Crash Lights and Sirens, Book 1 (10 page)

“S’why you wanted to hang out, maybe.” Taryn grins, nodding at the TV as the Celtics’ forward sinks a three-pointer from damn near half court. “I just came ”cause I’m really into Kevin Garnett and I figured your TV was probably bigger than mine.”

Nick snorts, setting his bottle on the coffee table before he kisses her again. He tastes like toothpaste underneath the tang of the beer. “Fresh,” he mutters, right up against her mouth.

They make out like teenagers all through the first quarter, Nick’s warm hand cupping the back of her neck to set the pressure and his rough tongue rasping over hers. Taryn keeps her eyes closed, falls in. She hasn’t kissed anybody like this since high school—she and Pete always got down to business pretty fast, both of them tired from work or whatever, and before him it was mostly random hookups—and it lights her body up way more than she might have expected it to. She likes it, how Nick seems happy to take his time with her even though this was more or less a booty call. It’s like he’s got no place to be other than here.

He eases her down onto the cushions during a commercial break before the second, Taryn vaguely aware of hearing the ad for a carpet cleaner as the back of her head hits a plush throw pillow. The couch is a worn, smooth leather, and wide. Nick settles himself between her thighs like he’s been doing it for years and years, but still he doesn’t make any move to get her clothes off, just running his hand up and down the ribbing of her tank top over and over, his palm barely glancing off the slope of her breast. When his thumb brushes her nipple through the fabric, Taryn gasps.

Nick hums in response, mouth trailing back along her jawline and down to the curve of her neck. He’s barely giving her any of his weight at all. “That from me?” he asks her, nosing along her collarbone. It takes her a second to realize he’s talking about the bruise. It’s way fainter than it was a couple of days ago, just this small discoloration that’s smaller than a quarter. You’d never even notice unless you knew what you were looking for, and where.

Taryn shifts her hips underneath him—she is worked up, Jesus, all this aching heat pooling between her legs and him avoiding giving her what she wants on purpose, she’s pretty sure. She is not not not going to make the next move. “I mean,” she says, running her hand along the muscles in his chest through his T-shirt. “It’s not from anybody else.”

That makes him smile. “Should I apologize?”

Taryn pulls back, raises her eyebrows. His cheeks are the slightest bit flushed, which she likes. “Are you sorry?”

Nick shrugs and delivers what she’s after, dropping down into the cradle of her hips and giving her something to grind against. She can feel the outline of his cock right through his jeans. “Not particularly.”

So then.

It’s damn near halftime when Atlas decides he’s finally bored, heaving himself up off the hearth with a sigh and padding across the hardwood to investigate, sniffing double time. His cold nose bumps up against Taryn’s cheek. “Oh, come on,” she says, breasts pressing against Nick’s chest as she laughs, squirming. She likes dogs—and it’s hard not to like Atlas, his ears and his kind, intelligent face—but there are limits.

“Pervert.” Nick pushes him away gently, but Atlas won’t take the hint, licking Nick’s knuckles with enthusiasm. Nick sits up, scrubbing a hand through his dark, messy hair. “Hey, Falvey,” he says quietly, trailing his palm down to rub at a day’s worth of stubble. ”How do you feel about letting me get you in a bed?”

As soon as she says yes Nick regrets it, wonders if he’s making a huge, irreversible mistake. He hasn’t felt it with Falvey so far, his usual tetchiness about having somebody in the house with him. Then again, he also hasn’t had her upstairs. Either way, he guesses he’s about to find out. The bed’s the same four-poster he slept in with Maddie, tucked away in the corner of the untouched master bedroom, cabbage roses and fussy panel molding. Maddie used to joke they needed a waterbed to go with the decor.

“Come on,” he murmurs, more resolute than he feels, dropping one last kiss on Falvey’s swollen mouth. The risk is almost worth it already, how bad he wants to lay her out on a surface with room to work.

They lever themselves off the couch slowly, straightening out hair and clothing like guilty teenagers while Atlas looks on, a very furry chaperone. His tail is wagging crazily now that there’s evidence of real movement. He’s expecting a walk, Nick knows, but the snowy backyard will have to do. Nick nudges his reproachful face out the side door before killing the fire and TV both, busing their empties to the kitchen counter. He almost rinses the bottles out too, only that feels too close to stalling—which he is, of course he is, but still. Falvey’s gonna notice.

She’s hanging back herself, hands shoved deep in her pockets like maybe she’s nervous too.
Won’t it be weird
? God, Nick is and isn’t pissed Lynette spilled the beans. Something about Falvey makes him want to be as honest as possible.

There’s nothing for it. “Ready?” he asks, as if he hasn’t been the one finding other things to do.

“Oh, um.” Taryn grins when she pivots away from the windows and finds him watching, raking a hand through her messy hair. She looks how Nick feels, red faced and wobbly. “Sure. Lead the way.”

We could do it anyway
, Nick promised her.
Hang out
.

He takes her upstairs without another word, their feet sinking into the faded Chinese runner that Nick hasn’t gotten around to ripping out yet. Maddie’s wheelchair used to catch on the edges. There’s a skylight filtering sun all through the hallway, but the bedroom is dim for the middle of the day, east-facing windows and the blinds drawn. Nick made the bed this morning, even going so far as to rustle up some clean sheets. The entire time, he was acutely aware of what he was doing and why.

“You sure?” That’s Falvey, stalled out in the doorway. She’s shoved her hands back in her pockets. “Because I’d totally understand if—”

“Falvey.” His voice is steady, considering. It’s the voice he uses when he’s training, burn sheets and car wrecks, just stay calm and do what I say. “Get in the bed.”

Falvey looks at him for another second, like she’s weighing her options.

Then she gets.

Nick exhales. “Come here,” he says, once she’s sitting on the edge of the mattress, chewing her bottom lip like possibly she’s trying to take it clean off. He props her foot on his thigh and unlaces her boots quick and efficient, just the same as he did in the Tahoe the other night.

Well. Her hands behind her on the comforter, this triangle quilt Maddie’s mom gave them when they were first married—

Not exactly the same.

Nick pulls the boots off and her socks for good measure, a hot pink pair with hearts on them that hit below her ankles and look like they possibly belong to a middle-schooler. “They’re my sister’s,” she confirms when he raises his eyebrows.

Nick smirks, grateful for even a momentary distraction. “S’a good look on you.” She’s got pretty feet, pale and painted, dark polish on her nails. He presses experimentally at her instep, and Taryn breathes in.

“Jesus,” she tells him, wiggling her toes until he digs his thumb in again, harder this time. “Forget whatever else you were planning. You wanna just do that all afternoon, that’s fine too.”

“Oh yeah?” He would, is the truth; not all afternoon, maybe, but honestly he just likes having his hands on her body. Nick rubs for another minute, then squeezes her calves and palms up the backs of her legs, the warm bend behind her knees. He gets closer, sets her feet on his hips and drops forward to kiss her. “You sure?”

“Well.” Taryn grins for the first time since he brought her up here as he reaches for the waistband of her jeans, touching along the flat line of her stomach. Nick can feel the muscles jump right through her shirt. “Maybe don’t forget altogether.” She sinks back onto her elbows to give him room, watching curiously as he pops the button and lifting her ass so he can peel them down her legs. Her thighs are the same freckly pale as the rest of her. She’s got a motherfucker of a scar on one knee. “Fell,” she says, when she catches him looking. “When I was a kid.”

Nick nods. It’s her
don’t you dare be curious about me
voice, same as when he asked about her brothers in the car the other day. Well, he is curious about her, worse and worse the more time they spend together, but he’s also not an idiot, and so he doesn’t follow up. Instead he drops to his knees on the carpet so he can get his mouth on the inside of her thigh, planting a kiss way down low. Her underwear’s a charcoal-gray cotton, and damp.

When he tries to kiss lower, Falvey damn near kicks his head off. “Hang on,” she pants, bending one leg up to press those polished toes against his shoulder. Nick backs off obediently and she follows him, scooting her ass to the very edge of the bed and reaching down for his Henley. Once that’s off she goes for his belt too, resting her head on his shoulder as she bends. Nick chuckles, standing up to help her.

“In a hurry?” he teases, gathering her tangled hair into a makeshift bun. She’s got handfuls and handfuls of the stuff, soft and thick. Nick knows from experience the baby fuzz around the temples frizzes up like anything when she sweats.

Falvey nips at his abdomen, not entirely nicely. “Shut up,” she huffs, shucking his jeans. “Last time you got the full floor show and I got nothing. I’m just making it even.”

Nicks rubs at the tip of one pale ear for a moment, not saying anything. She’s got a real thing about even, he’s noticed, gas money and first moves and orgasms. And now, apparently, nudity. It’s not something Nick loves, the keeping score.

But. He also doesn’t want to lose the lighter mood.

“The full floor show, huh?” he asks, letting her reach down and do his socks too. “What is this, a Chippendales?” She’s left his boxer-briefs on so far, although she is definitely not shy about butting her head against his fly while she pulls off the socks. Nick sucks in a breath, and she does it again. “Besides,” he pants when she sits up and stops horsing around. “I think you got a pretty good look the first time.”

Too late he wonders if it’s a mistake to keep bringing it up, the night of the fire and everything that came after. But Falvey just grins at him. “You were covered in soot,” is all she says, leaning back on her hands and taking a long, obvious look. “Plus it was dark. Speaking of, go open the blinds or something. I wanna see.”

Nick raises his eyebrows, fighting down a smile. Fuck, he really—he likes this girl. It’s getting to be a problem. “Bossy,” he tells her, only then he does exactly what she says. He wants to see too.

Taryn’s stripped off her tank by the time he turns back around, staticky hair and a plain black bra that stands out like ink against her skin. The sudden wash of sunlight looks like it’s lighting her up from the inside out, every single freckle etched in sharp relief. She’s the brightest thing in the entire room, no question. Not that it’s any real contest, Nick guesses, dull bedspread and faded pink carpet, those graying cabbage roses on the wall, but God. For a second he honestly just stares.

Falvey’s staring a bit herself. “Okay, yeah,” she says, laughing. “That’s—yeah.” She waves a hand. “Come over here.”

So. Nick comes.

He gets his knees on the mattress and crawls up her body, laces his fingers with hers on either side of her head. The old bed frame creaks under their weight. Taryn squeezes tight, which surprises him—he wouldn’t have guessed in a million years she was the type to like having her hand held. In any case, Nick squeezes back.

They stay like that for a minute, weak-tea sun streaming in through the picture window and him dropping featherlight kisses down her sternum and along the line of her practical bra. He really, really likes how she smells. He stays between her breasts for an extra beat to breathe her in more, nudging his face against the vanilla-soft skin there and feeling the fast, thready tap of her heart against his cheek. Taryn scritches her short fingernails through his hair.

“So I lied,” she tells him breathlessly, gasping as he bites at her nipple through the fabric. Nick wants her naked and to draw this out as long as possible in equal amounts. “I didn’t actually come here ’cause I have a huge thing for Kevin Garnett.”

He licks down her rib cage, circles her navel. “Oh no?” he asks casually, biting again.

“Nope.” Falvey’s hips are moving now, impatient just like earlier on the sofa. She’s pressed against his chest and squirming, like she’s looking for someplace to grind. “I actually like Paul Pierce way better.”

“Clever.” Nick drops down closer. He can smell her through the cotton of her underwear, clean and private and animal. He pushes his tongue at the damp spot, and Taryn jumps. The thin elastic waistband is slipping and he pulls it even farther, tugging it down over the jut of her hips. He means to get two fingers inside her, show her exactly what he thinks of her little comedy routine, but he gets caught up short, sucking in a noisy breath when he sees how bare and smooth she is.

“Jesus, Falvey,” he mutters, shaking his head as he drags the panties all the way down to her ankles. He liked the hair between her legs, fuck, all that pretty coppery-gold, but. He likes this too.

I imagined it
, she told him the other night in the backseat of the Tahoe. Nick thinks of her doing this before she came over here, if not for him exactly then knowing he was going to see it, and feels himself get even harder than he already is.