My Cone and Only Page 9

  I banded an arm around her, shoving my hips back to keep my inconvenient boner well away from her. My heart thumped wildly in my chest as she pressed her face into my neck, and I breathed in the sweet, outdoorsy smell of her hair.

  One way or another, I was going to get her out of this mess. Even if I had to go to each and every one of my siblings and beg them to loan me the money to buy her way out of it.

  There was no fucking way I’d let Andie down.

  7

  Andie

  The day after I showed him the HOA letter, Wyatt texted me to ask if he could come over in the morning before I left for work. I told him sure, and that I’d be around until seven forty-five. But I didn’t get my hopes up that I’d actually see him when morning came.

  I loved the guy, but he wasn’t exactly a shining pinnacle of punctuality and reliability. He also wasn’t a morning person. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen him before ten a.m. unless he was still up from the night before.

  Shattering my low expectations, Wyatt turned up on my doorstep at seven a.m. sharp. I’d just finished drying my hair and was still in my robe when I went to let him in.

  This was the first time I’d ever asked him for help with the house. Up until now, I’d done as much of the work as I could myself and hired specialists for the plumbing, electrical, and HVAC issues that required more expertise than I could handle. Not that Wyatt wouldn’t have been willing, but it had been a matter of pride for me to do it myself without leaning on anyone else for help. In particular, I’d avoided going to my brother or my brother’s best friend, because I wasn’t a kid anymore and didn’t want to go running to them every time I got in a jam.

  So much for that. But needs must when the devil drives.

  I swallowed as Wyatt walked past me into the house carrying an enormous toolbox in one hand and a clipboard in the other. I hadn’t seen much of him in full-on work mode like this, and it was quite a sight to behold.

  He was dressed in work boots, jeans, and a tank top that showed off his muscular, tattooed arms and a considerable portion of his chest, with a leather tool belt slung low across his hips. I’d seen plenty of Wyatt’s physique over the years, but something about this particular look on him really worked. Like really worked. I had to take a second to regroup before I followed him into the living room.

  He’d set his toolbox down and was flipping through the papers on his clipboard by the time I caught up with him.

  “This is for you.” Licking his fingers, he pulled a few sheets off and held them out to me.

  “What is it?” I shuffled closer and took them from him.

  “That’s your project plan. It includes a timeline for completing all requested exterior repairs and an itemized estimate of labor and materials required for each job.”

  I stared at it, overwhelmed into speechlessness by the professionalism of the document Wyatt had just handed me. It was four pages long, extremely thorough, well organized, and detailed. He’d clearly put a lot of work into it.

  “’Course, you’re getting all the labor for free,” he went on as I read over it. “It’s only on there to help me create the schedule, which, as you can see, has all the work completed by the deadline in just under four weeks. And if you look at the total cost estimate on the last page, you’ll see we’re well within the budget you gave me.”

  I gaped when I saw how low the total cost was. There was no way he’d be able to get everything we needed for that amount. “Wyatt, this is nuts.”

  “What do you mean?” He was frowning when I looked up at him again.

  “How are you going to get all this done for so little money? Just the paint alone should cost more than this total you’ve got here.” I looked down at the numbers again to make sure I hadn’t misread them.

  “I told you, people owe me favors. I know a guy who’s got a bunch of leftover trim paint he’s giving me for free. I’m getting the rest of the exterior paint at cost from my buddy Doyle, whose dad owns a hardware store over in Smithville. Mary Alice at the nursery is giving me the soil and sod for the yard in exchange for building her a new greenhouse. Everything else I’m getting wholesale or with my contractor’s discount.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” I was stunned. I had no idea Wyatt was this professional, or that he’d had so many favors to call in on my behalf. I shouldn’t have been surprised though. He was one of the sweetest, most generous guys I knew, and he’d stuck his neck out for my family more times than I could count.

  “How about something like, ‘You’re so amazing and impressive, Wyatt. I never should have doubted you.’” His mouth had tugged into a smirk like he was teasing, but I detected a whiff of bruised feelings underneath it.

  My stomach churned with guilt for not giving him more credit, and I wrapped my arms around his waist and laid my head against his chest. “You’re amazing and impressive, Wyatt. I never should have doubted you. Thank you for all of this.”

  He froze for a second, and I felt his breath catch in his chest before he recovered. “That’s more like it,” he said jokingly and twisted out of my arms.

  We hadn’t ever talked about the things he’d said last Saturday when he was drunk, or the stuff Mia had told me about my brother. This whole HOA situation had derailed all of that. But now it came crashing back, leaving me wondering anew if Wyatt kept pulling away from me because he wanted to pull away, or because he was scared not to.

  “If you like the project plan, you’re really going to like the next thing I have to tell you.” His gaze dropped to my chest and the smile froze on his face before he jerked his eyes toward the ceiling.

  Glancing down, I realized the front of my robe had gaped, and I’d just given him an eyeful of my boobs. Great.

  “Sorry.” I pulled it closed, trying to recover some of my dignity.

  At least I knew it wasn’t the first time he’d gotten a look at my chest. In addition to the vomit-shirt incident I’d just learned about, there’d been a few times in high school when we’d both been skinny-dipping at the Holler.

  The clothing-optional swimming hole up at the state park had been a favorite hangout in our high school days. My brother had frequented it with his friends while hypocritically forbidding me from doing the same. Not that I’d actually wanted to go skinny-dipping with my brother—yuck. But you could bet I took advantage of his absence as soon as he went off to college.

  The first time I ran into Wyatt there, he’d freaked the fuck out. I still remembered the look of panic in his eyes as he’d tried to cover himself. I got quite an eyeful before he managed to get his shorts on, and the image had made a permanent impression that still surfaced regularly in my dreams. He’d tried to make me leave, and we got into a fight when I refused. I’d ended the argument by stripping off my bikini top in front of him, and he’d averted his eyes exactly like he was doing now. He’d spent the whole rest of that night—and every other time he saw me there—hilariously trying to keep a watchful eye on me without actually looking at me, and somewhat less hilariously directing murderous glares at every guy who dared to glance in my direction. It had been both sweet and annoying as hell.

  All of which was to say that Wyatt’s eyes and my boobs weren’t exactly strangers.

  I cleared my throat. “What’s the other thing you wanted to tell me?”

  He glanced down cautiously, checking to make sure it was safe before he relaxed again. “I, uh…” He scratched the back of his head like he was trying to remember what we’d been talking about. “Right. So I talked to Rodney Phelps yesterday. We had a nice chat over a couple of beers, and he agreed to waive the fines and late fees if you get all the required repairs done by the deadline.”

  I clapped a hand over my mouth, too emotional for a moment to speak. “Are you serious? All the fines?”

  Wyatt nodded, looking pleased with himself. “Everything except the attorney’s fees. So you’ll still have to pay like six hundred dollars.”

  “Oh my god!” Six hundred dollars
had never sounded like such an inconsequential sum of money before. It was an amount I could actually afford to pay if Wyatt got the repairs done for what he’d estimated.

  For the last thirty-six hours, I’d barely been keeping my shit together, functioning in a state of ongoing panic. The phrase “rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic” had never felt so applicable before. That had been me, taking out the trash and making my bed while the threat of losing my house loomed over me like an enormous freaking iceberg it was too late to steer away from. But now that crushing weight had been lifted off my chest.

  As much as I’d wanted to trust Wyatt and knew he had the best intentions, I hadn’t been able to let myself believe he could actually get me out of this mess. He was the kind of friend who’d drop everything and rush to your side in an emergency, but levelheadedness and follow-through had never been his strong suits. Even if they had been, my pessimist’s soul wouldn’t let me trust that anyone could swoop in and fix everything.

  But that was exactly what Wyatt was doing—literally. I wanted to throw my arms around him again and cover his whole face with kisses. I might even have done it, if he hadn’t pulled away from me the last time I’d hugged him.

  Enthusiastic hugs and sisterly cheek kisses had always been our norm. But lately I’d had the sense he wasn’t as comfortable with our displays of friendly affection as he used to be. And I wasn’t sure why. What had changed for him? Was it me? Or him? Either way, I didn’t want to make him more uncomfortable than I already had—especially after I’d just accidentally flashed him my tits.

  So instead of hugging him like I wanted to, I stood there awkwardly clutching my robe closed. Without an easy outlet for the deluge of emotions swamping me, I felt jittery and unsteady. My breath hitched as I tried to think of something to say, but nothing seemed adequate to express how touched and overcome I was by this incredible favor he was doing me.

  “You okay?” He arched an eyebrow, cocking his head so his hair spilled into his face.

  I nodded and cleared my throat, trying not to cry in front of him. I hated crying, but I really hated doing it in front of people. “I’m just trying to think of a way to say thank you.”

  He reached up to rake his hair back as he gave me a searching once-over. His concerned scrutiny made me more self-conscious than stripping off my bikini top ever had, and my eyes dropped to the floor as I fought the urge to hide under the coffee table.

  Before I could embarrass myself by bear-crawling to the nearest piece of furniture, Wyatt set his clipboard down and folded me into a hug. I stiffened as his arms wrapped me up, but the familiar comfort of his body proved too strong to resist. I let myself relax into his embrace and slid my arms around his waist.

  Instead of pulling away as I’d half feared he would, he held me even tighter, fitting my body against his. “You don’t have to thank me.” He spoke into my hair, one of his hands skating down my back as the other cupped the back of my head. “We’re family.”

  The sweetness of the sentiment might have succeeded in moving me to the tears I was trying to suppress, if I hadn’t been distracted by something else entirely.

  The very un-familial erection that twitched against my stomach.

  I stilled, my heart thudding into overdrive as we hovered there, our bodies pressed together, my face in his chest and his lips on my hair.

  Slowly, Wyatt loosened his hold and untangled himself from me. Shuffling back a step, he rested his hands on my shoulders.

  Don’t look down, I commanded my eyes. Do not attempt to look at the bulge in his jeans.

  Only by summoning every ounce of my willpower was I able to keep my attention focused on Wyatt’s face. Which revealed absolutely nothing—no awareness or acknowledgement of what we both had just felt.

  He has to know I felt that, right?

  “It’s going to be okay,” he told me. “I told you I’d take care of this, and I will.” It took me longer than it should have to realize he was talking about the house and not what was happening in his pants.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. Afraid that if I opened my mouth, I might just offer to take care of that pants situation for him.

  But that would be bad. Now was not the time to go throwing myself at him. Not when he’d just showed up to save my bacon—and by bacon I meant my house, which he was quite literally saving singlehandedly. He might think I was offering myself as some kind of thank-you or payment, which was definitely not the impression I wanted to give.

  One boner didn’t necessarily mean anything except that Wyatt was young and horny and his body parts had reacted involuntarily to my body parts. It wasn’t proof he wanted me.

  It was an interesting piece of evidence, however. One I definitely needed to think on some more before I decided what, if anything, to do about it.

  8

  Wyatt

  Is it possible to die of blue balls? If so, I was in big trouble.

  The last week and a half had been both the best and the most frustrating of my life. The best part was getting to see Andie every day, usually in the morning before she left for work and again in the evening when she came home. The frustrating part was seeing so much of her and getting hard pretty much whenever she was around. My nethers were in near-constant agony, and hiding the evidence of my urges was getting harder every day.

  I’d learned my lesson, at least, and after that first day I made sure not to show up in the mornings until she was dressed and about to leave for work. Not that those practical park service khakis she wore didn’t crank my engine—because they weirdly really did. But if I had to see her in that short little robe of hers again, I might actually lose my damn mind. The sight of her nipples peaking beneath the thin cotton and her smooth bare thighs was bad enough, but when that cursed thing had gaped open, exposing the swell of her soft, round breasts, I’d nearly had an aneurism from all the blood hightailing it to my dick.

  She had to have felt my hard-on when I’d hugged her last week. I should have kept my distance, but I hadn’t been able to help myself. What was I supposed to do when she looked so much like she was about to cry? Withhold comfort from her because my willie didn’t know its place? Screw that.

  I was just grateful she hadn’t said anything. As long as we both kept pretending my rock-hard cock hadn’t poked her in the stomach, I might survive the next few weeks with my dignity intact.

  Also, no more hugging. Hugging was definitely off-limits until I got these pants feelings under control.

  Aside from the terminal case of ball ache, I’d loved spending this time with Andie. Knowing I’d get to see her had me looking forward to getting up in the mornings. Every day felt like I was seven years old again, waking up at the crack of dawn on Christmas, and Andie was the present waiting under my tree. For the first time in my lazy-ass life, I was rising with the sun, full of energy and eager to get moving so I could share a cup of coffee with her before she went off to work.

  We’d talk about the things I planned to tackle on the house and what her work day had in store for her. I loved hearing about all the stuff she did to look after the wildlife up at the park. How complicated it was managing all those fragile, interdependent habitats and protecting the natural balance. She was so damn smart—she always had been—I wondered sometimes what she was even doing being friends with me.

  After she headed out to save the forests and whatnot, I’d work at her place all day while she was gone, taking a special kind of pride in the fact that I was protecting something she loved so much. Building a better home for her and restoring a treasured piece of her family’s heritage.

  Maybe it wasn’t as cool or important as the work Andie did at the state park. But it was important to her. And that made it important to me.

  I had the run of the house during the day when she was at work. Just being in her space, surrounded by her belongings and her scent, made me feel closer to her. I made damn sure to be respectful. I wasn’t about to betray the trust she’d placed
in me by invading her privacy and poking through her stuff. I cleaned up after myself carefully when I used the downstairs bathroom or kitchen. But sometimes I’d linger inside for a few minutes longer than strictly necessary. Reading all the funny embroidery designs she’d made and hung up around the house for decoration. Looking at the family photos she had sitting out—a few of which even featured me. Smiling at the collection of magnets and ticket stubs stuck to her fridge, some of them mementos of places we’d been together. I never went so far as to enter her bedroom, although once, in a particularly weak moment, I’d stood in the doorway just to breathe the air where she slept.

  But by far the best part of every day was the evening when Andie came home from work. As soon as I heard the sound of her Jeep Cherokee turning into the driveway, I perked up like a damn cocker spaniel. I’d watch her climb out of her car—looking sexy as hell in those damn khaki cargo pants that had no business hugging her hips and ass like that—and my junk would throb with every sub-bass pulse of my heart. I was one hundred percent Andie’s bitch. Just like that, she’d become the center of my universe.

  Most nights she picked up takeout for us on the way home. We’d crack open a couple of beers and sit at her kitchen table while we talked about our respective days like a damn married couple. It was the kind of comfortable domesticity I hadn’t experienced much in my life, other than the time I’d spent with Andie’s family growing up.

  For reasons I didn’t fully understand, it was something I’d always shied away from when other women had tried to offer it to me. I’d never wanted to stick around and do the things normal couples did. Unless I was doing them with Andie, apparently. I could have stayed all night doing nothing more than talking to her.

  But I didn’t. I always limited myself to one beer, then made myself go home as soon as we’d cleaned up dinner. Staying any longer would be too risky. I might be tempted to drink more, and then I might let my guard down, and then I might do something stupid and ruin this great thing we had going.