The Life That Mattered (The Life Series Book 1) Read online

  Amazing.

  She was that amazing.

  Then she hugged Noah. He glanced over her shoulder at me, a little caught off guard at first, but his face said the same words that played in my head … I’m one lucky guy.

  Again, our hands automatically found each other as we walked out of the restaurant, parting ways with Noah and Tami just outside of the entrance.

  “Thank you for dinner,” she said, leaning into me because it was a chilly evening, or maybe just because.

  “My pleasure. Where are you parked?”

  She pointed to the lot across the street behind the grocery store. “Where are you parked?”

  “I’m not yet. Noah picked me up from the airport when I arrived. I’ve been taking the bus and the occasional cab. Vehicle shopping is on my list of things to do.”

  “Then I’ll take you home tonight.”

  “You will, huh?” I gave her hand a little squeeze. “That’s very kind of you.”

  It was about a fifteen-minute drive to my condo, and she spent the entire drive telling me how she met Graham Porter. Letting me know they dated for two weeks in college and had the most regrettable sex. Then she confessed all the reasons she worried that Lila would feel trapped into the family name and politics if Graham ran for governor. I swear the woman didn’t know a stranger. It felt like we’d known each other for years, taking me out of my element, bypassing the point where I’d normally say, “I had fun. We should do it again sometime.” Only … sometime was code for we’re done. Unless … both parties had way too much to drink. Then that led to a clumsy and oftentimes regrettable one-night stand.

  I wasn’t opposed to the occasional drunken one-night stand, but not with Evelyn. We weren’t drunk, and I wasn’t okay with an arbitrary time in the future that I may or may not see her again.

  “I’ll walk you to your door,” Evelyn said as she turned off her Jeep.

  “God …” I laughed, shaking my head. “That’s messed up. Now I feel a huge urgency to get my own vehicle. I think I’ll go tomorrow to buy one just so you don’t ever have to walk me to my door again.”

  She climbed out. “I don’t have to stop at your door. We don’t have to play by the rules of dating. I think we’re past that age. How old are you?”

  I found her hand and led her to the front door. “Thirty-five.”

  “I’m thirty-four. Have you ever been married?”

  We stopped at my door and faced each other. “No. You?”

  She shook her head. “The rules don’t apply once you’re past thirty.”

  “The rules?”

  Evelyn grinned. “The courting shit. The baseball game.”

  “The baseball game?” My head canted to the side.

  “Yeah. The sexual bases? First base is kissing. Second base is—”

  “Yes.” I fished my keys from my pocket. “I’m familiar with the bases.”

  “Well, I don’t know if you’re a fan of baseball or not, but I am.”

  I unlocked my door and motioned for her to go inside.

  She wet her lips and stepped into my condo without an ounce of hesitation. “You’re inviting me in. So you are a fan of baseball.”

  Not so much. Skiing, football (soccer), rugby, cycling, tennis … but not baseball. However, something told me Evelyn might make me a baseball fan.

  “Are you sure you’re living here?” She glanced around at the sparse furnishings of my two-bedroom condo.

  “I never stay in one place long. No need to own much. It’s just that much more to sell or move.”

  Books.

  I owned books and a place to sit and read them. My parents didn’t believe in letting Julien and I watch television while we were growing up. Julien embraced art. I embraced fiction—mysteries and sci-fi.

  “What do you consider not long?” She ran her fingers along the back of my leather recliner before dropping her bag to the floor and slipping off her jacket.

  “Three to five years is a nice stay.” I tossed my coat onto one of two barstools at my kitchen counter.

  “Okay. So our marriage will be short.” Her teeth trapped her full bottom lip.

  “Probably.”

  I’d dated enough women to know there existed a sequence of events that took place way before the M word should ever be discussed. I’d never reached the point of discussing the M word. Not even with my longest relationship, which lasted two years.

  Two years and we didn’t talk about marriage.

  I was out of my realm of experience with Evelyn. We joked about marriage, but who joked about that? Then there was a baseball discussion happening, and I didn’t even like baseball, but I waited with restless anticipation for Evelyn to make her point. Something told me it could be brilliant.

  “Kenny was a guy I dated my first year in college. He played baseball.”

  I could not have cared less about this Kenny guy, but he brought her back to the baseball talk, so I folded my arms over my chest, leaned against the counter, and gave her my full attention as she walked in slow circles around my furniture. A predator with calculated moves.

  Who was I to judge? I walked into her shop that day and basically said we needed to expedite our dating status—laid out my plans to eat dinner with her, close down bars, and sip hot chocolate.

  “He was a solid hitter. Always got on base, but he never hit a home run. I honestly think he lacked the confidence to go for it. His coaches told him to just get on base, so that’s what he did because that’s what you do when you’re young like that. You spend a lot of time on the bases.”

  Were we still talking about baseball in the literal sense?

  “I think once you hit your thirties, no one should judge if you just hit it out of the park your first time up to bat.” Her lips twisted as she stopped in front of me. “The goal is to hit it home. If you can do that, then why the hell not, right?”

  I thought I understood the metaphor. But if I was wrong, I could get thrown out of the game.

  “Can I get you a drink?”

  Evelyn shook her head.

  My eyes narrowed, studying her for a few seconds.

  “First base is fine.” She shrugged.

  Fuck me …

  My grin got a two-second debut before I kissed her. It was slow. A pace that set itself. Maybe she invited me to hit a home run, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t take my time walking up to the plate, take a few practice swings, and relish the fact that I was the star hitter that night.

  The invisible crowd cheered, multiplying the adrenaline in my veins, making my heart pound in my chest. Our kiss intensified, demanding with a clear purpose. As I backed her down the hallway, I made it to second base. She moaned when the pad of my thumb brushed her hard nipple.

  My mouth wanted to follow my thumb.

  Two steps into my bedroom, I unfastened her jeans, and my fingers slipped deep into third base. Excuse me for not sliding into home quite yet, but Evelyn’s bases were fucking spectacular.

  “Yesss …” she hissed, breaking the kiss to catch her breath as she pushed my shirt up my chest.

  I grabbed the hem of it, removing it in one quick stroke with my free hand.

  “Seriously?” Her tongue made a lazy swipe along her lower lip as her eyes met mine and her fingers traced the lines of my chest and abs. “Now you’re just showing off, Roe.” Blue eyes took a few drunk blinks as I rubbed her clit.

  I worked hard to stay fit. And while I’d had women admire my body before, they never did it quite like Evelyn. Her little smirk of appreciation mixed with her finger’s fascination with every detail of my anatomy left me feeling on top of the world.

  Keeping her hands busy counting my abs, she widened her stance a few inches. I about died when she bit her lip to accent her grin as she glanced up at me.

  “I could stay on this base for hours.” I captured her mouth again, swallowing her deep moan.

  After she branded me with a kiss unlike anything I’d shared with anyone before her, she pull
ed her head back abruptly. I groaned my disappointment, pausing my fingers inside of her.

  “You just have a mattress … on your floor?”

  I chuckled. It was a bit strained because her hands had left my abs, deciding to work the button and zipper to my jeans. “I told you … simple life. I don’t miss a lot of things that—”

  Fuck … fuck, fuck, fuck!

  “That what?” She smirked, lifting onto her toes to press a kiss to my jaw as her hand started to breach the waistband of my briefs.

  My hand cuffed her wrist to stop her while removing my other hand from her pants. “I don’t have a condom.”

  I didn’t plan on having sex that night with Evelyn. That earned me extra gentleman points. However, not having any condoms earned me the biggest fuck-up trophy. Every man should plan for miracles.

  She dropped flat onto her feet, forehead pressed to my chest as her hands fell from my pants, limp at her sides.

  “I haven’t played baseball since I arrived here.”

  No excuse. Nope … it wasn’t an excuse, more like an epic man fail on my part.

  Evelyn laughed, stepping back. She zipped and buttoned her jeans before straightening her bra and adjusting her sweater. Then she picked my shirt up from the floor and handed it to me. “Let’s go.”

  “Go?”

  “Let’s go get condoms. There’s a store less than a block from here that’s still open. We can walk.”

  Things … all the spectacular things about Evelyn Taylor.

  Yet another reason I knew something was special—different about Evelyn. I didn’t hesitate for a single second. I didn’t suggest another night. I didn’t point out the obvious fact that we were on day two of being together and suggest we slow down.

  Nope.

  Jacket. Boots. Out the door.

  “We should jog.” I reached for her hand and started jogging as she held up her phone with the flashlight on to guide our way in the dark.

  She giggled. It was a giggle that reaffirmed my life was pretty fucking incredible at the moment. I didn’t want to slow down and think. If we didn’t make sense … then I refused to live my life by any sort of sense or rules.

  “There …” She pointed to the illuminated pharmacy sign.

  We found the correct aisle. I glanced at her. She glanced at me and shrugged. I plucked a familiar brand from the shelf, took her hand, and pulled her to the checkout. A giddiness filled my belly like a young boy high on sugar that I wasn’t supposed to eat before dinner. Only … Evelyn was my sugar. And maybe dinner was the morning after. If we did it—hit the home run—would we spoil everything for the next morning?

  My inclination leaned toward “no.” Regardless of all the threats my mom made about licorice nibs before dinner spoiling my appetite, I managed to eat every bite on my plate.

  “Hey, Evie darling.”

  Evelyn’s eyes widened at the cashier. “Oh! Hey, Donna.”

  The older lady smiled at me, but it faded into a neutral expression when she saw the box of condoms on the counter.

  Hello, old lady stranger. I don’t know who you are, and how you know Evelyn, but I’m going to see how many of these condoms I can use on your “Evie darling” before morning. And for the record … it was her idea. I’m just playing the game.

  She cleared her throat. “Did you find everything you were looking for?”

  I returned a tight grin and a slight nod, internally chuckling. I wanted to say, “We were actually looking for licorice nibs, but we couldn’t find any, so we’re just going to have sex instead.” But I didn’t say that because I wasn’t in the mood to chat with the nice lady. I wanted Evelyn naked in my bed … because we were past the age of being shamed for just hitting the home run.

  The thirties were good. Really fucking good.

  “We did,” Evelyn replied, hiding behind me with her head bowed.

  I tossed cash onto the counter.

  “Do you want a sack?”

  “Nope. We’re good.” Evelyn snatched the box of condoms, shoved them into her purse, and yanked my arm.

  “Evie! Your change!” Donna called as we made our escape.

  “Keep it!” She laughed as we flew out the door.

  “Shit …” I chuckled, catching up to Evelyn as she sprinted toward my condo, nothing more than a dark figure with a phone light as her guide. “Who’s Donna?”

  “My grandma’s good friend … from church. I didn’t know she worked there. Oops …” More soft laughter erupted from her chest as her words became breathless.

  When I could see my front door light, I scooped her into my arms.

  “Roe!” she squealed, wrapping her arms around my neck.

  The second the door closed behind us, she retrieved the box of condoms and tossed her purse on the floor. We shared the most deviant grins as I carried her to the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind us. You would have thought we robbed the store.

  “What is this?” she whispered when I eased her to her feet.

  We weren’t drunk on alcohol, but clearly intoxicated with some thing.

  My lips brushed hers while my fingers threaded through her hair. “I don’t know.” I grinned. Biting her bottom lip, I sucked it slowly before releasing it. “But I can’t wait to find out.”

  Did she have a story? I did.

  Mine involved dying and coming back to life with a new set of rules.

  Hinder not the soul’s intended path unto the light, lest shards of darkness shed upon thee.

  I didn’t want to think about those rules or any rules for that matter.

  We slowed it down. It was just us. A mattress on the floor. A box of condoms. And all night.

  We turned into nothing more than flesh and breath. An exploration of need.

  My impatience warred with my desire to kiss her everywhere … taste her everywhere.

  “Roe …” she moaned when I pushed into her.

  “Evie …” I whispered over her lips before tasting her mouth.

  Her back arched away from the mattress, her firm nipples brushing my chest as I moved inside of her. It would not be a one-time affair.

  One hit.

  I was an Evelyn addict from one hit.

  Every day felt borrowed since my accident. Every minute felt like the first and the last.

  Right then Evelyn became my beginning and my end—origin and destination. And maybe … if the impossible could find a way to be possible, she could be everything in between.

  We owned the night without questioning the reason behind any of it. By morning, I woke to the condom box on the bed beside my head with a note scrawled on it.

  Roe,

  Had to work.

  Evie xo

  I grinned, rolling over to bury my face in the pillow that smelled like flowers.

  “Evelyn Taylor …” I chuckled to myself. “What are you doing to me?”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Evelyn

  Spending every free moment with Ronin became my new pastime, interrupted only by Sunday football with Graham. Even that turned into a foursome where Lila sat next to Graham with her laptop, playing catch-up on work. Ronin pretended to watch the games, but I didn’t miss him occasionally cracking open a book to sneak in a few chapters while Graham and I yelled at the refs and coached our favorite teams from the other side of the screen.

  “Book nerd,” I’d whisper in his ear during a commercial just before teasing his earlobe with my teeth.

  “Science geek,” he’d murmur in return, pulling my wrist to his mouth to kiss my carbon atom tattoo.

  Once a week, we foraged for dead trees to harvest more firewood. These outings involved snowball fights and playing tag like two young kids. After taking turns splitting the wood with my grandfather’s ax and piling it next to the house, Ronin started a fire in the wood-burning stove while I made hot chocolate. We piled pillows and blankets on the floor and watched the flames behind the glass door while slurping the froth from the melted marshmallows atop the steamy
hot chocolate.

  “You have a white mustache.” He eyed my upper lip while setting his mug aside and crawling toward me like an animal on the prowl.

  I shook my head, knowing exactly where his mind was going. “Nope.” I swiped my tongue over my top lip several times. “This isn’t happening. Sorry. I need to shave my legs.”

  “I’m just helping you get a little marshmallow goo off your lip.” He took my mug from my hands and set it aside next to his mug.

  “Then why did you take away my hot chocolate?” I grinned, crawling like a crab backward.

  “Because…” he caught up to me, wedging his body between my legs, his head hovering over mine “…this is happening. Hairy legs and all.”

  That was me—as is. Take it or leave it, hairy legs and all.

  He always took me as is. Always.

  As we lost our clothes in the sea of pillows and blankets, embers crackled and “Amsterdam” by Gregory Alan Isakov flowed from the portable speaker on the kitchen counter. Ronin converted me to a lover of indie folk music. He converted me to a lot of things … like eating an apple every day and holding plank for two minutes every night before bed.

  He broke all the boyfriend molds, unlike anyone I had ever known—a kind soul, laidback, a product of a culturally diverse family, and wise with the silent confidence of a true nomad. My handsome wanderer.

  His biggest fault? Long showers. In all fairness to him, it was hard to put on an entire concert within the confines of a five-minute shower like I usually took—hence the hairy legs.

  The first time I heard him, I recorded it from the other side of the door and sent it to Lila.

  Me: I’m dating a shower singer. I can’t stop grinning!

  Lila: Damn! He’s good. I can’t imagine Graham singing in the shower or anywhere for that matter.

  After sliding the phone into my pocket, I cracked open the door to his bathroom, biting my lower lip as I gawked at the blurred outline of his sexy-as-hell body. He sudsed his hair, biceps flexed as he massaged his scalp, eyes closed, and lungs belting out the lyrics to Sinatra’s “The Best is Yet to Come.” I learned he only sang jazz in the shower. Also, I learned if he caught me spying on his shower concert … the chase was on.