Bound (Bound Duet Book 1) Page 4

  I didn’t want him to assume I was who he thought I was. I wanted him to see me, but I wasn’t sure he could get past the image he’d already established in his mind. What I couldn’t figure out was where it had come from.

  “Have a seat.” I pointed to the dark leather couch in my living room. “I’ll only be a minute. Let me throw on some jeans and a T-shirt.” I got lost in him for a second before I realized I hadn’t moved. Damn if I didn’t want to pull him into my bedroom with me to feel his arms around my naked body, those lips pressed to my skin. I quickly turned on the ball of my foot toward my room. He chuckled under his breath like my nerves were humorous. If he knew how inexperienced I was, that it had been over two years since a man had touched me, he would laugh his tail off. That insecurity was exactly why I shouldn’t be in this guy’s presence.

  Pushing that thought aside, I grabbed a pair of dark, fitted jeans that hugged my tush in all the right ways, making my legs look fantastic. Once I pulled a short-sleeved, Green Day shirt over my head, I grabbed my black Doc Martens. I didn’t have a lot of style; I was fairly simple. I always chose comfort over fashion when I wasn’t at work. My opinion was Docs went with everything—I loved them. In my bathroom, I pulled my dark hair into a ponytail. It was long and overly thick, but I couldn’t seem to bring myself to cut it off, so I dealt with it the best I could. Silently wishing I knew how to apply makeup, I added a swipe of lip gloss. My sense of fashion was a bit more granola, earthy. Luckily, God had given me some natural shading on my eyelids and color in my cheeks, so the gloss was all I needed. With one final glance in the mirror, I sighed. The guy sitting on my couch was full-on gorgeous, while I was…cute. I hated feeling inferior and having my confidence shaken—the only time it ever happened was with men.

  When I stepped back into the living room, he stood and whistled through his teeth. “Wow!”

  I smiled and grabbed my purse. Glancing over my shoulder, I said, “You ready?”

  He took my wrist, pulling me to him. We were so close the warmth of his breath brought a hint of peppermint. My breasts brushed against him, instantly arousing me through my shirt and bra.

  He released his grasp on me, curled one hand around my neck, and the other on my cheek. I hadn’t moved—my eyes fixed solely on his. With an exaggerated breath, my chest heaved in anticipation when his head bent down, narrowing the gap between us, his eyes slowly closing. My lids lowered as well, mirroring his naturally in response. And then his lips touched mine. They were lush and soft, but it was the electricity I felt the moment we met that sent heat straight to my girly bits.

  Gray parted his lips, and his tongue gently brushed against my mouth and encouraged me to open for him. It wasn’t hurried; it was a slow, gentle kiss. Sensual. Our tongues found each other—the feel of him in my mouth sent electric-like impulses throughout my body. The dance was intoxicating, give and take, back and forth—so full of emotion. I wasn’t sure what it was saying, but part of me was ready to find out while another part of me screamed in fear.

  He gently pulled away, but only enough to break the kiss, lightly pecking my mouth, and tugging slightly on my bottom lip with his teeth. In a surprisingly intimate gesture, he leaned his forehead to mine and watched me—taking me in as though he could read my thoughts and sense my emotions.

  I realized how much I had missed a man’s touch, how lonely I’d felt. The sparks that flowed between us ignited something I hadn’t experienced in years and had fought against equally as long. I had tried to eliminate that need in my life by devoting myself to work and school, so what little feeling remained, I was able to numb with drugs. I hadn’t wanted to risk letting anyone in again, didn’t want them to get close. I refused to chance falling victim or destroying them in my failure. My relationship with Will had just about been my undoing, staying focused was key to not backsliding. But God how I yearned to stay in Gray’s arms all night, preferably naked, in my bed, covered in sweat. To feel wanted again—loved. But I knew I couldn’t. That wasn’t my MO, and he was a client for God’s sake. Well, maybe only by technicality, but I was pretty sure Jack wouldn’t see it that way.

  Laughing, he asked, “Are you coming?”

  It was enough to snap me out of my dazed state, and my cheeks flushed in embarrassment. This guy was intoxicating. I couldn’t help but feel like he’d shatter me, but I couldn’t force myself to walk away. There was something that drew me in—I hoped it wasn’t the same thing that kept me tied to Will. When he reached for the door, his sleeve rode up enough for that symbol to peek out, calling for my attention. “Hey, Gray, what does your tattoo really mean?”

  He winked at me before answering, “Casanova.”

  Apparently, this was a game, and I doubted I would ever know the truth. Maybe it held some deep meaning he didn’t want to share with me. I smirked and shook my head.

  We went back the way we came, taking the road to the closest restaurant to the DC. I wasn’t a big fan of Applebee’s, but I also didn’t insist on going to high-dollar restaurants to be wooed. The reality was, I preferred to pick up my own check, so I had no further obligation, and there was no confusion about my level of interest. But hell, I didn’t know if this was a date or rather two people who “worked together” having a bite to eat. I wanted to think, after that kiss that had sent my world into orbit, that it was a date, but at the same time, I didn’t want to date anyone—glaring contradiction.

  Dinner flew by, and he engaged me in his life. He told me about his best friend, Topher, and his fiancée, a ditzy girl Gray seemed to think was sweet but not worthy of Topher’s time. He was convinced they wouldn’t make it but said he quit trying to talk Topher out of marrying her. Topher and Gray went way back. With the two of them being roommates, if Topher married this girl, Gray would have to find another place to live.

  The mere mention of his mom and I could tell he loved her dearly. You could see it in his eyes when he talked about her—he was a mama’s boy. He knew little about his dad, who had bailed on his mom during her pregnancy, but she made up for that in spades. She was young, and he had no interest in raising a child. I didn’t want to ask if he’d ever been around, and he obviously wasn’t keen on talking about him, so I let the subject go in favor of discussing work.

  Then it was twenty questions. I asked him about music, what he liked to do, and how old he was. When he answered “twenty-six,” I about choked on my drink and barely kept from spitting it across the table in his face.

  “You’re how old?” I was positive the look on my face was priceless because he had to stifle a laugh.

  “Twenty-six. How old did you think I was?” Damn, that smile—and the laugh lines it brought to his eyes—was so engaging.

  Stuttering, I responded, “I-I don’t know, twenty-two, twenty-three maybe.”

  “Sorry, baby…twenty-six. I’ll be twenty-seven in August.” The way “baby” rolled off his tongue… It flowed from his lips as though he’d known me his entire life. As if he’d always cherished me, and it made my heart race and the butterflies in my stomach take flight.

  I stared at him in disbelief. He had a young face; I would never have guessed he was six years older than I was. He would freak out when he found out I was only twenty.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but six years is not that big of an age difference.” His face was totally unreadable.

  “How do you know how old I am?” I started to wonder if he had done a background check on me. He knew where I worked, lived, my age. Then it dawned on me, and in unison, we said, “Lynn.” Apparently, he had known there was a large age gap and hadn’t cared, so I wondered if I should. Looking across the table at him, I decided no in the blink of an eye.

  It was like he saw the struggle—the moment it cleared, he leaned back in the booth. “So what about you? What makes you tick?”

  Talking about myself made me terribly uncomfortable. I couldn’t tell people anything about my upbringing without them assuming I’d had a silver spoon in my mouth si
nce birth, which was far from the truth. And recent years were just as much of a turnoff. So, I played the vague card, telling him the CliffsNotes version of my life.

  He could tell I was checking items off a list to pacify him without giving him any real information. Then he asked, “So how’d you land your job? You’re pretty young to be where you are.”

  My attempt to hide my frustration at the question was probably a total failure. He didn’t know this was a sore subject, one everyone asked me about, and then never believed my answer. I had an overwhelming temptation to tell him what he expected to hear, which was one of two things: my daddy got me the job, or I slept with someone to get to the top. Instead, I kept it simple. “My dad introduced me to Jack at Walton’s, but I had to land the job,” I answered in a flat tone, hoping he’d drop it. I wasn’t interested in discussing my employment nor my parents.

  There was an innocence about me I guess most people didn’t see. I had traveled a lot with my parents growing up, I had seen and experienced things that matured me, but when it came to relationships, I’d only had one, and it was wrong almost from the word go. I had realized once I got out of it how sexually naïve I truly was. That naiveté created an even greater chasm between the public and private version of me. It never occurred to me others would believe I had slept with men to kick-start my career since I’d never slept with men—just one, man.

  There seemed to be more questions on the topic he wanted to ask, but wisely, he changed the subject. “Why are you single?” Something in the way his face softened told me he was honestly curious and wasn’t asking me a question to be able to feed me a line.

  I never knew how to answer that and typically fumbled through the response. I stirred the straw in my drink, watching the ice cubes move around, contemplating my reply before I opened my mouth. “I haven’t dated in a couple of years.” I met his stare hesitantly.

  “Any particular reason? Or just school and work?” There was no accusation or presumption in his voice.

  My teeth worried my bottom lip. “I got out of a bad relationship and needed time to focus on me.”

  His eyes glimmered with anticipation of a story. With his brow raised, he asked without saying a word.

  I sighed heavily, conceding only to a surface-level admission. “I dated the same guy all through high school. Will Murphree. It was a rough relationship, and I barely survived the demise. It was better that I focused on me after we broke up.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Suddenly, Gray had shot up from his relaxed position in the booth, sitting erect.

  “Not directly, I don’t guess… Maybe.” It was odd to see a man so protective of someone he didn’t know when someone who’d claimed to love me had used me in some weird self-preservation.

  “What does that mean? That’s not much of an answer, Annie.” While his tone was curt, I could see the emotion on his face, etched into his features—irritation born from concern.

  “It means it was two years and countless hours of therapy ago.” I winked at him in an attempt to calm the beast and lighten the mood.

  “I hope at some point you’ll trust me enough to confide in me.” His words were sincere, but I’d be grateful if I never had to tell another soul.

  The conversation went to school and a glimpse at my family, but I wouldn’t divulge details on any part of my life. Everything I shared was superficial. It wasn’t that I was trying to hide anything, I was just particular about who I gave information to, and some things never left the vault. The appearance of my life tended to overwhelm people. But it was just that—a tidy appearance. My apartment spoke volumes about how I lived, so did my job, my report card, and my overall personality. Everything had a place; nothing could be out of order—that was the control I took to keep the demons at bay. Control was an illusion but one I clung to. There could never be a speck of dust, and the lines on the carpet had to be straight. I had to be the perfect employee, the top producer. I refused to accept less than As at school and strived for perfection.

  It was all part of the façade—the illusion of perfection—because if it looked flawless from the outside, no one would see the fucked-up mess on the inside. That mirage was a disguise to hide the turmoil and chaos rampant in my mind. It was just how I lived—since Will. Everything pristinely organized and well put together. My neurotic tendencies would drive even the most angelic man to drink. When Gray saw them for what they were, they would either add to my charm or send him running in the opposite direction—I’d bet money on the latter.

  He paid the bill and glanced at his watch. We’d been sitting here for a couple of hours, and both of us needed to get going. He apologized for cutting things short, but he had to work in the morning. As much as I enjoyed hanging out with him, I was exhausted. I didn’t want to see him leave…didn’t want the night to end, but I knew I’d see him the next week, and for now, that would have to do.

  He came to a stop next to my Celica and put an arm around the back of the seat. A question hung on the tip of his tongue. He wanted to ask me something, but hesitation lingered in the air. When he finally garnered the courage to invite me to go to a Pee Wee Football game his friend was coaching next Friday, he acted as though he had won the lottery when I agreed. An evening outside, with him, for a few hours in a no-pressure environment sounded appealing.

  We exchanged phone numbers before I slid out of the seat and dropped down to the pavement beneath me. I turned back to him and smirked. “I believe we have a score to settle.” He was clueless what I was talking about, so I crooked my finger, giving him a come-hither motion. The gleam in his eyes as he followed without hesitation made my heart swell. If the roles reversed, I’d follow him into a shark tank bleeding if that’s where he led me. The pull he had with me was foreign and terrifying—I had no idea where it came from or how to deal with it.

  Once in my car, I left the door open and my feet outside with him squatting between me and the door. He regarded me with a gentle tenderness, still confused by why he was at my car…until the engine started, and the music flooded the surrounding air. The moment the recognition hit his ears, I saw it on his face. “I Keep It Under My Hat” by Tim McGraw, off his self-titled album, played through the speakers. He hadn’t believed me; he’d assumed I was full of crap. Gray leaned in, giving me a soft kiss and a laugh before he said goodbye.

  Driving home, I thought about that kiss in my apartment. He had stared me right in the eyes as though he could see my soul. I couldn’t describe the perfection caught up in that one moment; it was like I had never felt another man’s lips before. With every swipe of his tongue, the fire inside me had grown. There was no doubt he felt it, too. I looked at him and realized I had only thought my world was complicated before this. I had just added a whole new dimension to the clutter in my life.

  I was nervous when he knocked on my door, the anticipation of him picking me up was more than I could handle completely sober. We’d talked on the phone for countless hours and texted during the day when he was off and when I was working. Our conversation had flowed freely, and it had given me a false sense of intimacy. There wasn’t a topic we hadn’t explored, other than Will, but the truth was we had spent very little time together, and words weren’t the same as actions. I only knew what he allowed me to know about him and vice versa. I thought about him non-stop, but a mental obsession didn’t equate to a committed relationship. I didn’t know what equated to a relationship because I was so far out of the realm of reality it was unreal. I wanted to see him, had been counting the hours, but the closer it got, the faster my stomach turned. I’d seen him at work several times over the last week, but being at the distribution center was different than being alone with Gray.

  When I answered the door, I hoped he couldn’t smell the weed in my apartment. I wasn’t blitzed by any stretch of the imagination, but I had knocked the edge off with a few hits to calm my nerves. It was here and available, so I packed a bong to set my mind at ease. As the door opened, and he came into view,
he stood there, a grin on his face, while he slowly grazed my body with his stare. There was something in his smirk that called to me—as though I was the only living soul that ever got to see that version of his smile. I wanted to believe he reserved it solely for me, although I had no proof of that. I was willing to lie to myself and take it as the truth.

  I could tell by the way his eyes lit up he liked what he saw. My hair fell in soft waves down the middle of my back, and my worn Dave Matthew’s tee fit me like a glove with a white tank underneath. The shirt made my boobs appear fuller than they were, and my waist looked tiny. I’d squeezed into the tightest pair of jeans I could muster, yet still be comfortable, and of course, my Doc Martens. I stepped back as he reached for me, silently asking him to come in. He moved inside and snaked his arm around my middle, pulling me to him, instantly warming my spirit. When he kissed me, I had first thought it would be a quick peck hello, but then it deepened. My hand went behind his head, my fingers felt for hair to tangle in, and our tongues danced to a song I’d never heard. His kiss was fervent and had me completely undone.

  He pulled away and his brow furrowed. “What’s that smell?” he asked with a look of confusion, and maybe disgust, on his face.

  Moment of truth—own up to my recreational habits or blame it on a friend. I decided there was no point in lying; I was who I was, and this might’ve been the first time I wasn’t what he thought. He obviously couldn’t tell I was high, or he wouldn’t have asked. “I smoked a bowl before you got here to calm my nerves,” I replied sheepishly with a shrug, waiting for the backlash.

  “You do drugs?” The shock on his face would have been priceless if I felt confident he wouldn’t flee, but since I didn’t know him all that well, and technically, I worked for his company, this probably wasn’t the brightest move.