Taking Connor

You were always pissed that my dick was bigger.

Blake certainly had a way with words. Maybe the photo would’ve made Co

“I was pissed because I wanted to sit next to the faucet, but Blake was the baby and always got his way,” Co

Placing the photo aside, I watch as Co

“He was very clear,” I tell him, my hand on his large forearm. “That’s for you to read when you’re ready.”

After a moment, he lets out a long breath before placing the envelope back in the box and returning all the other items. “I can keep these?”

I smile sadly as I place the lid back on the box. “He wanted you to have these things. I’m sorry I didn’t give it to you sooner.”

Co

“You’re welcome.”

“No,” he says. “Thank you for being there for him and taking care of him. Grams too. She wrote me and told me how you stepped up, how when Blake got sick you stepped up and took care of both of them. I’m truly grateful.”

My eyes tear up, and I quickly wipe them, hoping to stop any tears from falling. “I’m lucky to have had both of them in my life. Grams is like a mother to me. And Blake, well, I’m pretty sure anyone that ever met him feels like they were lucky. He was just that kind of guy.”

Co

“Shit,” he grumbles under his breath.

I grab the lid to the saucepan and cover it. Then I grab a dishtowel and wet the end of it under the faucet. “If you don’t get this off, and in the wash, it will stain.” Without asking, I grab the hem of his shirt and begin dabbing at the stains with the dishtowel. Shaking my head, I look up to find Co

“Um . . . I think we need to throw it in the wash,” I manage as I step away. “Better do it now.”

Co

“That one . . . I got shanked by a guy inside because I broke up . . . something he was doing.”

Okay, so I was right. “And this one?” I ask, as my fingers move down and run along the next scar.

“Shanked again,” he chuckles, but his expression doesn’t look humored. It’s more a look of embarrassment or disbelief.

When my fingers touch the third scar on his right side, he grabs my hand and holds it still. “That one was Blake.”

“What?” I smile slightly.

“We were wrestling in the bed of our grandfather’s truck while he was inside the hardware store. The tailgate was down. Blake tackled me, and I fell sideways on the springs. Cut me good.”

When my gaze meets his again, he’s still holding my hand, pressed against his abdomen. My mouth is suddenly dry, but I can’t help darting my tongue out and licking my lips. His mouth parts slightly and his shoulders rise as he breathes in deeply as his eyes move from my eyes to my mouth.

I’m transfixed as I watch him, but the moment is broken when the pot boils over on the stove and makes sizzling sounds as the water meets the hot burner.

“Shit,” Co

“I’m going to throw this in the wash,” I blurt, as he fights the chaos on the stove. I rush away and into the utility room where I close the door behind me.

“What the hell, Demi?” I whisper to myself. I just touched him . . . like touched-touched him. “You really need to get laid,” I tell myself.

After I start the wash, I return to the kitchen where Co

“I should grab a shirt, but di

“Don’t worry about it,” I tell him.

“Have a seat,” he orders as he swipes at the steam rising from the pasta. “I’ll make us a plate.”

Moments later, he places two heaping plates of spaghetti on the table and sits beside me. There’s enough spaghetti on my plate to feed three grown men, and I can’t help chuckling.

“What?” he asks as he smiles at me, his dark eyes filled with curious humor.

“Nothing. It looks great,” I assure him. “It’s just . . . a lot.”

“Oh, sorry,” he laughs. “Don’t feel like you have to eat it all . . . or any of it for that matter.”

“Oh, I’m eating it,” I confirm enthusiastically. I love spaghetti. It’s my favorite food. There’s no way I’m not eating it.

“Well, bon appetite,” he smirks.

“Thank you.” Picking up my fork, I start twirling the pasta on it as Co

“When do you go back to work?” he manages between bites.

“Next week. It’s only summer school right now, so my days are short anyway. I’ll have the month of August off before the new school year starts.”

“Any plans for August?” he asks before wiping his mouth with his napkin.

“Um . . . not right now, no. What about you? Do you have any plans to catch up with some of your old friends in the area?”

He scratches the back of his neck. “Maybe. I’d like to be busy with work first. That Brian guy stopped by today. He was pretty nice. He said he’ll spread word about me to his friends and family.”

“That’s great.” I smile brightly.

“Thank you for everything, Demi,” he sighs.

“Please stop thanking me, Co

“Well, I ordered the new AC adapter for your car. Should come in tomorrow and I’ll have it fixed for you.”

“Thank you,” I moan. “It’ll be so nice to have AC in my car again.”

We both take another bite of pasta and as we chew my gaze moves to his chest where he has a quote tattooed on his chest.

“Return good for good; return evil with justice”

“Confucius?” I ask around the pasta in my mouth.

His gaze meets mine as his brows furrow in question.

“The quote on your chest. It’s Confucius, right?”

“Oh,” he says, as he looks down at his chest. “Yeah. Got it about eight years ago.”

“May I ask what it means to you?”

Placing his fork on his plate, he wipes his mouth before leaning back and crossing his massive arms. The corner of his mouth lifts as he looks at me. “May I ask what it means to you?”

I sit back as well, my gaze never leaving his. “To me, it means be good to those who are good to you and make the evil pay.” I’m so not a philosopher. I wished my wording was more elegant or intelligent, but that’s just not me.