One Night of Trouble(26)
…
Torture.
That was the only word to describe what he was putting his body through. The cuts and bruises and bloody noses he’d endured during his fighting days were nothing compared to the pain AJ was feeling right now. Every muscle was strung tight, every drop of blood pulsing in his groin so that he not only felt horny, but light-headed.
Delaying climax had seemed like a good idea last night. Today, AJ just wanted to punch his own jaw for coming up with such an excruciating plan.
Fortunately, Brett’s family proved to be a good distraction from the dull ache. Her brothers were a laugh riot, regaling him with stories about their lives and their work at the family tattoo parlors, while her father barraged him with questions about his own life. He felt like he was on the witness stand at times, but Jimmy Conlon’s laid-back attitude and contagious sarcasm made the whole interrogation process surprisingly fun.
Eventually, the conversation shifted to sports, which didn’t surprise him, seeing as there was a Patriots banner hanging over the sliding door. The Conlon men were football nuts, and soon they were throwing out statistics and making predictions for the upcoming season like they were ESPN correspondents.
As the sports talk dragged on, AJ noticed that Brett’s expression had completely glazed over. She’d found a pen and sketchpad somewhere, and was in the process of doodling what looked like an elephant wearing ice skates and a teeny crown.
AJ had to chuckle as he glanced over her shoulder at her handiwork. “I think we’re boring Brett,” he announced to the guys.
Rob gave a careless shrug. “Ah, she’s used to it.”
“Doesn’t make it right,” Brett muttered under her breath.
AJ experienced a pang of sympathy as Jimmy and his boys went back to chatting without a single look at Brett. Obviously it was a common occurrence for her, but he still felt bad watching her sit on the sidelines while her family ignored her.
Though it made sense now, her single-minded determination to show her family she’d changed. But he also wondered if her attempts at pleasing them had less to do with the tattoo parlor she wanted to run, and more about wanting her family to pay attention to her. To notice her.
He, on the other hand, found it impossible not to notice her. His gaze tracked her like a missile as she went to the cooler to grab a beer. Dark blue jeans hugged her ass and a loose cardigan covered her arms, which was a damn shame. Her tattoos were too spectacular to hide.
They’d slept together less than forty-eight hours ago, yet it suddenly felt like an eternity since he’d last seen her naked. His cock went semi hard as he imagined stripping her clothes off and licking every inch of her body again.
He gave his growing erection a silent reprimand, then walked over to Brett and rested his hand on the small of her back. “I like your family,” he confessed. “They’re a lot of fun.”
Brett’s gaze shifted across the yard to where Rob and Mike were engaged in a loud argument about the benefits of a nickel defense.
“They’re okay, I guess,” she said grudgingly. Then she smiled. “My brothers can be a pain in the ass, but at least they’ve always got my back. Do you have any siblings?”
His shoulders tensed. “No.”
The second the word left his mouth, guilt exploded in his gut. Fuck. It felt like a betrayal to Joey’s memory to deny his existence.
“When I was growing up I used to wish I was an only child,” Brett said, oblivious to his current state of turmoil. “I felt like my dad gave so much attention to my brothers, and not enough for me. I wanted him all to myse—”
“I had a brother,” he blurted out.
She froze. “What? But you just said—”
“He died,” AJ admitted, swallowing a lump of pain. “So technically, I don’t have any siblings. But I used to.”
Her voice softened. “I’m sorry. How did he die?”
It was difficult to answer when his throat had closed up to the point of suffocation. “Accident,” he mumbled. “And not something I want to get into right now.”
To his relief, Brett rerouted her line of questioning. “What was he like?”
Bitterness promptly joined the eddy of emotions in his stomach. “He was perfect.”
She offered a wry look. “Nobody’s perfect.”
“Trust me, Joey was. Football star, straight-A student, perfect manners, hero complex. He followed the rules, didn’t get into trouble, charmed everyone he met. My parents worshipped the ground he walked on.”
“How old were you when he died?”
“Eight. He was sixteen.”
“That’s a pretty big age difference.” She paused. “It makes sense that you think he was perfect. Little kids always put their older siblings on a pedestal. But your parents must be really proud of you, too. You own a successful club, you fought professionally, and probably made tons of money…”