Damaged

Page 4

“Which one?” I ask, trying to decide which way to turn. The complex is huge. Some of my friends live over here since it has a volleyball court, a club house, and a pool. Me and Millie live in the dorms and can only dream of an apartment like these.
“That way.” He points, and I drive around to the back of the complex. Peter presses his lips together into a thin line and then looks back at me. “Do you want to come inside for a cup of coffee?”
I stare at him for a moment. Damn, he’s so beautiful. I want to get to know him better, but I can’t tell what he’s asking for and it’s late. I’m not into one-night stands, and I have enough issues when it comes to guys. Besides, I want someone to be mine when we go all the way. I sound like a high school student. Or a 50’s remnant. Maybe we can go steady, too, and that would be groovy. My mind is all over the place.
Mid-freakout, I glance at him. “Is that code for sex or are we really having coffee?”
Peter laughs and feigns shock, putting his hand over his chest. “My God! Is that why all those women at Starbucks keep trying to have coffee with me?”
I slap his shoulder and shake my head. The smile on my face hasn’t faded since we got in the car. I pull into a parking spot and we both get out. I follow him to the second floor because I can’t let him think that I don’t want his coffee, not after that whole Starbucks comment. We chat about nothing and he teases me more. I tease back. It feels natural. It’s not fake and I’m not scared. I’m so sick of being alone all the time. One event set my life on a different course. I want to change it back. I want to pull out of this nose-dive and get on with things. I’m damaged goods and I know it.
Peter reaches into his pocket and fishes out his keys. I watch him as he does it. His shoulders are strong and muscular. They lead into a hard torso with a trim waist. I think about running my fingers over his stomach, and feeling my fingertips trace the taut muscles.
Peter looks back at me as he opens the door. He smiles, like he knows what I was thinking about, and says, “After you.”
I step inside his apartment and see boxes everywhere. Some are unpacked, but most have the tops torn open, as though he was looking for something before he ran out the door. “Welcome to my shabby abode.”
“It’s not shabby. And it’s so much nicer than the dump. You just need to unpack.” I glance around. There’s a couch shoved against the wall. Peter walks into a little kitchen off the living area and starts the coffee.
“Are you hungry?” he calls to me. “Did you get to eat anything? You looked pissed when you walked out. I’m guessing that you didn’t get a chance.” Peter’s standing in the doorway. I turn toward him. He noticed a lot more than I thought.
“It’s okay. The coffee’s fine.”
“Ah, coffee,” he says, and winks at me.
“Not like that! Oh my God, you’re so...” I laugh and navigate my way through the boxes to the couch.
Sticking his head out of the kitchen, he holds onto the wall and says, “So what? So lovable? So manly? So sexy? So—”
“So irritating!” Of course I don’t mean it. Every time I stop smiling, he lights me up again like a Christmas tree.
“Ah. I was hoping you were going to say ‘so sexy—totally beddable.’ I could live with that.” He winks and disappears back into the kitchen. Before I can reply, he tells me, “Well, I have some cold cuts in here. I’ll bring you a sandwich. Just give me a second.” I hear him moving around and decide not to protest. I am hungry. I didn’t get to eat anything except that wine, and wine as dinner usually isn’t a good plan.
I make myself comfortable on his couch, kick off my heels, pull my feet under me, and curl into the arm of the couch. It smells like him. I rest my face against the soft suede and breathe the scent in. It’s musky and masculine. God, he smells good. If couches were sexy, this one would be a cover model. Pressing my nose to the arm, I inhale deeply.
Peter chooses that moment to reappear, plate in hand, and stops. He’s staring at me with an amusedly shocked expression on his face. “Are you sniffing my couch?”
“No!” I sit up fast, too fast. I panic. He’s staring at me like I’m a freak. I probably am, I mean I was snorting the guy’s couch. I need a diversion. Anything. I reach into my brain and pull out the only thing that’s there.
Using my best bedroom voice, I wink at him and ask “Can I distract you with some coffee?”
Peter’s face glows when he laughs. He takes the few steps forward and hands me the plate. I gratefully take it. For a brief moment, I consider pulling the sandwich apart and hiding behind the bread. The way Peter is looking at me doesn’t help the rosy glow on my face. I got caught sniffing his couch. God, I can’t think of anything worse than that. He probably thinks I escaped from the asylum.
We stay quiet too long, which makes me nervous. Between bites, I ask him the basics. “So, you don’t sound like a hick, but I can’t tell where you’re from.”
“Connecticut. Yankee-ville, same as you, little Miss Jersey.”
“You moved down here for work?”
Peter nods. “Yeah. It was time for a change of pace.” He looks away from me when he says it, his eyes dropping to the floor. There’s more there, something heavy, but I don’t press him. “This place came up on the grid, and I thought Texas would be different, so I went for it and managed to piss off my entire family. That was a bonus.” He tilts his head at me before sitting down on the couch.
“Yeah, my family was mad when I came down here, too. They gave me the old Italian guilt about abandoning my family... Like they can’t function without me?” I bite my sandwich and shake my head. “My family is so tight that none of us can breathe without someone else knowing about it. I was glad to get out of there. I needed space.” I finish the sandwich and look for a spot to put the plate.
“I know what you mean.” Peter smiles at me and takes the plate from my hand. “Honestly, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to down here that I get along with. Everyone else seems as if they escaped from a movie set.”
“I know, right? I said that to Millie when I first moved down here. Actually, I said it to a group of people. Millie was the only one who laughed, which made her quality friend material. The rest of the people scowled at me.”
“Millie is the girl that came to get you from my table?” Peter asks, before he goes into the kitchen to grab the coffee.
I nod. When he walks back out of the kitchen, I ask, “Hey, what were you planning on doing when I figured out that you weren’t my blind date?”
Peter brings me a cup of coffee and sits down next to me again. “I didn’t know you thought you were on a blind date. I figured it out when you did, maybe a second sooner. The look on your face was so adorable. I’m glad you stopped and said something when you came outside.” Peter looks at me over the top of his mug as he sips his coffee. Those blue eyes are intoxicating. I can’t stop staring at him.
We talk about nothing for a while longer, until I put my cup down on a box next to me. The entire time we chat, I feel pulled to him. There’s something there, something about him that holds onto me and connects deeper than I’ve connected with anyone—and for some reason I’m not afraid. I don’t know what it is, exactly.
Peter has an easy way about him. That smile lights up his entire face when he flashes it at me. Yet, there’s a haunted look behind his eyes, like his life has been harder than he lets on. I sense it in him. Like calls to like and my life has been anything but easy. When I find another person who has that fragile, battered, spirit, I instantly relate. The thing is, there aren’t that many of them. I don’t know if other people lay down and die when things go wrong or they harden so much they’re no longer alive. I refuse to bend, refuse to turn to stone. The pain in my life won’t destroy me. I won’t let it. I see the same conviction in his eyes and hear it in his voice. There’s something he left behind, someone who scarred him. The pleasantries, that cocky grin and those dazzling eyes, try to hide it from me, but I know it’s there. He’s damaged like me. It pulls me to him in a way that’s too powerful to ignore.
Peter reaches past me and sets his empty cup on the same box. His arm brushes against mine as he does. I breathe him in. God, he smells good. That pull between us gets even stronger. When he straightens, we’re sitting very close. Peter’s sapphire eyes lock with mine and my stomach goes into a free fall. This is it. I can feel it. I can sleep with this guy and erase the last one. I’ve already come this far. It’s a few more steps, a few more minutes. I can do this. I can.
Besides, the guy makes me feel as though I can actually be with him. I want to touch him, which is so strange. I haven’t felt like this in a really long time. It’s as if he brought me back to life. And right now, it’s all I can do to sit here and not thrust my fingers into his hair. I want to feel him against me. I want that kiss on his lips, the one that he’s been teasing me with all night. Peter’s breath crosses my cheek when he exhales. It’s warm and perfect. My heart races faster as he moves closer to me. His eyes study my face, taking in every detail. Nerves twist my stomach in giddy anticipation.
Peter lifts his hands and strokes his fingers along one side of my face, gently caressing my cheek. My eyes close in response, and I lean into his hand. Every part of me flutters to life. My voice is caught in my throat. I can’t speak. I feel the tension building between us and I’m going to melt. I want to melt. I want to stop thinking for a while, I want to move on with my life and lose myself in his kiss. This is so weird for me, but I don’t pull away. I force myself forward.
Heat shoots through my body and I feel myself inching toward him, wanting to taste his kiss, wanting to hold him against me. Peter’s fingers brush my hair away from my face, and he dips his head and covers my lips with his. I suck in a jagged breath, unable to hide how much he affects me. Peter’s bottom lip brushes against mine. He kisses me softly, hesitantly at first. Each kiss is slow and tentative, wanting to know if I want more. Nipping my bottom lip with his teeth, Peter kisses me and I respond. I lean into him and press my mouth roughly against his. I feel his tongue brush the seam of my lips, asking for them to part. He sweeps against them lightly once, twice, and I open my mouth. Brushing his tongue along the curves of my mouth, Peter kisses me deeper. I moan, leaning into him, not wanting it to stop. Every part of my body is burning up. Every bit of me is hyper-sensitive to his touch. As his hands touch my skin, I feel lighter, like I’m floating.