Loving Lucas (12 page)

“God, Karlie.” He hits deep—another stroke like that and I’ll orgasm. “Again.”

“Lucas.”

We’re both moaning, coming together,
again.

Once the throb subsides, he opens his eyes, staring down at me. “Perfect.”

“Uh-huh.” And a number of other silly words I want to string together so he knows exactly how much I adore him. I’m dick whipped—that’s what Marie would say. What she
will
say. Tomorrow will be no different than today. She read my mind—knew what happened without confirmation.

“Ready for dessert?” Lucas asks.

I grin.

“Cheesecake?”

I prop myself up on my elbows, enjoying the feeling of him still being inside me. “With strawberry glaze?”

His eyebrows jut. “How’d you guess?”

“Lucky, I suppose.”

“No,” he disagrees, smoothing hair back from my face. “Just so sharp you’ll cut us both.”

Chapter Thirteen

If I expected to look well rested after pulling another all-nighter with Lucas, I’d be crazy. I’m late getting to the cafeteria to meet Marie and have little interest in my surroundings. All I can concentrate on is my schoolwork and Lucas. In my best friend’s defense, she has lightened up, asking fewer questions, but it’s second nature for her to keep tabs on me. I hug her and drop my backpack on the table.

“You look tired,” she comments.

“Do I?” I used concealer to hide the shadows under my eyes. “I feel great.”

“Are you losing weight?”

“Five pounds.” I empty two creamers and
 
sugar into the coffee she bought for me.

“That’s bad.” She takes a bite of her cheese bagel. “What’s Lucas doing to you?”

“Everything.”

That makes her giggle. We sit next to each other, both facing the common area where students meet before classes. It’s fairly empty this morning, and I gaze at the latest art display: easels with black-and-white pictures the photography students took on a trip to Mexico last semester. I stuff a strip of bacon in my mouth and take a sip of coffee. I’m focused on a shot of a villager wearing a straw hat. His deep-set eyes tell a story.

“Some of those photos are really good.” I point.

She nods. “Beautiful.”

“I wish I had the talent to capture something as intriguing as that through a lens.”

“Somehow I think you belong on the other side of the camera.”

I smile; Marie doesn’t give compliments lightly. “Is that your way of telling me I’m hot?”

“You’d better eat a few more pieces of bacon to keep that ego fed.”

We both laugh.

“Karlie?”

I cringe at the sound of
that
voice. What is Connor doing here? My whole body tenses. He’s standing a couple of feet away from our table and our eyes meet. To my surprise, he looks great. He’s clean shaven and wearing slacks and a button-up. And possibly sober? “Connor.”

“Good morning, Marie,” he offers.

“Not anymore.” She throws me a look.

“Can we talk?” he asks.

“Talk or argue?” I retort.

“Talk.”

Do I have a choice? Based on our history, I know what he’ll do if I refuse—make a scene. And that’s the last thing I need. “Give me five minutes,” I say to Marie.

I brush past Connor, leading him away from the cafeteria. Out of earshot, I face him. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

He frowns. “Have I called or harassed you?”

“No.”

“Hear me out.”

“Did I
forget
something at your house again?”

“Karlie . . .” He sucks in a breath. “I miss you.”

I gawk at him. Does he even know what missing someone really means? “This isn’t right, Connor. You shouldn’t be here. I’ve moved on, and after what I saw at the bar last week, so have you.”

He fists both hands, his eyes darting around the room. “She didn’t mean anything to me. I got drunk . . .”
 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I wish he’d get his shit together and learn how to really care for somebody. Although he made my life a living hell, I want him to be happy so he’ll forget about me. “How many days sober?”

“Two,” he admits. “For you.”

“Connor . . .” I shift uncomfortably on my feet. “You can’t do anything for me. We’re not together. Never will be.” Especially after experiencing Lucas. There’s no recovering from that, no going back.

He reaches for my hand. I pull away, but he still claims it. “Don’t talk that way.”

“No,” I say calmly. “Don’t tell me what not to say—ever. I’m seeing someone else, Connor.” He squeezes my fingers.

“That cop from the racetrack?”

“Yes.”

“Goddamnit, Karlie.” Now he crushes my hand.

“Let go.”

“Or what?” There’s the spiteful, violent man I know so well. His eyes narrow. “You’ll scream?”

“No,” a deep voice answers. “
You
will.”

Charles?
Oh God.
I’ve never been happier to see that jock than I am now.

“Let her go,” he commands.

Once again, Connor is outsized. He checks his surroundings, finding two of Charles’s teammates standing in the wings.

“Be smart,” I suggest, worried the situation might explode.

Connor eases his grip and I yank my hand free, rubbing my aching fingers. “Leave campus.”

“I suggest you follow the lady’s advice.” Charles looks lethal.

We both watch as Connor disappears down the crowded hallway.

I cover my face with both hands, too ashamed to face my rescuer. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “Thank you for being here. I don’t . . .”
 

Charles lifts my hands, staring at me with deep concern. “Is that what you’ve lived with all this time?”

I nod, feeling meek as a mouse.

“And all I’ve done is tease you.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “I’m such an asshole.”

“No,” I say. “You didn’t know. No one did.”

“Karlie?” It’s Marie. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thank God Charles showed up.”

“I was in the bathroom,” she explains. “I caught the tail end, then made a phone call.”

My eyebrows arch. “To whom?”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Lucas.”

“Why?”

“Who’s Lucas?” Charles looks confused.

“Listen,” I say to him. “Let me buy you breakfast.”

Marie coughs. I gaze at her. “It’s late—I can’t miss class,” she says.

“What about Lucas?” I ask.

“He’s on his way.”

I can’t believe she called him. We’ll discuss it later. “I’ll stay with Charles until he gets here, all right?”

She nods, then kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you later. Thanks, Charles.” She walks away.

A few minutes later, Charles is sitting across from me, eating pancakes. Of course he didn’t let me pay, but I’m happy to keep him company.

“How long were you seeing that asshole?” he asks.

“Almost two years.”

He blinks twice, like he’s trying to understand why. “Amazing.”

“What?”

“That a beautiful girl like you would put up with a piece of shit like that.”

“It’s not a perfect world.”

“My sister was married for ten years to an abusive prick,” he says. “It took three restraining orders and several trips to the ER to get the police to do anything about it.”

I’m not surprised. One in four women in the United States will experience domestic violence in her lifetime; I’m far from alone. “And now?”

“Happily remarried with a son,” he reports with a smile.

“You’re an uncle?”

He nods, taking a sip of water. “Jeremy—three years old now.”

I’m pleasantly surprised. Charles is nicer than I ever imagined. “Not bad for a jock,” I tease.

He grins. “You’re not bad for a virgin.”

I nearly spit my coffee out. “Is that what you really think?”

“No,” he says. “But it just seemed to fit.”

“Karlie?” For the second time this morning, someone I wasn’t expecting shows up. I’m mortified to find Lucas in his uniform. “Where’s Connor?” Our eyes meet. He looks pissed.

“Gone,” Charles answers for me. He wipes his hands on his napkin, stands, then offers his hand. “Charles Wagner.”

They shake. “Lucas Lafontaine.” I think Charles caught him off guard. “Did you witness the assault?”

“I’d hardly call it that,” I say, making light of the situation. I just want to forget about today.

“I stopped it before it got out of hand,” Charles offers.

Lucas nods in appreciation. “I’m grateful.” He studies him. “Do you mind if I talk to my
girlfriend
in private, Charles?”

He just called me his girlfriend. That title pings around in my brain like a pinball. There’s a moment of silence before Charles answers. “Not at all—I need to go anyway.” He throws me a smile. “I’ll tell Rios you’re skipping class.”

“Thank you again.” I watch him stuff his plate and cup in the nearby garbage can.

“Darlin’?” Lucas says. “Are you okay?”

“Distracted.”

“By Charles?”

Is he jealous and suspicious of me? “Please don’t get mad—we’re just friends.”

“Friends?” He clicks his tongue. “Guys aren’t friends with hot chicks.”

“That’s silly—I completely disagree.”

He chuckles, then sits. “I’m old school, Karlie. I think like a Viking.”

I check him out head to toe. Three inverted chevrons grace his black uniform. He’s a sergeant—freshly promoted. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a better-looking man. My throat goes dry. “Vikings didn’t carry a Sig Sauer P226.”

“I like when it you talk dirty, baby.” He pats his sidearm. “All joking aside, did Connor hurt you?”

“My fingers.”

He gestures for me to show him. He cradles my hand in his, flips it over, then kisses my palm. “It won’t happen again.”

“It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

He scowls. “I couldn’t agree more. Come straight home tonight,” he says. “We have a date.”

“Where?” I don’t remember making plans.

“The firing range.”

She didn’t flinch or deny it when I referred to her as my girlfriend. After observing the way that jock drooled over her, it was time to stake my claim. Why do girls believe guys want to be friends? Gay guys,
maybe.
I still have my doubts about that, too.

“Firing range?” she repeats.

“Can’t have you running around without protection anymore,” I say.

“I don’t want to shoot guns. I don’t like them.”

“Most people don’t,” I say. “But that doesn’t change the fact that psycho boy doesn’t understand what it means to break up.”

“Nothing happened.”

I stare at the ceiling, choosing my next words carefully. “I know you’re a peacekeeper, Karlie. I deeply admire that characteristic, but I’m a
peacemaker.
Connor doesn’t exist in the same world we do. He’s accustomed to one thing—getting what he wants when he wants it. That doesn’t work for me. The next time I see him anywhere close to you, I’ll snap his neck.”

She swallows, then folds her hands on the table. She’s nervous, probably thinking I blame her for whatever trouble she gets in. I don’t. “Charles scared him away,” she explains. “I doubt he’ll ever show his face here again.”

“I appreciate Charles’s interest in you,” I say a little too acerbically. “And I’m sure he’ll keep his eye on you while you’re at school. But I can’t function if I think you’re susceptible to another attack. The only viable solution is to teach you how to protect yourself. It’s like teaching a man how to fish . . .”
 

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed with my illustration. “Even if I’m proficient with a firearm, that doesn’t mean I can shoot someone, Lucas. So what’s the point?”

I sigh. I truly believe girls should be taught self-defense once they hit elementary school. I see too many domestic violence cases—too many rapes, too many bloody lips and broken bones. Regardless of Karlie’s tough childhood, she’s never witnessed the level of suffering I’ve seen some women go through. And I’ll be damned if she’ll ever become a statistic. “Do it for me.” That’s my last line of defense. If she’ll just give it a try, I’ll sleep better.

She exhales. “Okay.”

Never mind what crazy thoughts raced through my mind when I observed her laughing at something Charles said. I’ll deal with my jealousy on my own terms. But Connor, that son of a bitch is on my radar from now on. I can’t begin to imagine what would have happened if he caught her somewhere alone. Fear and anger clench my heart as I admire her. She’s too beautiful and almost too optimistic. But I don’t want to steal that hope from her. That’s what motivates people to change the world, and if given half a chance, I believe Karlie Augustine just might.

Chapter Fourteen

Lucas exits off I-37, driving slowly to a parking lot containing a few cars. The surrounding area is pretty barren, with just a few trees and hills. He opens my car door and I get out, still feeling uncomfortable. He drags me to the trunk, opens it, then pulls out a small tactical vest. “Don’t make me dress you,” he teases.

My cheeks heat as I slip the armor on. He adjusts the straps so tight I can hardly breathe. I watch as he wiggles into his own, then offers me ear and eye protection. After grabbing three gun cases, he shuts the trunk, and I follow him to an administrative building. My heart pounds wildly as I hear rapid fire in the near distance.

“You all right?” he asks, holding the door open.

I nod.

We go inside and he checks in with a uniformed officer at the counter. “Sergeant Lucas Lafontaine, CCPD,” he says, flashing his badge.

The officer slides a clipboard across the counter. Lucas jots down our names and signs. I explore the room, drawn to a wall where there’s a dozen framed photos of the men and women who so bravely lost their lives in the line of duty. Above the display is a sign,
Fallen but never forgotten
. . . My chest constricts, because I know Lucas could very easily be included in this memorial someday. I don’t like the way it makes me feel. In fact, it’s the only detractor this man has. I startle when he creeps up behind me, his hand trailing up my back.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Do we really have to do this?”

He gently turns me around. “Overcome your fears, Karlie,” he advises. “It’s empowering.”

He’s completely right. But I just don’t like the idea of holding a weapon. I’m grateful for his service and don’t mind that he carries a gun. Still . . .