and the accusations would fly, mostly in her direction. “Not your fault, Lace,” she muttered.

  “Most definitely not,” Galen agreed. He climbed onto the porch and gave her shoulder an awkward rub. “I don’t care how annoying you are; no one deserves that.”

  She gaped at him for a second before catching the mirth in his eyes in the moonlight. Taking comfort in the familiar, she snorted. “Me, annoying? This from the guy who used to let the air out of my bike tires on a regular basis.”

  He bent his head, squinted at the lock, and slipped in the key. “I only did that when you guys would use my Airsoft guns to play Powerpuff Girls.”

  The laugh that escaped was genuine. “How did you know it was me? Maybe it was Cat.”

  “Seriously? You labeled them ‘Blossom,’ ‘Bubbles,’ and ‘Buttercup.’ With a label maker.”

  The door swung open and she followed him in, smiling at the memory. She’d loved that label maker. “You know your sister. If I didn’t label everything, we’d fight and she’d take the good one every time and swear it was hers.”

  “You were a little label-Gestapo back then.”

  “Still am,” she said proudly.

  She smelled it when he opened the door: the scent of linseed oil and old linens. For some reason, it soothed her. He flipped on the lights and she peered around. She hadn’t been here since high school, but it still looked the same as it had ten years ago. Warm, comfy, lived in. A worn brown sofa took up the center of the room, and in front of it lay a braided rug that covered natural hardwood floors shot with amber and gold. A hulking wood-burning stove took up half of the back wall.

  The cottage was the antithesis of every home she’d ever lived in with her own family, which was half the appeal. Still, she couldn’t stop herself from straightening the rug with the toe of her pearly slipper.

  “It’s not the Ritz, but—”

  She waved a hand to stop him. “It’s home. I couldn’t be happier with the choice.”

  He looked at her for a long moment and nodded. “I’m glad. I’m going to get some of Cat’s clothes for you so you can change. You know where everything is. Make yourself comfy.”

  “Thanks.” She stared after him as he went, vowing to stand up for him the next time Cat bitched about what a pain he was. He’d saved her bacon tonight, allowing her to keep at least a shred of dignity by getting her out of there before she resorted to plate flinging and spittle-filled rants. Part of her wished Cat were there, but in a way, Galen was the perfect person for the job. She didn’t want to talk about her feelings or share her gruesome revenge plots. Not yet. Right now it hurt to breathe and she needed to just…be.

  She crossed the living room and puttered around the perimeter, reminiscing over the pictures that riddled the walls. Although most were of the Thomas children, she was in quite a few herself. Her gaze fell on one in particular that had her sucking in a sharp breath. Three little girls: one brunette, one blonde, and one with hair that was too orange to be called red mugged for the camera. Cat had her nose pulled up like a pig while she and Becca made fish faces around her, crossing their eyes for good measure.

  Damn it, Becs.

  She waited for the fury to come, but that emotion seemed to be reserved for Marty. When she thought of Becca, all that came was bone-deep sadness. Twenty years of friendship—no, sisterhood—gone in a flash. Over a man who turned out to be less than a man. Over Marty.

  “I was thinking they’d be a little musty because she hasn’t been up this season yet.”

  Lacey swiped the tears away and pasted a smile on her face before turning to face Galen. Saved by the bell again, right before she was about to dissolve into a puddle of sad.

  “But she kept them in the cedar chest, so they’re not bad at all.” He crossed the room, holding up a pair of yoga pants and a hoodie. “These okay?”

  She took them with a grateful smile. “Perfect. I’ll be back in a second.”

  It wasn’t a second, but it was close. When she got into the bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror, wedding updo and makeup still half in effect, far less modestly dressed than she’d realized, she wanted to hide there forever. How mortifying. Always gorgeous Galen had seen her at her worst today, both literally and figuratively. And the slip that hadn’t seemed all that revealing when she’d been alone in her bedroom that morning now looked obscene. Thank God The Admiral hadn’t seen her get onto Galen’s bike like this.

  Her thoughts spiraled and suddenly, in spite of her embarrassment over Galen having seen her half naked, she couldn’t wait to get back into the living room. The thought of being alone right now made her whole body tense. She tore off the slip and stockings and stuffed them into the trash can before tugging on Cat’s laze-around-the-house clothes. After scrubbing her face clean, she yanked the pins from her hair and combed it with her fingers.

  By the time she got back to Galen, he’d taken off his jacket and started the stove. He looked up from his perch on a stool by the island in the kitchen. “You hungry? I can make some soup or something.”

  “Not really.”

  “Are you just planning to stay one night or did you want me to go to the store and get some groceries to last you a few days?”

  “I—” She frowned. In her efforts to not think about her now demolished future, she’d been focused on putting one foot in front of the other. For the first time in her well-ordered life, she had no idea what her plans were. “If I need anything, I’ll walk down to the general store tomorrow.” He stood, and her stomach pitched. “W-where are you going?”

  “Home. You don’t need me here watching you cry or whatever it is you planned on spending the night doing.”

  His smooth baritone took on an edge of nervousness that almost made her feel sorry for him. Almost. But the thought of him leaving her by herself squashed it dead, and she prepared to beg if need be.

  “I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to think. Tomorrow, when it’s a little less fresh, I’ll do my thinking and crying until I decide how to pick up the pieces. But for right now, what I’d like to do is get piss drunk and forget for a few hours.” She took a deep breath and wrung her hands together. “And I’d rather not do it alone.”

  He hesitated for a long second, but when he nodded and faced her, his dark gaze was warm. “Getting drunk and embracing denial?” His lips quirked into a half grin. “Well then, I’m your man.”

  …

  Twenty minutes later they faced off across the coffee table, Lacey on the floor close to the wood-burning stove with her feet curled under her bottom, and Galen on the couch. A bottle of Jack Daniel’s sat between them, surrounded by eight shot glasses, some full and some half full.

  “Are you sure about this? I’ve only ever played with beer. Maybe we should use the champagne instead?” Lacey asked, turning a dubious eye to the shooters.

  “Are you chickening out?” he asked, making sure his
tone was chock full of scorn. He chuckled when her expression clearly indicated she was thinking about it. “Champagne seems a little highbrow for this game. Plus, between the two of us, it ain’t gonna get the job done. I can offer you some cooking sherry. It’s from last spring, but I’m sure it’s fine. Probably.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s okay, I’ll pass. We’ll stick with the Jack.”

  He held his fist out for a bump, and she obliged him with a roll of her eyes. Perfect. So long as he was annoying her, she wouldn’t cry. It had been more than a decade since he’d hit someone outside the ring, but for some reason, he didn’t think he could take even one more tear coming from those haunted eyes without driving back to the reception hall and popping Marty Clemson right in the chops.

  Repeatedly.

  “So what are the rules of this game?” he asked.

  Lacey had taken her hair down from the fussy wedding ’do, and gold curls tumbled over her shoulders, making her wan skin look even more so by contrast. It was priority number one to put some color in those cheeks.

  “The game is called I Never. The boys used to beg us to play back in college so they could try and take advantage of us later.”

  He held up a hand as if to warn her to stay on her side of the table. “I’m flattered. Really. But I’m going to need some time to think it over.” That got a chuckle from her, which sent a bolt of satisfaction coursing through him.

  “I’ll try to control myself. So here’s how it works. I’m going to say something that I’ve never done. If you’ve never done it, either, it’s your turn. If you have done it, you drink one of the small shots. If you want to plead the fifth and not answer, you have to drink one of the full shots. Get it?”

  “Sounds pretty simple. I’ll start,” he said.

  “Wait, why you?”

  “My house, my liquor.”

  She curled her lip and shook her head. “Geez, what happened to ladies first?”

  “I save that mentality for the bedroom. Outside the bedroom, it’s an even playing field, so man up.”

  Her cheeks went pink at that and the fist gripping his gut eased a little. She didn’t realize it yet, but she would get through this fine and come out the other side better for it. He’d always felt like her relationship with Marty had been based more on her feelings of friendship and a responsibility toward her parents than anything else. Not exactly the recipe for a knock-your-socks-off love affair. He hadn’t been lying when he’d told her this was the best thing that could’ve happened to her. Clemson wasn’t even close to man enough for Lacey. Maybe once she was ready to talk about it, he would lecture her on finding a man who could take care of her right.

  Not that it was any of his business.

  She cleared her throat and finally responded to his teasing. “The bedroom, very funny.”

  What was funny was that she’d honed in on that particular phrase. He couldn’t stop himself from pushing a little further. “Oh, I’m dead serious, squirt. Just ask around.”

  Her gaze traveled to his mouth, and her throat worked as she swallowed. Before he could think on that development too hard, she picked up a handful of the cashews they’d commandeered from the kitchen cabinet and lobbed one at him. “Stop trying to embarrass me.”

  He caught the nut and popped it into his mouth. “Sorry, but you’re such an easy mark. Okay, so me first. Let’s see. Here’s one. I’ve never…been skydiving before.”

  Pursing her lips, she thought about that for a second. “I have. On my twenty-first birthday. Craziest thing I’ve ever done.”

  He knew that, which was the reason he’d chosen it. If she was determined to get drunk, they might as well get started. He tipped his chin toward the table. “Drink up.”

  She selected one of the half-filled glasses and tossed back the contents. Her eyes watered as she chased it with a deep pull from a bottle of water. “My turn,” she croaked. “I’ve never…eaten sushi.”

  He grinned and shook his head. “Me neither. And why would I? Seems like a slap in the face to those poor cavemen who worked long and hard to create fire. Guess that means no drink for me. My turn again. I’ve never…” He racked his brain for something else he knew about her that might be a little wild. “I’ve never…gone skinny-dipping.”

  She sent him a dirty look and picked up another shot. “You are so full of it. In fact, a bunch of us went together in this very lake!”

  “True. I’ll drink, too, then. I was getting thirsty.” He drank his down in one swallow while Lacey stared at hers like it was a cup full of poison. “Well?”

  “It’s worse because now I know what it’s going to taste like,” she admitted. She glared at it for a second then straightened her shoulders. “Here’s mud in your eye.” She managed to get it down easier than the first and grinned triumphantly as she slammed the glass back on the table. “My turn. I’ve never cheated on a test.”

  He waited to see if she picked up a drink and rolled his eyes when she didn’t. “Of course you haven’t.” He took a shot and she laughed. He liked the sound of it, so from that point on, he made sure to ham it up.

  “I’ve never…seen a rated X movie,” he said, picking up another whiskey.

  She shrugged. “Nope.”

  He shook his head incredulously. “That’s sad.” He drank.

  “I’ve never had a threesome,” she said, raising a challenging brow.

  He pretended to mull that one over for a second then grabbed a glass before pausing. “Do I have to do one for each incident or…?”

  She gaped, her mouth wide enough for him to see her tonsils. “More than once? Seriously?”

  “I’ll take that as a no and do the one shot,” he said with a grin. Truth was, although he’d had the opportunity a few times when his career was at its high point, he’d only actually gone through with it once. Not his style. He wanted to focus all his energy on that one person and wring out every drop of pleasure from the lady sharing his bed. It was the one way to be sure she came back for more. He watched Lacey refill the glasses in her ordered, precise way, and wondered if Marty had ever blown her mind.

  His tongue was loose from the drinks and curiosity burned a hole in his gut. The words were out before he could stop them. “I’ve never had multiple orgasms with a man before.” He didn’t take his eyes off her as she set down the bottle.

  For a tense moment, he thought she might opt to drink a full shot to avoid answering either way. He’d clearly set her up, and he wouldn’t blame her. Instead, she countered in a voice almost too soft to hear.

  “I’ve never had one orgasm with a man before.”

  Chapter Three

  The shot glass fell from his suddenly limp fingers and hit the coffee table with a clunk.

  Well, damn.

  It was his turn to gape now. Forget blowing her mind, Marty hadn’t been getting Lacey off at all. His earlier assertion that the man was a spineless prick now seemed like an insult to spineless pricks everywhere. He was worse than that. He was a selfish, pathetic, spineless prick.

  “And this is the man you picked to marry?” he demanded before he thought better of it. “Why would you want to subject yourself to a lifetime of bad sex?”

  Her cheeks flushed and she looked away, toying with the hood string of her sweatshirt. “It wasn’t bad. It just wasn’t…good. Anyway, it wasn’t his fault.”

  “Bullshit.” He was surprised at his own vehemence. His instincts bleated out those warnings again, but the haze of liquor relegated them to background noise.

  “The problem wasn’t Marty, okay? It was me,” she blurted. “I…can’t do it. It’s complicated.”

  She looked so utterly miserable that he slapped back the urge to rant about the fucker. Now wasn’t the time. Hell, maybe it would never be time, but suddenly he wanted Lacey to know it wasn’t complicated. In fact, he could make it all very, very simple.

  Blood pumped south, and his cock swelled as images of Lacey sprawled out beneath him filled his head. H
e plucked up another glass and drank it down. “That one was just because I’m thirsty,” he said, and sat back. “Listen, squirt, with every hour that passes, it’s becoming more and more obvious to me that you got lucky today finding out what kind of person he really is. You were together how long?”

  She held up three fingers. “Almost two years.” She looked at her hand and did a double take before using her other hand to fold down her index finger.

  Good. She might be too drunk to count, but at least she wasn’t crying. “And he still couldn’t make you come? That’s a lot of time to figure out what makes you tick.”

  “That’s the problem. Nothing makes me tick. My ticker’s broken, I think.” She picked up the bottle and swirled it absently, pretending to be enthralled with the liquid inside rather than meeting his gaze.

  “That’s what guys who don’t understand how to handle the delicate gears of a clock will tell you. I’m telling you something different. I may be a lot of things, but I’m no liar.”

  “It wasn’t only him, though. There was a guy in college. That was just as ba—” She set the bottle down and seemed to regroup. “I mean, with him, too, I couldn’t…yanno.”

  She waggled her brows until he nodded his understanding, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “We tried, believe me. We flipped through the Kama Sutra and picked out some of the positions, but he had an issue with his electrolytes and kept getting cramps.” She was totally straight-faced, as if that were the most logical explanation in the world.

  “You don’t need to be a human pretzel, Lacey. There are dozens, hell, hundreds of ways to come without stretching into strange positions.”

  Her eyes widened. “Hundreds? Are you sure?” Before he could answer, she shook her head. “That doesn’t matter, anyway. Sex isn’t that important. At least, not as important as companionship, and respect, and—”

  “Bullshit,” he said again.

  She turned slightly unfocused but indignant eyes on him. “You don’t think those things are important?”

  “Of course they are. But so is sex. Otherwise why not have everyone be just friends? We can all sit around a campfire and sing ‘Kumbaya’ together and talk about how much we respect each other.”

  “Don’t make fun of me, Galen. Just because we don’t agree doesn’t mean you’re right.”

  “We don’t agree because you have no clue what you’re talking about. It’s like trying to talk boxing with a lawyer.” He couldn’t resist another not-so-subtle jab at Marty. “There’s no frame of reference for him to work off of. Same goes here for you.”

  She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off, leaning over the table until his face was only a foot from hers. “If you’ve never had a man trail his fingertips over every inch of your naked body until he figured out what made you squirm…”

  The instant dilation of her pupils gave him pause and left his cock twitching. He pressed on, determined to make his point.

  “If you’ve never had a man lick you from your navel to your knees…”

  She flicked her tongue out to moisten her lips.

  “If you’ve never had a man slide deep, in and out, until your head tossed on the pillow and you begged for more…” His voice had gone dark and gravelly, and he swallowed hard. “Then how can you possibly understand the importance of sexuality in a relationship?”

  The room that had crackled with warmth and comfort a few minutes before felt hot and tense. The silence was thick, broken only by harsh breathing and the hooting of owls in the distance.

  “I don’t know,” she whispered finally, breaking the all but palpable connection between them. “I just don’t know.” She knocked back a drink and swiped the back of her hand over her mouth.

  He sat back, opting to let her off the hook. It wasn’t the time to push her on this—or any other—issue. When she realized that she’d dodged a bullet with Marty, maybe he could convince her that she deserved passion in her life. And damned if he didn’t want to give her the first taste.

  Not tonight, though. She was still hurting, so he forced himself to steer things back to a safer path. “Your turn,” he said with what he hoped was an affable smile.

  An hour later, the bottle between them was almost—he squinted and tried to bring it into focus—three-quarters of the way empty. They’d ceased any pretense of keeping up the game and had spent the last thirty minutes talking. Not about Lacey’s situation but about everything else. Her job as marketing director for her family’s law firm, his last fight, and what he planned to do when his boxing days were behind him. At some point as they talked, she’d made her way onto the couch next to him and had burrowed her bare feet under his thighs.

  His cell phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to peer at the text.

  Call me.

  “I’ve got to call Cat. You want to talk?”

  She shook her head. “Not right now.”

  He hit the call button and his sister picked up after one ring. “Hey.”

  “Where’d you end up taking her?”

  “The cottage.”

  “You drove her all the way to the cottage in her wedding dress?”

  He paused, wondering how much he should say, and went for a half truth. “No, she, ah, took that off at the reception hall.” The buttons and the ripping and the creamy skin and his subsequent boner? Not relevant. “In fact, it’s probably still in the back parking lot.”