Get off on the Pain
Page 7
“Was someone supposed to be here?” I question, in hopes he’ll enlighten me a bit.
“Wishful thinking, I guess.” His words are so full of pain and regret that it almost makes my heart hurt. I didn’t mean to ruin his day. Well, not this bad at least. He sounds as if his heart was just torn from his chest.
He turns around to face me and the first thing I notice is his busted lip. The second thing I notice are the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. They’re a pale blue, and against his espresso hair they stand out, making them almost impossible to turn away from. He’s not just sexy; he’s beautiful and breathtaking. Much better up close than at a distance.
His dark hair is longer on the top, slightly styled back with an edgy look, pieces tousled and out of place. His perfect jawline is covered with thick stubble, and despite him having a busted lip his mouth is still damn kissable. The look in his eyes is enough to bring any girl to her knees. Even me.
I stare at him for five seconds too long before gathering my thoughts and remembering that he didn’t have a busted lip last night. I may not have been able to see him perfectly, but I would’ve noticed that. That looks like it hurt like hell.
“What the . . . you should get some ice on that.” I step closer to him to examine it better. It definitely looks fresh. “Do you have any ice? I have some. I can go get some and come back.”
His eyes burn into mine for a quick moment, his body tensing, before he turns away from me and grips the porch again. “Don’t worry about it.” He lets out a breath. “You should just go home and let me work. I have a lot of shit to do.”
I brush off his coldness, because frankly, it doesn’t bother me. He obviously has something going on in his head right now and all I want to do is help him. There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t matter if I know him or not. I’m not afraid to try.
“Just trying to help,” I say firmly. “And possibly get to know you.”
He turns to me and looks at me with a hard expression for a second before walking past me. “You don’t want to know me. Trust me.” He reaches for the screen door and opens it. “Do yourself a favor and go home.” He walks inside and shuts the heavy door behind him, causing me to jump.
I stand here for a few seconds just staring at the door, wishing I was still in bed. “Alright. Well that went well,” I say sarcastically while spinning on my heels. It’s definitely too early for this crap. Maybe I should have just thrown the shoe.
WELL INTO THE EVENING AFTER Bailey has left to go spend time with Landen, I find myself laying in the grass in the backyard, taking pictures of the sky, trees, birds, and whatever else I can spot out to keep occupied.
Surprisingly, the pounding next door never started up again after I left this morning and I haven’t seen or heard from my mysterious neighbor since. Maybe I scared him away. I suppose I’m not too bad at that, so I’ve been told.
I hold my camera above me to scroll through the pictures I just took, but nothing stands out. There’s at least a hundred of them and none of them interest me one bit. Actually, since moving here I haven’t had much of a desire to photograph like I used to. Nothing really seems to catch my eye anymore. It takes the fun out of what used to be a passion. I’m losing my touch.
Sighing to myself, I sit up and set my camera on the lawn chair behind me. I’m getting out of this place. I’m bored out of my freaking mind.
I stand up, place my camera around my neck, and start walking around to the side of the house when I hear what sounds like someone punching a heavy bag. The noise is coming from the garage next door and I can’t help but to notice the door opened enough to see inside.
Against my better judgment, I walk over to his garage, the noise getting louder and angrier with each step, piquing my interest more. I’m not usually one to be nosy, but he seems to have started a new hobby for me.
I stand here for a moment and listen to the blows of his punches and heavy breathing, before pushing the door open, my eyes landing on his back.
The muscles in his back flex, showing through his white shirt as he grips the bag with both hands and leans his head against it, fighting to catch his breath.
I can see the sweat dripping down the back of his head and neck. His shirt is completely drenched and transparent, clinging to his every muscle. I was right; this man is definitely in shape. Watching him, tense and full of so much emotion, makes something about this moment so damn hot. To top it off, that firm ass on display in those sweats is enough to send any girl into a hormonal hot flash.
“I thought I told you to stay away?” He growls out, punching the bag one more time. “Have you ever heard of privacy?”
Stepping inside, I snap a couple pictures of his backside as he takes another swing and then grips the bag again, letting out a small grumble. Is it wrong of me to want to capture this moment? Probably so, but I’ve never played by the rules much.
I run my hand along the old Pontiac Trans Am and admire it as I walk around it. “This is a beautiful car. What year is it?”
Running a towel over his face, he lets out a little breath, obviously giving up, before turning to face me. “It’s a seventy-six.” He drapes the towel around his shoulder and reaches for a bottled water. His jaw muscles are grinding in between gulps as he stares at the car, downing half the bottle already. “It’s a-”
“Trans Am,” I cut in, grinning at him proudly. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I don’t know my cars. I was raised by my father most of my life.” I frown at the thought while pulling my hand away from the candy apple red paint. “I’ve seen and heard a lot of stuff; too much.”
He gives me a look of curiosity as I step closer to him, my eyes wandering out of my control as I check out his tattoos. He looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t say a word as I read the script up his left forearm, “Strength,” and then read the script on his right forearm, “Pain.”
I look up at him and our eyes meet. They’re conflicting. I can tell that a part of him wants to tell me to leave. Why he doesn’t I have no clue. I have to admit; I like it, for now at least.
Clearing his throat, he pulls his eyes away from mine, clearly feeling awkward with being so close to me. Pausing for a moment, he runs a hand through his sweaty hair before turning around and walking away from me, toward the door leading to his house. “I have some things to take care of. Lock the garage on the way out.”
“Wishful thinking, I guess.” His words are so full of pain and regret that it almost makes my heart hurt. I didn’t mean to ruin his day. Well, not this bad at least. He sounds as if his heart was just torn from his chest.
He turns around to face me and the first thing I notice is his busted lip. The second thing I notice are the most beautiful blue eyes I have ever seen. They’re a pale blue, and against his espresso hair they stand out, making them almost impossible to turn away from. He’s not just sexy; he’s beautiful and breathtaking. Much better up close than at a distance.
His dark hair is longer on the top, slightly styled back with an edgy look, pieces tousled and out of place. His perfect jawline is covered with thick stubble, and despite him having a busted lip his mouth is still damn kissable. The look in his eyes is enough to bring any girl to her knees. Even me.
I stare at him for five seconds too long before gathering my thoughts and remembering that he didn’t have a busted lip last night. I may not have been able to see him perfectly, but I would’ve noticed that. That looks like it hurt like hell.
“What the . . . you should get some ice on that.” I step closer to him to examine it better. It definitely looks fresh. “Do you have any ice? I have some. I can go get some and come back.”
His eyes burn into mine for a quick moment, his body tensing, before he turns away from me and grips the porch again. “Don’t worry about it.” He lets out a breath. “You should just go home and let me work. I have a lot of shit to do.”
I brush off his coldness, because frankly, it doesn’t bother me. He obviously has something going on in his head right now and all I want to do is help him. There’s nothing wrong with that. It doesn’t matter if I know him or not. I’m not afraid to try.
“Just trying to help,” I say firmly. “And possibly get to know you.”
He turns to me and looks at me with a hard expression for a second before walking past me. “You don’t want to know me. Trust me.” He reaches for the screen door and opens it. “Do yourself a favor and go home.” He walks inside and shuts the heavy door behind him, causing me to jump.
I stand here for a few seconds just staring at the door, wishing I was still in bed. “Alright. Well that went well,” I say sarcastically while spinning on my heels. It’s definitely too early for this crap. Maybe I should have just thrown the shoe.
WELL INTO THE EVENING AFTER Bailey has left to go spend time with Landen, I find myself laying in the grass in the backyard, taking pictures of the sky, trees, birds, and whatever else I can spot out to keep occupied.
Surprisingly, the pounding next door never started up again after I left this morning and I haven’t seen or heard from my mysterious neighbor since. Maybe I scared him away. I suppose I’m not too bad at that, so I’ve been told.
I hold my camera above me to scroll through the pictures I just took, but nothing stands out. There’s at least a hundred of them and none of them interest me one bit. Actually, since moving here I haven’t had much of a desire to photograph like I used to. Nothing really seems to catch my eye anymore. It takes the fun out of what used to be a passion. I’m losing my touch.
Sighing to myself, I sit up and set my camera on the lawn chair behind me. I’m getting out of this place. I’m bored out of my freaking mind.
I stand up, place my camera around my neck, and start walking around to the side of the house when I hear what sounds like someone punching a heavy bag. The noise is coming from the garage next door and I can’t help but to notice the door opened enough to see inside.
Against my better judgment, I walk over to his garage, the noise getting louder and angrier with each step, piquing my interest more. I’m not usually one to be nosy, but he seems to have started a new hobby for me.
I stand here for a moment and listen to the blows of his punches and heavy breathing, before pushing the door open, my eyes landing on his back.
The muscles in his back flex, showing through his white shirt as he grips the bag with both hands and leans his head against it, fighting to catch his breath.
I can see the sweat dripping down the back of his head and neck. His shirt is completely drenched and transparent, clinging to his every muscle. I was right; this man is definitely in shape. Watching him, tense and full of so much emotion, makes something about this moment so damn hot. To top it off, that firm ass on display in those sweats is enough to send any girl into a hormonal hot flash.
“I thought I told you to stay away?” He growls out, punching the bag one more time. “Have you ever heard of privacy?”
Stepping inside, I snap a couple pictures of his backside as he takes another swing and then grips the bag again, letting out a small grumble. Is it wrong of me to want to capture this moment? Probably so, but I’ve never played by the rules much.
I run my hand along the old Pontiac Trans Am and admire it as I walk around it. “This is a beautiful car. What year is it?”
Running a towel over his face, he lets out a little breath, obviously giving up, before turning to face me. “It’s a seventy-six.” He drapes the towel around his shoulder and reaches for a bottled water. His jaw muscles are grinding in between gulps as he stares at the car, downing half the bottle already. “It’s a-”
“Trans Am,” I cut in, grinning at him proudly. “Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean I don’t know my cars. I was raised by my father most of my life.” I frown at the thought while pulling my hand away from the candy apple red paint. “I’ve seen and heard a lot of stuff; too much.”
He gives me a look of curiosity as I step closer to him, my eyes wandering out of my control as I check out his tattoos. He looks uncomfortable, but doesn’t say a word as I read the script up his left forearm, “Strength,” and then read the script on his right forearm, “Pain.”
I look up at him and our eyes meet. They’re conflicting. I can tell that a part of him wants to tell me to leave. Why he doesn’t I have no clue. I have to admit; I like it, for now at least.
Clearing his throat, he pulls his eyes away from mine, clearly feeling awkward with being so close to me. Pausing for a moment, he runs a hand through his sweaty hair before turning around and walking away from me, toward the door leading to his house. “I have some things to take care of. Lock the garage on the way out.”
