That Secret Crush Page 5

  Rogan bends at the waist and presses a slow, languid kiss against Harper’s lips. I stare, though I feel a bit like a creeper, watching as their hands lightly caress each other, as he whispers something into her ear that makes her cheeks flush, and as he groans quietly when she plays with the small hairs on the nape of his neck. They’re in love, so much in love that it does make me a little envious.

  Living in a small town where the only new people are tourists makes it pretty difficult to meet someone, and since I’ll be earning my degree soon, I’ll finally have some free time on my hands. Maybe it’s time I join one of those dating apps Brig’s always gushing about, despite never having much luck.

  After giving his bride-to-be a lot of attention, Rogan directs those Knightly blue eyes at me. “Hey, Eve, how are you?” It’s not a generic statement—there’s feeling behind his question, actual concern, and I truly appreciate it. I might not have a family here in town, but my second family is just as good.

  “Doing okay. I’m about to head out, actually, up to the Inn to check on some things.”

  “Want a ride?”

  I shake him off. “That’s out of your way.”

  “It’s not a problem at all, gives some time for Harper to sober up a little bit.”

  “I don’t need to sober up! I’m the perfect mix of coherent and loose.”

  Rogan chuckles and takes Harper by the hand, pulling her to her feet and wrapping his arm around her waist. “Let’s get you home. Come on, Eve. It’s no problem. Plus Walter is on a warpath tonight—you don’t want an Uber ride from him.”

  I never want a ride from either of the two—yes, two—Uber drivers in town, but walking in this weather isn’t an option either, so I take Rogan up on his offer.

  It takes a few minutes not only to say bye to everyone and explain why I’m leaving but also to get Harper in the car. She keeps dancing with everyone she hugs goodbye and awkwardly thrusting her hips into Rogan’s leg. When we finally make it outside, the snow is really starting to fall, so she plops herself down in Rylee’s yard and starts doing snow angels.

  Good luck tonight, Rogan. I’m not sure he’s going to be able to wrangle her the way he wants.

  Once in the car with everyone buckled, Rogan takes it slow on the freshly snow-covered streets.

  “It has to be at least six inches already,” Rogan says, the car barely moving forward.

  I furrow my brow as I look out the window. “I can walk. You don’t have to drive up the hill.”

  “He’s a pro, aren’t you?” Harper says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, we got you. In the meantime, why don’t you tell Rogan about how his brother surprised you.”

  “Who? Reid?” Rogan asks, eyes trained on the road, hands at ten and two.

  “Yeah, he met her at the cemetery without even being asked. Wasn’t that sweet?”

  “He’s always been considerate when it comes to the Roberts. Our family, on the other hand”—he chuckles—“it’s like he was put on this earth to make our lives difficult.”

  “Don’t let him fool you—he makes my life difficult most of the time too, except for today.” I stare out the window as large, quarter-size snowflakes rapidly fall from the sky. “Today he was exactly what I needed—a friend.”

  “He has his moments. I’m glad he was there for you.” Rogan clears his throat. “Eric wasn’t able to make it into town?”

  “No, couldn’t get off work, and honestly, I don’t think he even tried.”

  Instead of digging deeper into the complexity that is Eric, Rogan says, “Going to the Inn? Not to your apartment?”

  “To the Inn. Just going to check on a few things, make sure the place is still standing, and then walk to my apartment.” It’s just a street away from the Inn, so it won’t be a big deal. “Kind of hoping Karaoke Night is still going on. Kevin Yodel swore he would be there, and that guy puts on a show.”

  “Shit, Kevin is something else,” Rogan says. “Babe, we should go in and see if he’s performing. He has this whole Elvis impersonation that will have you keeling over in laughter.”

  “I thought we were going to do the counter sex.” Harper pouts. “If you make me watch Kevin, I can’t guarantee I won’t pass out.”

  I pat Rogan on the shoulder. “You don’t want to miss out on that counter sex.”

  “Yeah, I sure as shit don’t. We’ll catch the next one.”

  KARAOKE CANCELED.

  Figures.

  Not wanting to be alone in my apartment on one of the loneliest days of my life, I decided to stop at the Inn, see if they needed any help, maybe catch a song or two from some of Port Snow’s finest.

  I stare at the sign on the door that leads to the Inn’s bar. Instead of locals hitting up the mic with some of the worst voices you’ll ever hear, they’ve lit up the karaoke area with multicolored flashing lights and a tiny disco ball that doesn’t even spin. Over the speakers, dance music plays, bumping and thumping loudly against the walls, setting a club-like mood.

  Not a single person is dancing. They’re either hunched over at the bar or safe in their homes, away from the freezing weather that’s rolling in.

  This was a bust.

  But probably for the best. I should get back to my apartment before I have to hike through feet of snow to get there.

  I spin on my heel and smack directly into what feels like a brick wall, but when my shoulders are steadied by large, sturdy hands, I look up to see Reid smiling down at me.

  “Hey.” I rub my nose, which was just smashed against his left pec. “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard Kevin Yodel was making an appearance. It’s rare these days.” He nods toward the sign. “Kind of wish I knew it was going to be canceled.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I glance out the window at the snow that’s building and building on the sidewalks and parking lot, spreading a blanket of white as far as I can see. “Are you going to head home? It’s getting pretty bad out there.”

  He glances over his shoulder. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before.” He nods toward the bar. “Grab a drink with me.”

  Since I have nothing better to do, I follow him to the bar, where we take a seat at the end. Barb is working tonight. She’s probably the worst bartender you could ever hire. She doesn’t ask you what you want but just serves you what she feels like serving. When Barb is at the helm, there’s never a huge turnout.

  “Here,” she says, plopping two shot glasses in front of us, the clear liquid splashing on the chipped bar top. “Bottoms up. I’m going to the bathroom.”

  I bring a shot glass to my nose and cringe—straight-up vodka.

  Reid lifts his glass. “Bottoms up.” He raises mine too, his hand wrapped around my fingers, clinks them together, and then pushes the shot glass toward my mouth before dropping his hand back down to the bar top. He downs his shot in one smooth motion and then waits for me.

  “Don’t be a pussy, Roberts. Down that.”

  “Don’t call me a pussy—that’s so crass.”

  He barks out a laugh. “When did you become the polite police? I’m pretty sure you told me to eat my own shit the other day.”

  True.

  “Well, we’re in public.”

  He rolls his eyes. “We’re always in public. Stop stalling and down the drink.”

  “I don’t want a headache.”

  “Eve, drink the goddamn thing.”

  “Why?” I ask, my fingers tightening around the small glass. “Are you trying to take advantage of me, Knightly?”

  “No, I wouldn’t have to take advantage. I’d just give you the go-ahead, and you’d be all over me.”

  “Oh fuck off, I would not.”

  He turns on his stool and leans against the bar, his arms propping him up as he stares out at the derelict dance floor. He tilts his head to the side to talk to me.

  “Please, you’ve had a giant crush on me ever since middle school. I know you want all of this.” He gestures up and down his body.
For a brief moment, my heart catches in my chest, wondering if he actually knows about my crush . . . that is, until I see the wicked teasing in his eyes.

  I snort, spilling a little bit of vodka on my jeans.

  “Yup, you figured me out. I’ve been pining after you all this time,” I deadpan. “Been saving myself too. Only want one penis, and it’s yours.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know you’ve been. Read it in your diary two weeks ago. So drink up, and I’ll get you another shot.” He’s such an ass. I don’t have a diary.

  “We are not having another,” I say right before throwing back the shot, the burn down my throat making me shiver. Why I did that I have no idea, but when I open my eyes, Reid is reaching over the bar, grabbing a bottle of tequila, and pouring us each another.

  Okay, tequila I can do.

  But drunk and alone with Reid . . . not sure about that just yet.

  “Here.”

  We tap our glasses, tip our heads back, and chug, both our shot glasses making a clink on the bar top together. They barely have time to settle before Reid pours us one more and puts the bottle back.

  “Seriously, what are you doing?” I ask when he hands me the glass.

  “Trying to get you out on the dance floor.” He wiggles his eyebrows. “You have to loosen up, Roberts.”

  “You don’t have to get me drunk to dance.” I take the shot and slide off my stool. “I dance on my own.” Walking backward, I do a pretty lame attempt at a moonwalk, twirl, and start shifting back and forth to the music.

  Reid pulls on the bill of his hat as he scans me from my boots up my denim-clad legs to my simple long-sleeve black T-shirt. His hungry eyes eat me up right before he tosses back his shot and stands too. I’ve seen those eyes before but only on occasion, and they usually come out to play when he’s had a drink or two. Wearing a gray henley shirt and worn-out hat, he looks like the perfect country boy, ready to stir up some mischief.

  Just like the boy I met so many years ago, the same boy who once froze every single one of my bras, thinking it was funny.

  It was not.

  I quirk my finger at him, and for once he takes direction, striding across the dance floor and taking me by the hands. He pulls me into his chest and lowers one hand to my back while the other clasps our palms together. As “Love Shack” plays through the speakers, he guides me back and forth across the dance floor, surprising me with just how good he is at dancing.

  He spins me out, then back in and continues to glide us around as a laugh falls past my lips. The tragedy of my father’s death fades away. The annoyance of my brother not coming home disappears. And instead, a new memory is made on this dreary day, a moment I think I’ll carry with me for a very long time, because this is the moment Reid Knightly danced with me.

  “We need some new tunes,” he says, looking around. “This old stuff is fun, but I want you grinding on me.”

  “Excuse me?” I laugh out loud, wondering if I just heard him right.

  “Hold on,” he says, letting go of my hand.

  Not really sure what I should be doing with myself, I sidestep in time with the music and snap my fingers at my sides. Yeah, I dance like a middle-aged woman at a wedding, and I’m okay with it.

  Reid disappears behind the bar and heads to the back while the lights reflecting off the stagnant disco ball pass over my body, lighting me up. If there were more people in the bar area besides Marv, the local drunk, I would be feeling pretty damn stupid at this point. Don’t get me wrong: Marv is one of Port Snow’s own, and we take care of him when he needs it, but I don’t think he can even remember his own name. I have nothing to worry about.

  The music stops, so my feet do too, but before I can go take a seat at the bar again, a club mix fills the speakers, and a familiar song starts to play. It’s sexy and far more modern than what we were just dancing to.

  What’s this song again?

  I twist my lips to the side, trying to figure it out, just as Reid comes bursting onto the dance floor. He spins me around and pulls my back to his front, then leans forward, his breath tickling my ear.

  “Let me see what you’ve got, Roberts. Give me that good hip action?”

  His hands grip me, and before I can figure out what the hell has gotten into Reid, my ass is plastered to his crotch, and we’re both swaying to the music, his hand sliding to my stomach, where my muscles contract from his touch, as my hand slides up to the back of his neck, where I anchor myself.

  This is . . . new.

  And I know he’s just having fun, but a small part of me can’t help but get lost in this moment, in his touch, in him.

  Feeling awkward, I ask, “What song is this again?”

  “‘Body,’” he answers, splaying his hand across my stomach.

  Good.

  Lord.

  His palm is huge against my stomach and sends a bolt of electricity to my very core as his fingers curl around the fabric of my shirt, lifting the hem to just above my waistline.

  Something inside of me stirs awake . . . a strange sense of hope. Hope for something I’m not sure I ever truly allowed myself to want until this very moment, as Reid presses up against me, his strong chest, his lips so close to my skin that goose bumps spread down my arm.

  As we dance together, our hips synchronized, everything fades away: Marv, hunched over the bar; Barb, who’s returned from the restroom and is now leaning against the wall, arms crossed, staring at us; and the few visitors who peek their heads into the room. None of that matters because right now, I’m in Reid’s arms.

  I spin, loop my arms around his neck, and take a chance, looking up at him—and that’s when I see it, his signature cocky smile.

  Slowly his hands move from my upper back down my spine to just above my backside. He keeps them there for a few seconds before sliding one large palm down to my ass. He cups it, pulling me even closer, so I can feel every inch of him.

  And I mean . . . every . . . inch.

  I gasp and glance up at him, at his completely unapologetic face.

  He’s hard.

  Hard as a rock.

  And huge.

  “What’s happening right now?” I say, confused and turned on all at the same time.

  Tilting his head forward, he brings his lips right up against my ear. “We’re dancing.”

  That’s obvious, but what’s happening between us? This is the most intimate I’ve ever been with this man. We’ve hugged here and there, but our bodies have never been pressed together like this, nor have we ever put our hands on intimate parts—a.k.a. we’ve never grabbed each other’s asses before.

  But maybe this is a new level of friendship, one I could get on board with right about now.

  Since he’s changing the “rules,” I’ll go right along with it.

  My hand moves up to the nape of his neck, my fingers playing with the short strands of his hair as he finds the hem of my shirt and slips his hand underneath. A thumb passes over my skin, back and forth, back and forth. A blaze of heat speeds up my back straight to my neck. I can’t ever remember feeling this good with the opposite sex.

  Swaying, he brings his nose to my ear, and he runs it down my jaw and then back up, his lips barely brushing against my earlobe. My stomach somersaults, rolling with nerves over what’s happening and anticipation of what might happen next.

  “Fuck, you’re killing me,” he says, almost so softly that I can’t hear him. I’m killing him? Uh, how about the other way around? My heart and my brain are colliding, creating a confused and very turned-on cacophony.

  When I pull away to look up at him, he lightly licks his lips and stares down at my mouth. Intent written all over his face.

  Oh Jesus.

  Does he want to kiss me?

  Right here?

  With Barb and Marv a few feet away, in this cheesy disco light? Is that what’s really happening? Are we really going to cross that line?

  I don’t think I could allow myself to get kissed like this
, not when it could be written in the gossip newspaper for the whole town to read tomorrow morning.

  But to feel those lips on mine, to know what it’s like to be held completely by Reid Knightly, to feel him lose control? That’s something I want.

  Desperately.

  I glance past his shoulder to the window behind him, to the mounting snow, and consider my options. I could continue to dance with this man, driving myself crazy until I’m about to combust, or I could call it a night and invite him back to my place.

  The first option is appealing until I make out with him in front of Barb.

  The second option makes me break out in a sweat, but it’s the most exciting as well.

  What if he says no, though? What if I’m reading him completely wrong, and this is just another one of his jokes? What if the subtle touches, the small grunts, the thickness of his crotch—what if it’s all just a ruse?

  What if he really doesn’t want anything more than to be friends?

  Then my invite is dangling out there between us, hanging around with a rejection that I don’t think I’ll ever get over.

  Indecision racing through my mind, I try to figure out where to take this night as his hand travels from my back down to the waistband of my jeans, and in one deliciously smooth motion, he slips his fingers past the fabric and under my thong to my bare ass.

  Well.

  Ahem.

  Okay . . . I think I might have my answer.

  Taking a deep breath, I bring his head down to mine. “It’s getting pretty bad outside,” I whisper into his ear. “Want to just head back to my place?”

  He pulls away, and the surprise I see on his face makes my entire stomach drop.

  He wasn’t expecting me to say that at all. Not even in the slightest.

  And when he removes his hand from my backside, I realize he wasn’t expecting me to take our little dancing moment in that direction.