Page 17 of Ripped

CHAPTER EIGHT

DONNIE

I pull my earbuds out as I open the door to the house. It’s quiet inside. “Connor?”

No answer. He’s definitely home though. His coat is still hanging from the rack by the door. He isn’t in the kitchen or in his bedroom upstairs. The only other option is in the basement—he better not be in the gym.

The door to the theater room is open and on the screen is the default “Ready to Cast” image of the projection system. Connor is curled up in one of the recliners. The armchair is fully extended, but he’s folded his big body into a ball, one arm wrapped around his knees, the other hand tucked under his head. He’s fast asleep.

I rushed out of Mars after my last class ended, dodging both Sawyer and Beau before they could stop me with questions I don’t want to answer and frankly, don’t have the answers to. That confrontation with Beau in the morning isn’t like me. I don’t get into arguments with people. I don’t get angry over something that has almost nothing to do with me. There’s something about Connor though, that’s bringing out every single protective instinct I possess.

I don’t usually rush out of Mars like I did either. Most days I linger and chat with gym members, answer their questions, and give them tips on exercise routines or healthy diets. If it’s late, I’ll stay to help Sawyer close up. I never really have anywhere else to be. I don’t have anyone waiting for me in this big, empty house. But I do today, and the anticipation had me practically running home.

I quietly flick the switch to turn the projector off and the change in lighting makes Connor stir. He blinks and stretches before lifting his head and spotting me.

“Oh hey, you’re home.”

My heart skips a beat at those two words. You’re home. They seep into me and warm me up until I feel all gooey and soft. There’s someone waiting for me and they’re happy that I’m finally here. My knees are weak, and I take a step toward the door before I sink right down into that recliner with Connor.

“How’s your ankle?” I croak.

Connor rights the recliner and sticks his foot out to rotate his ankle around. “Good. The swelling’s gone.”

“Does it hurt to walk on it?”

He shakes his head with a yawn and reaches up to stretch. His shirt rides up, revealing a swath of skin at his waist and a line of dark blond hair that runs down into his jeans. I look away as the warmth in me heats up.

Now that my body’s had a taste of what it’s been missing for the past several years, it’s hungry for all the touch it can get. It wants the hugs and the spooning, the sitting in laps and cuddling on the couch. It wants to feel the glide of skin against skin, the weight of another body pinning it to the bed, the stretch and burn of a cock sliding inside. It wants everything and the craving is so strong I can hardly breathe.

“I’ll start cooking,” I say, spinning toward the door and not waiting for Connor to follow.

Except he’s right behind me. Close enough for me to feel the air stir as he moves. Close enough for his voice to slither down my spine.

“How was the gym?” he asks.

I busy myself with pulling out ingredients from the fridge, debating whether I should tell him about Miles showing up. The protective streak I’ve suddenly developed doesn’t want to. It’s better for him to make a clean break. But I’m not actually anyone to Connor and I don’t have the right to be protective of him that way.

“Um, well, apparently Miles stopped by this morning.” I try to keep my tone casual, no big deal, no need for Connor to find out about the whole thing with Beau.

Connor’s quiet and when I look over at him, he’s as still as a statue. His lips are pressed tightly together and the color’s drained from his face. My stomach sinks and I wish there was another way—a better way—to do this.

“What did he want?”

“He was looking for you,” I say quietly. “It was before I got there and Sawyer talked to him. He didn’t tell Miles where you are though.”

Connor’s nod is jerky and his shoulders are halfway up to his ears. “What else?”

“That’s it. When Sawyer said he didn’t know where you were, he left.”

Connor’s eyes look unfocused and his chest isn’t moving. Is he holding his breath?

“Connor?”

He starts and sucks in a lungful of air. “Yeah, what? Sorry.”

Now that he’s breathing again he’s actually quivering a bit. I round the end of the island to where he’s sitting on a stool and put my hand on his shoulder. “You weren’t expecting him to show up at Mars, were you?”

Connor leans into my touch and the embers in me glow in delight. I slide my hand to his back and rub comforting circles across it.

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