When Love Comes Around Read online

  I want to put my hand back on her thigh, but she practically jumped up from the table the first time. The urge to rest my arm across the back of her chair is also particularly intense. It’s not as if I want to stake my claim on her or anything, it’s just that, in spite of her sarcasm and biting wit, I feel comfortable around her.

  “What’s on the agenda for you after the holidays?” Hunter asks me. I think that he sometimes misses the military. We joined the Army together after graduating high school. We were never stationed at the same base after boot camp, but we’d always visit each other. Hunter was medically discharged after being hit by a stray bullet while tending to a fallen soldier as a field paramedic somewhere in the Middle East.

  “You know how it is. I’ll report back to Fort Hood, and I’ll stay there for a while, or they’ll send me overseas again,” I finally respond. Megan stiffens beside me and looks like she wants to say something, but Evie speaks up before she gets the chance.

  “Again?! I thought you already did your time on tour, or whatever you call it,” she fusses.

  “TDY, a tour of duty. Yes, I’ve been TDY already in the last year, but they send you whenever and wherever they need you. That’s all there is to it,” I say.

  That doesn’t make Evie feel any better, and if I’m not mistaken, Megan’s not too happy with my answer either. Hunter tries to quietly explain how the military works to Evelynn, and I turn my attention to the redheaded beauty beside me.

  “Worried about me?” I ask, for her ears alone.

  “You wish,” she retorts.

  “Yes. I do,” I admit, surprising her, as well as myself, with that quiet confession. I want someone to care about me and miss me when I’m deployed – I always do. But this time, I don’t want it to be some random woman I recently hooked up with or started a beneficial relationship with before I left stateside. This time, I just might want the woman who misses, and cares about me, to be Megan.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” Megan questions in a sharp voice. I hadn’t realized I was looking at her in any particular way, but I smile at her in response.

  “Did you know that you have the cutest little freckles across the bridge of your nose?” I ask, touching my finger to the tip of her pert little nose.

  “Of course, I know that!” She snaps in hushed tones, smacking my hand away. “What’s wrong with you? Stop that. Everyone’s looking at us.”

  Glancing around the table I see that only Hunter is mildly amused by our behavior, everyone else is eating and conversing amongst themselves.

  “Can I come over tonight?” I ask, catching her off guard again.

  “What?” Confusion is written clearly on her face, and then it suddenly vanishes. Her whole demeanor changes as if she realizes that she’s approaching familiar territory, and she’s swiftly becoming comfortable with the terrain. When she finally replies to my question her voice is firm yet husky, all traces of uncertainty gone. “Of course, you can come over later.”

  Kind gestures and heartfelt compliments make Megan uncomfortable, but just the idea of becoming physically intimate puts her at ease − interesting.

  “Could you pass me the peas?” I ask her.

  **********

  “Where you sneakin’ off to now, boy?” Granny Mabel questions out of nowhere scaring the shit out of me as she flips the light switch on. I’ve been on top secret missions, taking and saving people’s lives for the past eight years. Only my seventy-year-old grandmother can get the drop on me.

  It’s humiliating.

  “I’m just going out, Granny,” I evasively reply.

  “I know where you’re going. I saw you making puppy-dog eyes at Megan all throughout dinner. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she calls out, wagging her finger in the air as she heads up the stairs.

  Making puppy-dog eyes, my ass. I’m a grown ass man, not some young pup being lead around on a leash. Granny Mabel acts like Megan’s some sort of Dom and I’m her damn Submissive.

  Taking a calming breath and telling myself to shake it off and not let Granny get in my head, I let her words roll like water off a duck’s back and head out the front door. Why is it that family can get in your head and mess with your psyche better than anyone else?

  Because they know you’re weaknesses – at least, they think they do.

  It’s only 10 o’clock, but Granny normally goes to bed around 9 o’clock so I thought now would be a good time to leave without her noticing. Now I know better. Here I am telling myself I’m a grown man when I’m sneaking out of the house like a teenage boy. Shaking my head, I run a hand over my closely cut hair. Sometimes coming home makes you feel, and act, like a kid again and not necessarily in a good way.

  Pulling the keys to Granny’s old Cadillac out of my pocket, I head to the brown boat parked on the curb in front of her house. I won’t exactly be pulling up to Megan’s place in style, but it beats walking across town.

  Climbing in the passenger seat, I quickly start old Sally up, and she purrs like a kitten. Sally may be a boat of a car, but as I pull away from the curb she reminds me that she rides smooth like a yacht, and not some flimsy rowboat on choppy waters.

  I pull into a parking spot fifteen minutes later at Megan’s apartment complex. Granny Mabel’s Cadillac is a beast to park, and she doesn’t have all the bells and whistles my Explorer back in Texas has, but old Sally gets the job done.

  Bounding up the stairs to Megan’s apartment, I reach her front door in seconds. I knock on the door and wait for her to answer. She knows I’m coming, even though we didn’t set an exact time and, I know Gina isn’t home because she’s spending the night with Brayden like she normally does on his days off. It’s just a matter of time before those two move in together.

  I’ve been standing here a good three minutes already, and I know Megan’s apartment isn’t so big that she can’t get from one point to another in less than a minute. Just as I raise my hand to knock again, the door swings open revealing Megan in lime green boy-shorts and a white tank top, her long red hair hanging down her back in fiery waves.

  The way she’s standing with her arm resting against the door frame reminds me of the scene in Weird Science when Anthony Michael Hall and his friend create their dream girl. The door implodes, and the woman is standing there in a cutoff sweatshirt and jazzercise panties – which was considered hot at the time – with her hair blowing in the wind. I can feel a goofy grin spreading across my face at the thought of Megan fulfilling my ‘Lisa’ fantasy. She doesn’t resemble Kelly Le Brock in any way, but she inspires the same teenage lust I felt when I first saw that scene in the movie.

  “So, are you gonna stand there all night with that goofy grin on your face or are you coming in?” she asks, snapping me out of my fantasy. Silently walking past her I make sure not to touch her in any way. I’m already fighting the makings of a raging hard-on, and I’ve only just stepped foot in her place.

  “I stopped at the store on my way here and got you this,” I say, showing her the bottles of Riesling. “I also brought a movie and some popcorn, in case you didn’t have any.”

  “You came over for popcorn and a movie?” she asks, disbelief tinging her voice. Shaking her head and holding up her hand she says, “Never mind. Don’t answer that. Just give me this.” She snatches one of the bottles of wine from my hands and practically stomps her way, barefoot, into the kitchen. Mesmerized, I watch as her ample ass shakes with each step until my view is blocked by the kitchen counter. I’ve noticed she has a propensity for stomping.

  Secretly enjoying her display of displeasure at me wanting to spend quality time with her, instead of immediately jumping her bones, I head to the sage green entertainment center in her living room and slip the movie in the DVD player. Megan’s not going to be too pleased with my movie selection either.

  Making my way back into the kitchen I open the box of butter-lover’s popcorn and put one in the microwave. I smile in amusement when I notice that Megan’s already in her s
econd glass of Riesling.

  “What? Did you want some of this?” she asks with a raised brow. Damn straight I want some of what she’s got, but I’m not thinking about the wine.

  “I’m good. I brought that for you. Do you have any large bowls I could put this popcorn in?” Eyeing me skeptically, she points to the cabinet behind me as she continues to sip from her wine glass. I can feel her green gaze boring into my back as I reach into the cabinet to retrieve the bowl. The aroma of brown sugar and vanilla permeates the small kitchen and I know it’s her scent drifting throughout the apartment. Resisting the urge to turn and take her in my arms I keep my back to her as I take the popcorn out of the microwave and pour it into the large glass bowl.

  When I turn around, I see Megan devouring my body with her eyes as she bites down on the plump pink flesh of her lower lip. Realizing that at this point resistance it futile, I place the bowl on the counter, and make the few steps it takes to reach her. Taking the wine glass gently from her hand, I place it on the countertop behind her.

  Megan’s still biting her lip as she searches my face. I see a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth because she knows what’s coming, and thinks she’s won this round. Raising my hand, I cup the side of her face and softly run my thumb over her lower lip until she releases it from its pearly white grip. Slowly lowering my head, I kiss the slightly swollen lip and then suck it in between my own, licking it.

  The light fruity flavor of the wine on her lips is tantalizing, and I dip my tongue in her mouth wanting to taste more of it, and of her. Megan readily intertwines her velvety tongue with mine as she presses her soft body against me. As if they have a mind of their own, my hands slide down her body and cup her luscious ass. Quickly breaking the kiss, I barely stop myself from hoisting her on the counter and pressing my throbbing cock into her.

  Shaking my head slightly to clear it, I remind myself that this is not how I want things to go down. This is how Megan wants things to go − crazy, hot, lust-filled sex. And normally I’d be down for that too, but I’m almost positive that’s the way sex always goes down when Megan’s involved. Maybe I’m asking for trouble, but I want more than that from her.

  “Let’s go watch the movie,” I quietly suggest, before grabbing the bowl again.

  Megan doesn’t say a word, but angrily swipes the bottle of wine off the counter with one hand and grabs her half-filled glass with the other and follows me into the living room. Setting the bowl on the cedar chest she uses as a coffee table, I settle down on her purple velvet couch and get comfortable. Megan once again shows her displeasure with me by sitting at least a foot away from me, curling her legs up under herself, still sipping on the wine. Grabbing the remote I push play and start the movie.

  “What the hell is this Trevor?” she demands, looking at the screen.

  “What?” I ask innocently. “It’s ‘My Girl.’ Evie said you’d never seen it.” I purposely leave out the part where Evelynn told me that Megan never watches sad movies. She also shared the fact that she’s never seen Megan cry.

  “Did you bring anything else? Like an action movie or a comedy?” She asks, almost desperately.

  “Nope. Just this,” I reply. I start to feel guilty when I see the panic flash in her eyes, but she bites her tongue and stares at the screen in silence. Putting Megan on edge is not what I wanted. Her emotions have been all over the place since I stepped in the door and at first, that was my intention. Seeing Megan acting uncomfortable and not her usual confident self, is pulling at my heart-strings, but there is a method to my madness.

  Closing the space between us, I lean over and grab one of her dainty feet, pulling it from underneath her and placing it in my lap. She tries to pull it back, but I hold firmly as I begin to stroke her instep. Her eyelashes flutter in pleasure as she sighs and willingly places her other foot in my lap for the same treatment.

  The next hour and a half are spent in relative silence as she watches the movie, while I rub her feet and watch her. I wait in anticipation for the part in the film when everyone I know cries and Megan is no exception. I watch as the tears roll down her cheeks as Vada screams that Thomas J. needs his glasses, and I hand her a Kleenex.

  “I hate you,” she says without venom, sniffling, snatching the Kleenex from me and dabbing at her eyes.

  Placing her feet on the ground and scooting closer, I pull her into my arms, and she allows me to hold her as she finishes watching the movie.

  “Come on,” I say, standing up and pulling her by the hand to join me. She’s a little wobbly on her feet, and I glance at the wine bottle noting that it’s empty. Megan yelps in surprise when I scoop her up into my arms and carry her to her bedroom, placing her on her queen-sized, antique, brass bed. Her apartment really has quite an eclectic array of colors and furniture from different eras.

  Megan giggles and flops back on the bed.

  “What now Prince Charming? Are you going to turn into a horny toad and ravish me?” she laughs. She’s definitely tipsy, but she’s still cognitive enough to make witty analogies and attempt to lighten the situation.

  “Not quite, Princess. Roll over onto your stomach.”

  She gives me a funny look and what I can only assume is a shrug in her prone position, before obliging me and turning onto her stomach. Straddling her back, I gently push her hair out of the way and place my hands on her shoulders and begin massaging.

  “Oh god, that’s fantastic,” she breathes in a whisper, her face turned to the side.

  I continue to massage her back and shoulders, running my hands over her creamy, satin-smooth skin until I feel her melt like butter beneath me.

  “Are you trying to break me?” Megan mumbles, hovering somewhere between the realms of consciousness and slumber. Pausing in my ministrations, I stop and think about the question. I know she isn’t referring to the physical.

  “I’d never want to break you, baby girl. I’m just trying to create a tiny crack in this magnificent armor of yours so that maybe, one day, I can slip past your defenses.”

  “Why? What are you hoping to find, Trevor?” she asks, rolling underneath me to face me and look me in the eyes.

  “You,” I respond.

  Chapter Nine

  Megan

  Oh shit. What kind of smooth ass line was that? If I didn’t know better, I’d think that Trevor is as taken back by his response as I am. I finally understand what Lauryn was singing about when she said the man was ‘killing her softly with his words.'

  I’ve been feeling like putty in this man’s magical hands for the last twenty minutes, and now he’s trying to turn my insides to mush too. My thoughts are too sluggish from the wine, and my body too relaxed from the massage to even respond properly. Oh, he played me well tonight. Score one for team Trevor.

  Clambering to get from underneath him, I roll over, crawl up my bed, pull back the covers, and climb in.

  “Are you going to sleep on me?” he asks.

  “Mmm hmm. I’m relaxed and sleepy now, thanks to you,” I say, yawning. “You can either join me or go home.”

  Feeling the bed dip as Trevor gets off of it, I feel my body tense with dread. I didn’t actually think he’d leave. Willing myself not to open my eyes to see what he’s doing, I hear the click of the lamp as he turns it off and then the bed dips again as he climbs in beside me and I release a silent pent-up breath of relief.

  Trevor moves until the warmth of his hard body is pressed up against my back. I can feel the bare skin of his chest against my arms and the soft hairs of his legs tickling mine. He must have quickly removed his jeans and t-shirt before climbing back into the bed with me.

  “What’s your favorite color?” he surprises me by asking, as he places an arm around my waist pulling me closer. I can hear him inhaling the citrusy scent of my shampoo as he buries his face in my hair, sending delicious shivers up my spine.

  “I don’t know. I could never really decide,” I finally manage to answer. His body shakes against mine with
laughter. “What’s so funny?”

  “The fact that you can’t decide what color you like is evident in your décor,” he says, laughing even harder, until I elbow him sharply in the stomach.

  “Hey, I happen to like my apartment.”

  “I’m sure you do. But you have to admit it’s somewhat of a visual assault when you walk through the front door,” He remarks, barely disguising the smile in his voice. I’m smiling too because I know he’s right, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

  “I buy what makes me happy, and I don’t worry about if it matches the rest of my stuff,” I say. It’s the truth. My tastes are eclectic, to say the least, and I hate to pass up a beautiful piece of art or furniture just because it doesn’t match what I already have.

  “But you don’t do that with your clothes,” he points out.

  “You’re right, but that’s because I’m a teacher, and I want the kids to think I’m fun and different, but not some weird, old, hippy-chick,” I grudgingly admit.

  “Tell me about your students. What do you teach?” Trevor strokes his hand back and forth across my stomach over my shirt, lulling me into a tranquil state.

  “I teach eighth grade Social Studies. The kids in my classes are fantastic. They’re so smart and inquisitive,” I gushingly praise them. “Don’t get me wrong, they’re still tweens and can act like total dicks from time to time, but overall they’re great. I try to come up with fun new ways to teach them and keep them interested in history because, let’s face it, to most people, History is boring.”

  “I’ve never heard you talk about anything with such heartfelt emotion. Well, except for contempt. No, no don’t elbow me again,” he pleads, holding my arm in place. “It’s obvious that you love your job and the kids.”

  Sighing and relaxing back into his embrace, I quietly admit, “I do love them.”

  “Would you like to have kids of your own someday?” he asks.

  “Yeah, I’d love to have a baby someday, maybe even more than one. I’m not too sure about a husband, though.” I could swear I hear him grunt in annoyance, but my body is beyond relaxed and my eyelids are too heavy for me to keep open any longer.