Live Without Regret (A Touch of Fate) (3 page)

Connor blinks several times, the look on his face telling me he wasn’t expecting me to say that. Honestly, it isn’t what I wanted to say. What I wanted to say was ‘
hell yes, I’ve changed my mind
,’ but I knew better. My heart remembers the sharp pain that lanced through it, effectively slicing it into thousands of tiny pieces. It remembers the sound of my cries as I begged Tyson to stay, to love me, to choose me. Worse yet, it knows I don’t have a heart left to give away.

“As a matter of fact, I do come here often. How about you?” he asks, absently peeling at the label on his beer bottle. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“You haven’t,” I confirm, shaking my head. “I moved back a few months ago.”

“So you grew up here in St. Louis?”

“I grew up across the river on the Illinois side, but, yes, this is home.” I’m reluctant to give him much more than that because it’ll lead to talking about what brought me home, and that’s something I’m not ready to discuss. He doesn’t need to know my fiancé walked out on me, and he sure as hell doesn’t need to know it took me two years to pick myself up from that devastating blow. So instead, I decide to redirect the conversation. “Are you from—?”

“There you are,” Casey breathes. Sliding into the booth next to me, she pushes a chunk of hair out of her face. “I was looking everywhere for you.” She glances up and freezes when she sees Connor sitting across from us. Her eyes widen, a grin playing at the corner of her mouth. “You aren’t Brad, the firefighter.”

Connor laughs and shakes his head. “Connor, the tattoo artist,” he says, reaching his hand across the table. She slips her hand in his and this weird twisting sensation takes place inside my chest. I thought I had gotten rid of that green-eyed monster. Guess I was wrong.

I don’t like them touching.

Why the fuck don’t I like them touching?

My first instinct is to shove Casey out of the booth or accidentally spill my drink in her lap, but I quickly push the thoughts away because those are things a jealous girlfriend would do.

And I am
not
a jealous girlfriend. Plus, Casey is my sister…whom I love…dearly.

Hell, I’m not even
a
girlfriend.

But I do need to do something because she’s smiling and—
shit
—now he’s smiling. And they’re still touching.

Why in the world are they still touching?

“Where’s Mike?” My words are rushed, my voice clipped, but it does the job. Casey releases Connor’s hand and I sigh in relief. I should feel better, but I don’t. In fact, now I’m really pissed off at myself for getting jealous.

“Mike who?” Casey says, interrupting my thoughts.

“The guy you were just molesting out on the dance floor. Remember him?”

Casey tilts her head to the side, narrowing her eyes. For a split second, I’m certain she sees right through me. And she might. Not only is she my baby sister, but she’s also my best friend and knows me better than anyone.

“Oh, right. Mike. He was no one.” She shakes her head and quickly waves me off, returning her attention to Connor. “So, Connor, how do you know my sister?”

I peek up at Connor.
Please say you’re the man who’s going to be spending the night with me
, I silently beg. “You two are sisters?” he asks, motioning toward us.

I nod. “We are.”

“I,” Casey says, pointing toward herself, “am the younger, sweeter, smarter sister.
Oomph.
” She grunts when I elbow her in the side and then she giggles. “You still haven’t answered my question, Connor.”

Connor takes a swig of his beer. “I’m her tattoo artist.”

“
What?
” Connor winces at Casey’s loud screech. I’m used to the sound, having lived with the crazy broad my whole life. “You have a tattoo?”

“Actually, I have two,” I say proudly, holding up two fingers.

“When did this happen?” she asks, looking from me to Connor and back to me. “And why am I just finding out about it now?”

Connor holds up his hands and slowly shakes his head. “Hey, I’m only responsible for the second one. I wasn’t the lucky son-of-a-bitch who got to pop that cherry.”

Warmth radiates up my neck, infusing my cheeks, and Connor’s heated gaze slides to mine. To avoid his penetrating eyes, I look down. My body tingles—literally fucking tingles—under the weight of his stare.

“I like you,” Casey states. “And you just made my sister blush, which I’ve never seen. I feel like you should get some sort of prize for that.”

Lips pursed, I look up. “I’m not blushing.”

“Right,” Casey says, drawing out the word while slowly nodding. A knowing smile slides across her face. “It’s just hot in here.”

“It
is
hot in here,” I argue.

Connor clears his throat. “I’m not hot.”

Casey’s head whips around and she points a finger at Connor. “Uh, yes. Yes, you are.” Connor grins at the compliment.

My head drops and I bury my face in my hands. I love my sister, but her inability to filter what comes out of her mouth can be a bit annoying. “Go get me a drink,” I mumble, nudging her out of the booth. She sighs but eventually gives in.

“Fine, but only because
I
need a drink.” I look up as Casey turns to Connor. “Do you want another beer?” she asks.

“That’d be great.” Connor holds up his beer bottle to show her what he’s drinking. “Just put it all on my tab.”

“Connor, the tattoo artist, you are too kind.” She flashes him a flirty smile and struts—yes, struts—toward the bar.

Connor nods toward Casey. “I like your sister.”

“You can have her.”

“I heard that,” Casey yells. “And you would miss the hell out of me,” she tosses over her shoulder before reaching the bar.

I shake my head and mouth ‘no.’ Connor’s answering smile is enough to make my insides go all soft and gooey, something I haven’t experienced in a long time. What I wouldn’t give to feel that every single day. What I wouldn’t give to know I was the one who put that smile on Connor’s face—the kind of smile that, if allowed, could mend broken hearts. The kind of smile that could make a girl hope for things she shouldn’t be hoping for, like white picket fences, blond-haired babies, and the promise of forever. Except…

Forever doesn’t exist.

Forever can be taken away.

Minds can change, and in the blink of an eye, everything you thought you had simply disappears.

Shit.

Why the hell am I thinking about forever?
Surely his smile isn’t that potent.

“You can’t smile at me like that,” I whisper. Then I squeeze my eyes shut when I realize I actually said those words out loud. I’ve been so good about closing myself off, putting on my armor and shielding myself from feeling…well, anything.

But Connor is different. He’s a game changer. When I’m around him, I want to rip down all of my walls and try.

Try what?
I’m not sure. Anything, maybe. Anything other than what I’ve been doing. And it’s not that I want to try with just anyone, I want to try with
him
.

“You don’t like it when I smile?” he asks, his husky voice invading my thoughts.

Opening my eyes, I glance up. His eyes are smoldering, begging me to give him what he wants. Who am I to disappoint? My head is screaming…

Mayday!

Abort!

Look away!

But my heart isn’t listening. “I love it when you smile.”

Connor’s eyes widen and he goes completely still.

Oh, God. Why in the hell did I just say that?

He’s probably confused with all of these mixed signals I keep throwing out. Hell, so am I.

Connor hasn’t said a word and he’s still watching me. I’ve seen that look before. I saw it on Tyson—several times, in fact—years before he ripped my heart out.

Fix this, Brit.

My eyes drift to the dance floor. I can’t help but feel like I’d be much safer out there in the midst of all those gyrating bodies than I am here sitting in this booth, looking into the eyes of this man who sees way too much. This man who makes me say stupid,
stupid
things.

Looking at him isn’t an option, because if I look at him, I’ll cave. So I do the only thing I can do—the only thing that will preserve what willpower I have left.

I ease out of the booth. “I’m going to go dance.”

W
hat just happened?

“Where the hell is she going?” Scooting into the seat Brittany just vacated, Casey hands me a beer, but her eyes are locked on her sister’s retreating form.

“I’m an asshole.” A
fucking
asshole.

Brittany’s blatant honesty caught me off guard and I froze. She had made it clear that she wasn’t into dating, only meaningless sex. Therefore, I expected her to brush off my question, or at the very least come up with some sort of sarcastic answer. But the vulnerability on her face when she said she loved my smile was unmistakable, and it left me at a loss for words.

I had been seconds away from telling her that I’d gladly have meaningless sex with her if the offer still stood. The need to touch her was growing by the second, and although I would’ve hated myself in the morning, I was willing to take whatever she would give me.

But then I saw it. The truth behind whatever façade she was putting up was short-lived, but it was all I needed. I knew right then and there that if I played my cards right, I could break down her walls … and I desperately want to break down her walls.

“Most men are,” she mumbles. We both watch as Brittany finds an empty spot on the dance floor and starts moving her body in perfect rhythm with the music. “But,” she says, turning toward me, “I have a feeling that you, sir, are a redeemable asshole.”

Choosing not to comment, I take a drink of my beer. I know I’m not really an asshole, and I can tell by the tone of Casey’s voice she doesn’t think that either.

“She likes to think she’s made for meaningless sex,” Casey says, confirming what I had begun to suspect. “But she isn’t. It’s not who she is. She’s been hurt, and this is her way of protecting herself.”

Casey takes a sip of her purple concoction. When I open my mouth to respond, she holds up a hand, signaling me to wait. Lowering her glass to the table, she twirls it between her fingers. “There are two things you should know about my sister. First,” she says, holding up a finger, “she can’t—and I repeat
cannot
—say no to the Cardinals.” I furrow my brows, completely confused as to what the Cardinals have to do with anything. Before I can ask, Casey quickly continues. “And second, when it comes right down to it, she will
always
follow her heart. Now,” she says, sliding from the booth, drink in hand. “That’s all you need to know to land my sister. What you do with it is completely up to you. But”—she points a finger at me—“if you break her heart, I will hunt you down and do godawful things to your manhood.” Without a second glance, she spins on her heel and walks away.

For the second time in a matter of minutes, a woman has rendered me speechless. But this time I don’t let the girl get away. “Why are you helping me?” I ask.

Casey stops mid-step and looks over her shoulder. “Because I love my sister more than anyone else in this world, and I saw a spark in her eyes tonight that I haven’t seen in over two years. I want to see that spark every day, Connor.” I have absolutely no idea what to say to that, so I nod. “Now”—Casey gestures toward the dance floor—“you better go get your girl before some other asshole snags her.” With a quick wink, she walks away.

Tipping my head back, I drain what’s left of my beer then scoot out from behind the table. I may be an asshole, but I’m a smart asshole, and she doesn’t have to tell me twice.

I stand up and walk toward the edge of the dance floor. It isn’t big, but you’d never know by the number of bodies currently inhabiting the small space. It doesn’t take long to locate Brittany, and not because my eyes are drawn to her like a magnet—which they are—but because she’s the one with men circling her, waiting to stake their claim.

She’s completely oblivious to the attention she’s getting, and for some reason I find that insanely attractive. Brittany has a kick-ass body that most women would pay ridiculous amounts of money for, and she isn’t even using it to get what she could clearly have—what she stated she wants.