Out of Love Page 9

  “I’m not—Wait. What do you mean, ‘that explains a lot’?”

  Without looking at him, I click my mouse and type in my password to unlock one of the more secure features on the computer to access other files. “Moodiness. Cravings. Irritability.” With a pause, my eyes fall meaningfully on his stomach. “Weight gain.” Clearly, I’m screwing with him. Not in the way my inner slut would prefer, but still. He has no fat in sight.

  “Ooooh. Burn!” Kane says in a loud whisper to Miller as their eyes volley back and forth between me and Foster.

  Frowning, Foster pats his flat stomach. “I haven’t gained weight.” And, wow. Does he actually sound defensive?

  “Go ahead, darlin’. Nothing to fear. Go have lunch with him.” Kane leans back in his chair, mimicking Miller’s pose. “He’s just one of those guys who has a really hard outer shell—”

  Miller interrupts. “Really hard.”

  Kane continues on without a hitch, “—but he has this super sweet, chewy center—”

  Another interruption by Miller. “Super sweet? Meh. I’d go more with tangy, sweet.”

  Kane pauses for a moment, as if to think it over before turning back to me. “Tangy, sweet center. And it’s a gold mine, darlin’.”

  Miller turns to Kane. “You know what else is pretty sweet?” By his tone alone, I already know whatever he’s about to say is going to make me wish I had on boots. The shit was about to get deep in here. “The fact that he wants to take Noelle to lunch. Alone.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively at that last word.

  “Oooh, you think they’ll have some ‘afternoon delight’?” Kane appears to consider this before shaking his head in faux sadness. “Damn. The boss gets all the perks.”

  “That’s enough out of you yahoos.” Foster’s tone is dark, dangerous, and there’s definitely an or else silently tacked on at the end of it.

  “Yes, ma—I mean, sir.” Miller’s pressing his lips together, barely restraining a grin, whereas Kane doesn’t bother to hide his. As usual. “Just remember not to get too out of hand with your eating, Fos. Because you know what they say.” He raises his eyebrows, his expression one of utter seriousness. “You are what you eat.”

  “Really,” Foster remarks drily.

  “Now, I don’t quite believe that.” Kane runs a hand down his broad chest. “Because I don’t recall eating a sexy beast.”

  Muttering, “Oh, Jesus.” Foster turns his attention back to me. “Davis? You coming?”

  My eyes dart over to Kane and Miller briefly before coming back to rest on him. “Um … sure.” I’m not about to turn down free food. Logging out of my computer, I retrieve my purse from my bottom desk drawer before standing, pushing in my chair.

  Grabbing his cell phone, keys, and sunglasses off of his desk, Foster starts heading to the door. Opening it for me, allowing me to exit before him, feeling his eyes drift down over my ass as I step out of the office, I hear muttering.

  “Pay up, Vaughn. He’s just eye-fucked her ass like there’s no tomorrow.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Foster

  “So.” Her eyes rest on mine, and I know what’s coming before she voices it. “What was that all about back there?”

  I take a bite of my burger, internally calculating how long I’ll have to run to work off this greasy goodness. Today definitely classifies as a cheat day.

  Shrugging, I’m grateful we’re sitting outside on the benches at the burger joint. Fat Bastard’s is the best burger place in Fernandina Beach and only opens from eleven in the morning until four in the afternoon each day. They use real meat; none of that crap most fast food places call “real beef.” And I have to admit, there’s something about watching a woman tuck into a burger the way Noelle does.

  Yeah. I’m actually getting turned on by a woman eating a damn burger. I’ve officially hit rock bottom.

  “Nothing at all. Just hungry.” I shrug, getting ready to take another bite. “Nothing wrong with having a cheat meal.”

  “And you wanted me to tag along because?” I know what she’s getting at. It isn’t like I normally ask her to go to lunch with me.

  Thankfully my dark sunglasses conceal my gaze, and I focus on my burger. “At the moment, you’re ten times easier to deal with than the other two yahoos currently in the office.”

  With her elbows on the picnic table, she leans forward. “Are you trying to keep track of me?” There’s a pause, and I don’t look up because I’m wrestling with whether or not to give her an honest answer.

  Honesty wins out. “I might be,” I say on a sigh.

  And when I say might, I mean I am. I’m worried about her, about her safety. Because I know, sure as shit, that asshole will make another attempt. I know how this fucker’s mind works. Narcissistic psychopaths are hard to stop.

  She falls silent for a moment; long enough it makes me turn to find her staring off in the direction of the ocean across the street from where we’re sitting.

  “Do you ever wonder if this is it?” She shakes her head briefly and her voice sounds delicate, vulnerable. “I keep thinking, is this the life I was meant to live? I just pictured it so different.” Without being able to see her blue eyes behind her sunglasses, I know her gaze is likely unfocused, lost in her thoughts. “Don’t get me wrong—I love my job. I do. I just … pictured more.

  “I certainly didn’t picture myself being single for the rest of my life and dying alone. I mean, do you ever just think about your life and wonder if—if this is it? Is this all you’re meant to be?”

  Letting her words sink in, they seep into a deep, dark part of me. Looking out at the Atlantic Ocean across the street from us, the empty lot of land offering us an unobstructed view of the water, my voice is low, deep, subdued. “I wonder that all the time.” I feel the moment her gaze sets on me; it’s heavy. “I ask myself this more than you can ever imagine. I wonder if this is what my life is meant to be. If every few Saturdays, years from now, I’ll still get together with everyone, my sister and her husband, and my other married friends. And I’ll still be the single one. I’ll still be that guy.”

  I huff out a mirthless laugh. “I mean, eventually they’re not going to be able to come out on Saturdays anymore because they’ll have other things to do. Maybe they’ll even have kids. And where does that leave me?” Blowing out a long breath, I shake my head. “Hell, listen to me. Damn pity party for Foster Kavanaugh. Hilarious.” I let out a deprecating laugh. “But, yes. I wonder that all the time.” My voice trails off and I hate the vulnerability I can hear in it. Something I never willingly display.

  Vulnerability and Foster Kavanaugh don’t exactly go hand in hand. But in this moment, I feel like I’m safe to disclose this. Because on some level, she understands what it’s like to wonder if there’s more out there for you, what it’s like to wonder if this is it. And if there isn’t more, we both recognize just how depressing it is.

  The only difference is Noelle hasn’t ever done anything to ruin her chances at having more. She hasn’t done the things I’ve done.

  She deserves everything the world can give her. I, however, deserve nothing.

  We eat the rest of our burgers in silence. When we finish, I lean in toward the table. “Davis?”

  “Yeah?” Her tone is softer, quieter.

  “Chin up. There’s no way in hell you’ll have to settle for that kind of life. You deserve the world.” I sense her surprise. “Trust me. There’s more out there for you. I’d bet my life on it.”

  And damn if there isn’t a part of me that wishes I were the “more” out there for her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Noelle

  After having a fitful sleep, I groan in frustration at the sign of the impending sunrise, shards of light breaking through the wooden blinds in my bedroom. At least my place is clean. Whoever Foster had hired to clean everything had surely earned their paycheck, that much was certain. I’m not looking forward to the impending sticker shock, but I am determined to pay h
im back for everything.

  Rising from my bed and stretching, I walk out of my bedroom and over to the alarm system keypad beside the backdoor leading to my deck. Keying in the code to disarm everything, I wait to ensure I did everything correctly. Once I manage this, I start up the coffee maker, snag my zip up hoodie and head out to the deck to sit and watch the sunrise.

  Now, don’t get me wrong, Destin had great sunrises, but there’s something different about sunrises over the Gulf of Mexico versus here on the Atlantic Ocean. Hell, even the sand is different here on the northeastern coast of Florida; shellier and packed. Like God wanted to make everything unique—even the beaches.

  It’s the end of February and the early mornings are still a little chilly—at least by Floridian standards—so I slide my arms into my hoodie, zipping it up before slumping down into one of the chairs on my deck. Leaning my head back, my eyes fall closed and I inhale deeply, allowing the salty ocean air to calm me.

  The sound of soft footfalls on packed sand left bare from the tide makes my head jerk up, nervousness instantly strumming through my body. I see a man approaching the bottom steps of my deck—a very fit, familiar man. The same man who looks perfect even when he’s slightly sweaty from his morning run, shirtless, and showcasing his firm pectorals, abs, and tapered waist.

  The sight of him brings on the urge to dart inside my house like a meek little mouse because here I am, in all my glory, with hair that probably resembles the chick’s hair in The Exorcist, dressed in sloppy pajama pants, and an old, ratty tank top beneath this hoodie.

  Oh, and no bra and underwear to speak of. So, yeah. Nipples? Could you please refrain from saluting my boss for once? Pretty please?

  Wrapping my arms around myself in an attempt to hide what I know will happen shortly—damn traitorous nipples—Foster climbs the wooden steps, making his way to me. Why? Why does he have to show up now? When I’m not feeling the least bit ready for him? When my defenses aren’t fortified due to my near sleepless night? And lack of coffee?

  Oh, shit. Coffee. Great excuse.

  “Morning. Good to see you. Time for my coffee.” My words come out rushed and, well, rude. But, hey. It’s all I’ve got right now. Sliding open the door, I slip inside and am pouring myself a large cup of coffee when I hear the telltale sound of the door sliding open.

  Without turning from the counter, I stir some agave into my coffee. “If you’re going to harass me, or get close to me, I’d suggest taking a serious raincheck on both because I slept like crap and haven’t brushed my teeth. Word to the wise, dude.”

  A thick, muscled arm reaches around me to open the cabinet above me, and he grabs a coffee mug from it before nudging it closed. I freeze, my stirring coming to a halt. How the hell does he know where my coffee mugs are? Is nothing sacred from his creepy, astute former SEAL brain?

  I feel him behind me. I can smell him and am surprised to find he doesn’t actually smell bad, considering he’s probably run his usual eighty miles or something crazy like that. Instead, Foster smells like the ocean—salty and fresh with his trademark musky scent.

  Yeah, I think of it as his trademark scent because it’s unique. Not like I ever inhale deeply whenever he’s close by just because I really like the smell of him. Nope. Not ever.

  Okay, maybe once or twice. But those were really weak moments.

  Foster pours coffee into his mug, and I can’t refrain from grumbling. “Go ahead. Make yourself at home.”

  “You’re just a ray of sunshine this morning, Davis.” Is that amusement in his tone? Yeah, it can take a flying leap. Then he adds, “Maybe you should come running with me? Work out the grouchiness.”

  My turn is slow, gradual, as I face him and give an incredulous look, clearly conveying my hope for him to be kidding. With a touch of You’re an ass for even mentioning that just in case I wasn’t getting my point across.

  “By the way,” he begins, “nice looking—”

  My hand shoots up to stop him. “Don’t you dare say a word about my hair.”

  “—pajama pants.” He grins. He has the audacity to grin, for God’s sake. “Guess you didn’t realize they have this tiny hole right,” he reaches around the back of my pants and I jump at the feel of the pad of his index finger against the bare skin of my ass, “here.”

  “Kavanaugh.” I twist away. “Totally inappropriate.”

  “What? We’re both off the clock.” His expression is one of pure innocence. “I’m just helping a friend out by letting her know about a hole in her pants.” Lowering his head, his grin is wicked which lets me know he’s enjoying this. “Nice to know you’re bare underneath.”

  My lips thin as I continue to glare at him while he simply stares back with the same damn grin. Making a face, I let out a huff of frustration. “It’s Saturday, for crying out loud. Can’t I ever get a break from you?”

  For a split second, it almost appears as though I hurt his feelings. Which can’t possibly be the case. I mean, he’s Foster Kavanaugh. There’s no way I can hurt a tough, former SEAL’s feelings.

  Right?

  Lifting his mug to his lips, he takes a sip of coffee, eyeing me over the top. Swallowing, he shrugs. “I saw you outside. Thought I’d be neighborly and check on you.” He peers closer, appearing concerned. “You don’t look well-rested, Davis.”

  I point my index finger at him, flashing a dangerous look. “If you go on to say something like, ‘Are those bags under your eyes?’, I cannot be held responsible for my actions.”

  The corners of his lips tip upward. “I would never.”

  Rolling my eyes, I take my coffee and head back outside, not caring he will get another look at my ass through the hole in my pajama pants. Maybe if I’d had more sleep, I’d care more.

  Resuming my position, slumping into my chair on the deck, I sip my coffee and close my eyes as I allow the caffeine to begin working its magic. When I hear Foster slide a chair over beside me, lowering himself into it, I pray.

  Dear God, Can you please have him be silent? And not harass me, please?

  and

  Dear God, Can you make him ugly when I reopen my eyes? Maybe make him less appealing? I’m a weak, weak woman right now.

  Does God hear either of my prayers? Probably. Does he do anything about them? Nope. That’s a firm no. Big guy just leaves me to fend for myself.

  A sheep amidst the wolves. Or wolf. Whatever.

  “You coming to karaoke tonight?”

  I don’t answer because I’m still sipping my coffee without opening my eyes and I really don’t know if I feel like going out tonight. Everyone usually gets together on Saturdays for karaoke at Shenanigans downtown, but the last few times I went, it was awkward and … a bit annoying. Foster ended up giving me grief about whatever I happened to be wearing and if guys tried to strike up a conversation, he’d do something to scare them off.

  I might be on a strict no-man streak, but I don’t mind a little attention.

  Apparently, Foster mistakes my silence for acquiescence. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

  Turning my head slowly, I squint at him. “Only if you sing a duet with me.” I say this knowing full well he never sings karaoke. He never sings, period.

  “Only if you wear something super tight,” he challenges.

  At what point did I sign up to have the world’s most annoying and intrusive boss alive? Oh, yeah. That’s right.

  Never.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Foster

  I’m losing my fucking mind. That’s all there is to it. Because no way in hell would I have ever pushed for Noelle to come to karaoke night. Nor would I have ever told her I’d pick her up. Like it’s a fucking date or something.

  Or to wear something tight. Though, there’s no way I’m taking that one back. Because Noelle’s body in something tight? Wrapping around her curves like a second skin? Fuck, yes.

  I have to pause and adjust myself at the mere thought of it. Which is challenging when I’m driving to her
place to pick her up. The truth is, I felt the need to get her out of the house since I could tell earlier she hadn’t slept, and it pissed me the hell off. To think of her possibly having nightmares about that asshole breaking into her house.

  Pulling my truck into her driveway, I park and turn off the ignition, then unbuckle my seatbelt. Before sliding out, I grab the large package lying on the passenger seat. Shutting the door, I take the steps two at a time until I’m at her door. Hell if I don’t feel like I’ve got a bad case of the jitters, as if I’m nervous or something. Which is definitely not the case. I mean, all I’m doing is giving Noelle a ride to the karaoke bar. That’s it.

  Maybe a part of me wants to give her a different sort of ride. Sue me.

  I knock on her door, waiting for her to answer. There’s a key to her door on my keyring, but she doesn’t know that because, well, I don’t want to weird her out. I made an extra copy, just in case, to play it safe. It’s not like I’m going to be some creepy ass fucker who sneaks in and sniffs her underwear or shit like that. I just want to make sure I can get into her place if there’s ever an emergency.

  That’s not all I want to get into. But no one needs to know that. Least of all Noelle.

  As soon as the door opens, and I see the view before me, the self-restraint I possess completely falters—crumbles to the ground.

  “Fuck me,” I breathe out. It’s almost like an expression, a curse, and a plea all in one. Because Noelle actually obeyed me for once. Not for the first time I’m wondering how in the hell I’m going to resist her. How will I resist touching her? Because one thing is for damn certain, there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to resist jerking off to the memory of her in this dress later tonight.

  I know; I’m a sicko. I get it. But, fuck. The blue dress is formfitting over her luscious curves, showcasing her narrow waist and hips. Her breasts look so inviting my fingers twitch from the restraint not to touch her. I would give just about anything to be able to run my hands over her curves, to cup her ass, pull her close, let her feel my—