Page 23

Chapter 23

McCoy

Coy couldn’t believe Sawyer was standing on her doorstep, patiently waiting as she fumbled to unlock the entrance to her apartment. Hell, she hadn’t even known patience was a virtue Sawyer held. Frankly, Sawyer had been anything but in the months since they’d met. Yet here she was, close enough behind Coy she could feel Sawyer’s breasts graze her shoulder blades once or twice, quietly waiting.

Coy sucked her teeth. “S-sorry,” she said unnecessarily, hastily twisting the knob and pushing the door inward. She gestured for Sawyer to go on ahead of her.

Sawyer’s smile was as beautiful as it was rare, and when she directed it at Coy, it felt like the ground could come up and greet her any moment. Her heart rate jacked up, and she swallowed down her nerves, trying and failing to return that wide, earnest smile.

Who was this woman, and what happened to the old Sawyer?

“Nice place you have,” Sawyer commented, glancing around at the minimal furnishings throughout the apartment. Her gaze landed on the two mountain bikes secured to the far wall behind the sofa. One eyebrow arched up. “Does Sloane live here, too?”

“She does, though she’s at work tonight. Late shift at the pub,” Coy explained, setting her keys on the table in the entranceway. She wiped her clammy hands on her dirty jeans, only then realizing the state she was in. Jesus, had she really dropped everything she’d been working on to steal away for the afternoon with Sawyer? She’d been a mess since calling it off with Frankie. She couldn’t understand, not really. It wasn’t like she loved Frankie, not like she could love Sawyer if given the chance. Still, Frankie had a hold on Coy.

“Why don’t you grab a shower, and I’ll whip something up for supper?” Sawyer suggested, reaching out to skim her fingers lightly down Coy’s arm.

Coy’s mind went blank at the feel of those soft fingers against her hot skin. Goosebumps broke out, and she shivered, raising her eyes to Sawyer’s. With flats on, Sawyer was only about an inch or so taller than Coy. If she crooked her mouth up, just a little, their mouths would meet.

“You could come in with me.” Coy wagged her eyebrows, because of course she did. For some fucked up reason, she’d turned into a chronic moment killer when it came to Sawyer.

Grimacing, she took a small step back, opening her mouth to apologize when Sawyer surprised her with a finger against her lips.

“I might be willing to entertain this little idea you have of the two of us,” she quietly stated, her gaze lingering on her finger skimming across Coy’s mouth, before focusing on her eyes, “but make no mistake, McCoy. Things will progress at my pace or not at all.”

Unable to stop, Coy puckered her lips and kissed Sawyer’s finger, a grin breaking forth at the subtle intake of the older woman’s breath. “I’ll go whatever speed you want.”

She hurried with her shower as much as she could with grease rubbed into her chestnut locks. She had to wash with the shampoo three times, but eventually, it was all gone, and she was scrubbing her body down. When Coy, finally dressed in clean clothing, took a seat at the small kitchen table, Sawyer was plating two omelets with a side of toast.

“Wow. I didn’t know we had ingredients to make all that. Thank you, Sawyer,” Coy watched as Sawyer returned to the counter and poured them each a mug of coffee. She wore loose fitting slacks today, but Coy enjoyed the snug way they fit over her gorgeous backside. She couldn’t recall ever seeing a woman with a finer ass, and that was saying something.

“You’re welcome. And yes, some items in your fridge were questionable. A dated container of black beans and spoiled mushrooms, cauliflower … I tossed them all.”

Sawyer placed a mug in front of Coy before taking a seat across from her. Dark circles formed below Sawyer’s magnetic eyes, dulling the shade some in the last half an hour, Coy noticed. A thin sheen of perspiration had collected along her temple as well. Profound guilt made Coy’s chest tighten at the sight. What was I thinking, running Sawyer all over the city when she was still healing?

“I should be serving you, not the other way around.” The statement came out husky, but Coy didn’t have the wherewithal to apologize, especially not when it was the truth. A woman like Sawyer needed to be worshiped, cherished. Coy watched as Sawyer took her first bite. “You look tired.”

Sawyer gave her a shrewd stare as she chewed, replying only after she’d swallowed. “For someone with your assumed sexual experience, you should know that’s rude to say, McCoy.”

Coy bowed her head, unable to hide her blush at the gentle rebuke. “I’m out of practice,” she self-consciously admitted, “and, well, you have a way of putting me on edge.”

“Out of practice?” Sawyer’s face was a mask of disbelief. “You’re sending selfies to me several times a week from the pub. Surely, there are girls your age to flirt with.”

Coy blanched. “Girls? Sawyer, I haven’t looked at anyone else for months. I tried to. I-I had a guys’ night planned with my friend Naz the day of your heart attack. We brought Jasmine back here, but … all I could think about was you.”

“You had a … threesome?” Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, and when she turned back to her plate, she stabbed her fork into the egg dish forcefully.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Coy insisted. “I couldn’t. The idea of being with anyone but you had me literally sick, Sawyer. I don’t know what’s happening o-or why I feel like this.” I’m scared , she almost said, but it was too soon to admit just how deep she was in when it came to Sawyer.

They continued to eat in silence, Sawyer not helping to ease Coy’s doubts by adding anything to the conversation. Coy wondered what she was thinking or feeling for that matter. Did she feel this twisty mess of strangled emotion deep inside, too?

“Supper was delicious, but you didn’t have to cook. Not that you’re not a great chef because you are, I just don’t expect anyone to slave over a stove for me,” Coy rushed to say, standing to clear away their dishes. “People probably always expect that of you, right?”

“I learned a long time not to bend to someone else’s will,” Sawyer replied, an edge to her words that hadn’t been there before. “No one can make me do something I don’t want, McCoy.”

“Yeah, I guess not.” Coy turned to see Sawyer taking a precarious seat on the worn-out leather sofa in the living room. She fidgeted with the lone thumb ring she had on, unsure if she should join Sawyer or sit in the recliner. What were they doing? What were they? Friends, maybe more than friends right now?

She stepped closer to Sawyer, observing how stiffly she was perched. Her long fingers absently rubbed the back of her neck, her eyelids periodically fluttering open and shut. An idea formed, and Coy headed to the bathroom for an unopened bottle of massage oil. She wasn’t confident Sawyer would be receptive to any intimacy just yet, and she certainly didn’t want to kill the off chance by flashing a bottle she’d used on a past lover.

“What’s that?” Sawyer asked when McCoy returned, eyeing the bottle in suspicion.

Coy sat beside her, turning her body. She faced Sawyer head-on and held the massage oil out. “Your shoulders and neck are tense. I thought I could rub them for you.”

Sawyer brushed Coy’s words off with a scoff, shifting her gaze away to the flat screen on the wall. “Why? It’s not as if it will lead to sex.”

Coy bit back a sigh. Why was this woman so damn defensive? “I wasn’t trying for that, but it’s nice to know you think I couldn’t possibly care about anything else.” She sank further into the sofa, reaching over to place the bottle of oil on the end table.

“Why would you offer a massage if you aren’t wanting sex as a reward?”

Coy’s forehead wrinkled in confusion, and she stared at Sawyer. “Why wouldn’t I? I give Sloane a massage all the time. Her shoulders hurt from carrying around trays of food and drink all night. It’s just …” She paused with a shrug. “It’s something you do for someone you care for.”

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed, her gaze on Coy for a long moment. “And you think you … care for me?”

The doubt in her voice broke something in Coy, like the thought of anyone genuinely caring for or longing for Sawyer was inconceivable. It left McCoy with more questions than she had answers, namely the unspoken subject of Sawyer’s husband. Had Olivier never given his wife a massage after being on her feet for fourteen hours? What kind of moron wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to spoil this woman?

Coy’s smile was sheepish, and she couldn’t quite meet Sawyer’s gaze. “Sawyer … I don’t think I’ve liked anyone the way I like you.” Never had a statement been truer. What made Sawyer different from any other person Coy crossed paths with? She’d had umpteen lovers over the years, and not one had grabbed ahold of her the way Sawyer was doing.

Right now, Coy’s fingers were trembling where they squeezed the sofa cushions. She was itching to touch Sawyer—on her hand, her arm, her face. It didn’t matter, so long as they were skin on skin and giving Coy that physical connection she so craved.

Coy’s gaze shot up as Sawyer slowly got to her feet. Wait, she wasn’t leaving, was she? Had Coy said the wrong thing? Her stomach twisted at the thought of their evening being cut off so abruptly. “Sawyer?”

But then Sawyer’s lithe fingers were pushing Coy backwards on the sofa, the stormy gray of her eyes locked on Coy as one long leg at a time straddled Coy’s thighs. Her hands fell to Sawyer’s hips, a hot need shooting between Coy’s thighs, and she had to hold in her groan of pleasure. “Oh? Oh, please, yes. Please, please, yes.”

“Always with the sweet words, McCoy,” Sawyer whispered, her gaze roaming over Coy’s features. She was leaning in close, close enough that Coy shivered as her warm breath fanned her cheek. Their lips were almost touching when Sawyer added, “Do you ever get tired of it?”

“No,” Coy breathed, reaching one hand up to palm Sawyer’s jaw. She tugged her closer, their mouths grazing before parting once more. “Not if it gets me you.”

Sawyer pulled away before Coy could chance another kiss. Her palms landed on Coy’s shoulders again and held her in place. Her mouth twitched, like she was trying not to smile. “My pace, darling. Remember?”

“Darling?” Coy’s eyebrows shot upwards, laughter spewing out. “My, my, Sawyer, already with the—”

Sawyer’s index finger landed on Coy’s mouth, and then two things happened. She forgot what she was about to say, and Sawyer’s lips claimed hers with abandon.