“You’ve got this place memorized, eh?”
I shrug. “It was one of the only places I remember coming with my father when he was still around. My mother would pack a picnic, and we’d all spend the day out here.”
He nods in understanding, and I realize I might have overshared with the dad thing, so I move on. “It’s been called The Garden of Angels, The Garden of Titans, and finally . . . Red Rocks.” I stick my tongue out, and Vick laughs.
“I guess Red Rocks is your least favorite?”
“Come on, Red Rocks versus The Garden of Titans?”
“I have to say I agree. Red Rocks doesn’t quite have the fierceness of The Garden of Titans. So where to?” He holds up the small cooler and shakes it gently. We take a seat at the top near the eastern wall and catch some shade. As I dole out the sandwiches and pasta salad I’ve made, Vick talks about how he’d like to come back and paint Red Rocks soon. After we finish eating, we explore, hand in hand, and share silly little tidbits about ourselves and before I know it, the sun has set, and the sky is lit with stars. We lie on the hood of my car and stare up, his hand holding mine between us. I’m laughing at a joke he’s just told me when I realize he’s silently staring at me.
When my gaze meets his, my body shakes as my laughter ebbs, and he squeezes my hand. He rolls toward me and kisses me, and I do my best to kiss him with the same gusto, but I’m failing miserably. Undeterred, his free hand slides down my arm slowly as we make out until it’s on my thigh seemingly sliding up. I don’t know where he intended his hand to go, but I jerk up and brush it away. What is wrong with me?
He sits up with me. “I’m . . . sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
I have no idea. I mean, really. He touched my thigh. Should it be that big of a deal? But he doesn’t give me a chance to respond. “You like me don’t you?” he asks, his voice steady.
“No, not at all,” I try to joke, hoping to ebb the awkwardness, but it only earns me a slight smile. “Of course, I like you,” I say, seriously.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve . . . felt like this,” he admits, his gaze moving back to the sky. My heart hammers in my chest. Felt like what? I mean, I really like Vick, but is he talking about love already? No. He couldn’t be.
“I just want to make sure I’m not the guy you’re passing time with.”
Whoa. I wasn’t expecting that, and I have to blink a few times to absorb what he just said. “I don’t understand what you’re asking me, Vick,” I finally manage.
“I’m asking are we dating or is this more like . . . something casual?”
“Does sex determine that answer?” I pipe back.
“Well, I hope this doesn’t make me sound like a total asshole, because I’m not expecting it at any point, but yes. At some point, if we’re dating, I hope we can be . . . intimate together.”
I try to keep my features unreadable. He’s right, if we were to date for a certain amount of time, eventually having sex would be part of it. Why is it so hard for me to imagine? I just dry humped Connor on my kitchen counter last night, yet I can’t muster up a visual of making love to Vick. But maybe that’s because I’m still frazzled over what happened in my kitchen last night.
I can’t say to him, yes, eventually we’ll have sex. For starters, that would be awkward, and secondly, I just . . . can’t. So I answer the only way I can. “I think we’re dating. Aren’t we?” There’s no promise there. No timeline or deadline. That was a safe answer.
He smiles. “I guess I’m not being very clear here. I want to know, are we exclusive?”
“Oh,” I squeak out. “I’m not dating anyone else if that’s what you are asking.”
“So do you want to . . . I don’t know, be exclusive?”
I meet his gaze once more and smile faintly. He is a gorgeous man. “Okay,” I agree. “But Vick, I need . . .” Ugh, how do I say this? I need time before we do anything sexual? I’m just not ready? Which is total bullshit as I would have gone all the way with Connor last night. But that was a mistake.
A big drunken mistake.
“I know,” Vick pipes up, saving me. “I don’t mind waiting, Demi. Sometimes taking your time is the best way.”
My heart pings. Damn, he’s so sweet. We lay back, rolling toward each other and spend the next hour making out under the stars. When I drop him off at home, he kisses my forehead.
“Thank you. Tonight was awesome.”
“Anytime.” I smile back.
“Meet tomorrow?” he asks, hope rich in his tone.
“Yeah, that sounds good.”
After I leave his house, I head straight home. The garage is locked up, and the lights in Connor’s apartment are off. I try not to let the disappointment set in. Why should I be disappointed? As I park my car and turn it off, I let my forehead thump against the steering wheel. “You have some serious issues, Demi,” I tell myself.
The summer days move on, long and lazy, the way they should. Vick and I see each other every night for the next two weeks. Somehow Jeff manages to get the few odd jobs I had for him done, but he avoids me at all costs, and once they’re completed he doesn’t even ask for the remainder of the money I owe him. I stopped by their house to drop it off, but no one answered the door. I’ve called Wendy almost every day, and she won’t answer my calls. It hurts that they’re giving me the cold shoulder when all I was trying to do was help.
Connor and I barely speak. When we do, it’s polite. He helps carry groceries in, and he’s changed the oil in my car, but conversation has been minimal. Dusty has started working with Connor. They’re rebuilding an old sports bike, and he’s always very chatty with me when he sees me. But I can’t deny . . . the tension between Connor and me is bothering me. I seldom fall asleep without it drifting through my mind.
Roxy has also been over more, always inviting me to join them for dinner or whatever outing they’re about to go on. Not that I would have accepted the invitation under the circumstances, but the way Connor’s eyes always seem to drift away when she asks speaks volumes. Of course, I always decline. Like I need to see Connor and Roxy side by side. Ugh! It’s bad enough she spends the night, and I’m tortured thinking about what they’re doing, wondering if he kisses her anything like he kissed me. I hate myself for thinking about it.
So I’ve focused on Vick. Handsome, funny and charming Vick. We go hiking, fishing, shopping, and I even join him and his uncle on a late night job and help paint. When he brings me home afterward, he opens his truck door for me and helps me out. The first bay of the garage is open and the second is closed. My heart beat speeds up a bit. Vick and Connor haven’t met yet. Somehow I’ve avoided having them in one place at the same time. Taking a deep breath, I pray Connor doesn’t come out of the garage.
“Fuck!” a deep voice yells scaring me to death. I rush inside the garage to see what’s happened. Connor is kicking the bike he and Dusty have been working on, but not hard enough to do any real damage to it. He’s shirtless, and his face is red, the large veins down his neck and arms are popping out as his body is tensed in anger.
“Are you okay?” I pant, fear pumping adrenaline through my veins.
His gaze whips up to mine, and he opens his mouth to respond, but his line of sight moves directly behind me, and his mouth snaps shut. Looking over my shoulder, I see Vick standing behind me.
“Everything okay?” Vick asks me, cautiously as he eyes the garage.
Looking back to Connor, I ask, “Is it? You scared me to death.” I give a little smile, hoping he knows I was only worried about him.