Cannon, page 6
But what little I’ve come to learn about Ava, I expect her to look at it and deem it perfect. She’s incredibly down-to-earth and would never expect five-star dining because of my fame or status. In my handful of years dating after Melissa died, I learned to spot a gold digger a mile away.
Ava is anything but.
Hell, she shied away from me because she labeled me “a big deal.”
I’m smiling when I open the door. Ava smiles back but looks apprehensive. Granted, it’s subtle but not unexpected—I know she’s got some doubts.
First and foremost, she’s beautiful. Her hair is in a long braid hanging over one shoulder with loose pieces framing her face. Her makeup is light, but she doesn’t need much. Her green eyes command my attention first, followed by her lush lips, tinted with the barest blush of color.
She’s wearing a pair of dark jeans that sit low on her hips, a cream-colored turtleneck that fits like a glove set off by a wide camel-colored belt. Matching boots of the same color and a fashionable scarf of brown, red, and orange hangs over the shoulders of her unzipped, off-white puffy coat.
Most importantly, she’s carrying a tote, which I assume is the overnight bag I told her to bring, my quiet hint for her to stay the night.
“I don’t bite,” I say, sweeping my arm in invitation to cross the threshold.
She doesn’t move, and I sense reservation. We didn’t have the opportunity to work through the morning-after awkwardness that comes after drunk sex. Ava was late and running out the door without a lot of time to process her emotions, including the inevitable question of whether any of it was real.
I can almost see it in her eyes. Did we make a mistake last night?
I sure as hell don’t think we did. “Not a single regret,” I say, reaching out to grab the ends of her scarf. I pull her slowly to me until she’s close enough that I can kiss her.
Her mouth is slightly unyielding at first, perhaps the lingering effects of a mistrust in me, perhaps herself. But then she opens up and sighs as I deepen the kiss.
Not surprised it happens, but my body reacts swiftly. I’ve replayed our time together last night a little too often today. It made my review of opponent video this afternoon painful as I’d get distracted and have to rewind to watch again.
But I don’t want her to think that’s the only reason I invited her over, so I pull away, taking a little too much pleasure from her flushed cheeks and hazy eyes.
I push the coat and scarf off her shoulders, helping her out of it and then closing the door. Moving through the living room, which flows into the kitchen, I toss her stuff on the couch. Ava follows, setting her tote on the coffee table.
“Glass of wine?” I ask as I round the kitchen island.
“That would be great.” Ava looks around with interest. “Your place is really nice. I didn’t pay much attention last night or this morning.”
I let my eyes sweep the kitchen and living area, seeing what she sees. It’s a swank setup with eighteen hundred square feet of floor space. I bought it for just over a million dollars, mostly for its downtown convenience. The perimeter interior walls are in repurposed red brick with fourteen-foot coffered ceilings and built-ins. It came with the most expensive European appliances, which I barely know how to use, imported Italian tile, and bocote hardwood floors.
All that is a bit lost on me, not because I don’t like or care about nice things, but because I don’t really know much about what makes a home nice. When I was married, that was all Melissa’s domain, and after she died, I went with Realtor recommendations, along with my mom’s guidance since she knows me so well.
“My mom helped me pick it out,” I say as I pour two glasses of wine.
Ava turns and smiles. “Where does she live?”
“Denver.” I pull out a bar stool at the island and then take the one next to her. “She owns a lighting store there, and my dad is a high school history teacher and football coach.”
“I’ve heard Denver is gorgeous,” she says.
“Very.” I hand her a glass of wine and hold mine up for her to tap. The glasses clink, and we sip. I nod toward the food. “I didn’t go too fancy.”
“It’s perfect,” she says as she sets her drink down and picks up a plate. “Want a bit of everything?”
“Yeah.” I watch as she fills up a plate for me, creating neat piles of each item so they don’t touch. She grabs a fork and a napkin and hands it over before fixing a plate for herself.
“Do you have siblings?” she asks, nabbing up a square of white cheddar and nibbling at it.
“A younger brother and sister. Connor is a ranch hand in Wyoming, and Belle is a paralegal in Denver. She’s married and has two girls.”
“Are you close to them?”
“Very. I talk to my family constantly, even if it’s just a quick daily text. And of course, Belle’s kids are the apple of everyone’s eyes. What about your family?”
“My parents own a residential real estate company in Raleigh, and my brother Rob is an agent with them.”
I load up a cracker with prosciutto and goat cheese. “So, is it your parents, your brother, or all three who make you think you’re a failure?”
Ava’s mouth quirks into a lopsided smile. “You don’t pull any punches.”
“It’s my coaching nature. But if I’m being too nosy, tell me to back off.” I pop the cracker in my mouth and wait.
For fortification or because she’s thirsty, Ava takes a larger than normal sip. “Not too nosy.” She appraises me over the glass before placing it on the counter next to her plate and taking up her fork. She toys with the pasta salad. “My parents and brother were adamantly and quite vocally opposed to me coming to Pittsburgh with Derek.”
“What was their objection? Or did they know what an unbelievable asshole he’d turn out to be?”
Ava laughs and shakes her head. “I don’t think they knew he’d become such an ass, but they felt I wasn’t looking at him clearly. He was accomplished, made good money, and wanted to settle down.”
“Isn’t that what every parent wants for their daughter?” I ask, because so far, Derek sounds like a good deal.
“You’d think. But I think they felt I was too dazzled by him to really know if he was long-haul material. They definitely thought I was moving too fast. We’d only been dating a few months when he got the job transfer. They didn’t like that I was dependent on him for the job as well as my living arrangements.”
“And you thought differently?” I surmise.
“I thought independently,” she corrects.
“Good girl.” I smile at her and load up another cracker.
“It ended up being a mistake, though,” she says glumly, stabbing a piece of bow tie pasta. “It was the failure my parents predicted, and it left me jobless, homeless, and with my dignity in shreds.”
“Aren’t you being a little hard on yourself?” I nudge my knee against hers for emphasis.
“Maybe.”
“You were a little irritated I tried to talk to your manager when you got fired.”
Her eyes come to mine, and she offers a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry I’m so touchy about my failures and perceived bailouts. When Derek kicked me out, I got a whole lot of I told you so from my parents and insistence that I come home. But I needed to prove to them I can take care of myself.”
“So you took a job in a coffee shop.”
“It was the first job offer I got, and I was scared not to take it. The pay was decent… enough to afford a small apartment and pay my bills.”
“I can probably get your job back for you.” I swivel my stool toward her, put my hand on her knee to squeeze reassuringly. “I know you probably don’t want help, but I found out today that Brienne Norcross, who owns the Titans, is good friends with Jerry Parsons, who owns the parent company of The Grind.”
Ava’s hand covers mine, her fingers curling under my palm. It’s a sweet gesture of gratitude and, at the same time, that simple touch tightens my skin.
“Thank you for the offer,” she says before sliding her hand free. “But I need to do this on my own. Once I figure out what I want to do with my life, I’ll have some direction.”
“And you want to stay in HR?” I ask.
“Not really. I mean, I enjoyed working in the human resources field, but I’d rather do something in marketing.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to offer to help her. I know I could probably score her an interview somewhere within the Titans’ organization. But she’d decline, as well she should. If I helped her get a job, it would be virtually no different from her situation with her ex. The best I can do is help her brainstorm possibilities and offer encouragement.
Regardless, I admire the fuck out of her insistence that she do this on her own.
“Okay,” I say, after tasting a pickled carrot and deciding I’m firmly against such an atrocity. “I’m going to coach you up. Envision your perfect job.”
Ava sets her fork down and closes her eyes. “My perfect job… hmm… lying on a tropical beach, testing suntan oils for a skincare company.”
Christ… the image of Ava in a bikini on a white sandy beach is not what I need right now or I’m likely to toss her over my shoulder and carry her off to my bedroom.
Ava opens her eyes and grins at me. “Too far-fetched?”
“If you want to stay in Pittsburgh, it is.” I laugh.
“I would stay here, but I’m not averse to moving.”
I ignore the twinge of dissatisfaction at the thought of her leaving the area. It’s ridiculous, really. This is only our second date, and I don’t even know that we’ll be seeing each other by the end of the week.
“You said your degree was in communications… why did you choose that? I’m assuming there was a specific career you were interested in?”
Ava nods, her eyes sparkling. “Yeah… I always wanted to do something in marketing. Not just brainstorming ideas but generating marketable content.”
“Okay,” I say with an enthusiastic smile as I stack salami on cheddar. “We’re on to something. Tell me more.”
CHAPTER 9
Ava
Cannon rinses the bowl from the vanilla ice cream we just shared as I watch from the kitchen stool. Dinner was delicious, and it took us over an hour to eat because the conversation was so free flowing.
Neither one of us had more than the original glass of wine as we picked at the food, sometimes using our forks to nab bites of pasta. Cannon suggested dessert by merely rising from the island as we were talking and dishing up a single bowl of ice cream with only one spoon for us to share. We passed the spoon back and forth as we talked, mostly about my career potential, with some subtle coaching and empowerment imparted along the way.
It was easy and natural.
I had thought it would be weird since we don’t know each other all that well, yet we’ve already had wild drunk fornication. I know sex is on the menu tonight, and while I was nervous about it when I rang his doorbell—mainly because Derek’s dumping and insult to my sexual prowess has dented my confidence—Cannon has managed to make me feel comfortable. Not once this evening, outside that first kiss when I arrived, have I been made to feel that sex was at the forefront of his mind.
I mean… it might be. God knows I’ve been thinking about it, but Cannon seemed genuinely content to hang over a long dinner where the conversation was enough to make the evening great.
After rinsing the bowl, he puts it in the dishwasher alongside the other tableware we used. I tried to help him put stuff away when we were done, but he insisted I stay seated and finish off my wine. While I don’t mean to compare Cannon to Derek or any other guy I’ve dated, I know Derek would have never cleaned up. Because he was the bigger breadwinner in our house, I was expected to maintain the home even though I worked a demanding full-time job.
That was clearly a warning sign I overlooked, and it’s a lesson I won’t ever forget when looking at future partners.
Not that I’m looking at Cannon for that. I’m just saying… it’s beyond the realm of my experience, which means my standards were quite low.
After drying his hands, Cannon turns toward me, leaning back against the counter. His palms press onto the granite at his hips, and he crosses one leg over the other. I have no clue what this thing is between us or how long it will last, but I know I’ll never forget how beautiful he is at this moment. Not just because of his near perfect good looks, but because I don’t feel out of my depth with him.
Lord knows I should be since he’s gorgeous, rich, famous, and sexy beyond all imagination. Just yesterday, I wasn’t grounded where Cannon’s concerned.
But since walking through his door tonight, he’s centered me with easy conversation, laughs, solid advice, and genuine care for my situation. It appears Cannon West is the real deal, although I can still hear my parents’ voices whispering to me to beware.
I push them away. Cannon is no Derek, and not just comparing them side by side. They’re different because I’m different. I’m not going to fall or follow blindly.
“I can tell by your expression you have some deep thoughts running through that pretty head of yours,” Cannon teases.
There’s no stopping the warming blush. “Just conversing with myself about you.”
“What about me?” He pushes off from the sink and leans on the island, directly across from me. There’s three feet of counter space between us but the intensity of his stare makes it feel like inches.
“Just that you’re very easy to be around, and it’s a little surprising,” I admit.
Cannon’s eyebrows rise, his expression an exaggeration of offended shock.
I laugh. “I’m just saying… you’re the head coach of a professional hockey team. A world traveler. You hang out in esteemed circles. And yet tonight, sharing a meal with you, is the most relaxed I’ve been in a long time. You might be one of the most unassuming people I’ve ever met.”
He smiles, and there’s a wickedness to it that makes my spine tingle. “If you knew what I was thinking right now, you wouldn’t feel so mellow.”
Yeah… not calm at all. In fact, distinctly tense with anticipation, especially as he moves around the island toward me.
Prowl might be a better word and my heart feels like it’s going to explode. As Cannon rounds the corner, I swivel toward him, and my breath freezes as he cups the back of my head. Leaning down, he doesn’t kiss my mouth but rather feathers his lips just below my ear. “Are you ready to get fucked?”
The air wheezes out of me as my hands clutch at his shirt to keep myself upright. “Did you really just say that?”
Cannon chuckles as he moves his mouth to mine. “I really just said that.” He kisses me softly, grazing his teeth over my lower lip. Pulling back, his eyes lock onto mine, and they’re filled with challenge and amusement. “I’m a dirty talker. Is that a problem?”
I shake my head. “I’m a dirty listener,” I assure him as I grip his shirt tighter. “I could probably be a dirty talker myself, but I’m not sure I really know how to.”
Cannon laughs and presses a kiss to the tip of my nose that is so sweet, I can’t hold back a sigh. It’s short-lived though because next thing I know, I’m off the stool and over his shoulder.
I yelp in surprise. “Put me down.”
“I will. On the bed.”
I giggle when his hand comes to my ass to hold me steady as he winds his way through the living room to the master suite on the other side. I brace against his lower back and lift slightly so I don’t hang completely upside down. As we pass by a set of bookshelves, I get a brief glance at several picture frames housing groups of people—family members, I assume. I can’t make out details, except one near the edge is a photo of two people, arms around each other and smiling big for the camera.
We go by far too fast, but I think the man was Cannon. The woman? Possibly his sister, but deep down, I think it’s his wife.
While I can’t be sure, it’s enough to get me up in my head so that by the time Cannon’s lowering me to the ground, I’m having major second thoughts.
The only problem is he gives me no time to analyze my worries or voice my concerns. He’s got his hands on my face and he’s kissing me to complete distraction.
I let the photo and worries over it go. It could have easily been his sister with him, and even if it was his wife, so what? Just because she’s dead doesn’t mean he should box away his memories. In fact, I find it—
“Oh God,” I groan as Cannon’s hands drop to my ass, and he pulls me flush against his body. The length of his erection—the very hard evidence of his need—pressed into my belly weakens my legs.
Cannon’s hand grips my braid and tugs my head back so his mouth can move down my throat. “Got all kinds of ideas what to do with this,” he murmurs as he coils my ponytail around his hand.
How can those words that sound so ominous make me tremble with need?
“There are far too many clothes in the way,” Cannon says, releasing his hold. I stumble slightly because I’d been melting into him, but his arms steady me.
He grins, enjoying the way he’s knocked me silly with his hot kisses and dirty words. I let him have his moment, mainly because he seems driven to get me naked. Cannon’s hands jerk roughly at my belt to get it open, whips my turtleneck up and over my head, and by the time I’m blinking, he’s got my bra off. His hand goes to my chest, and he pushes me backward. My legs catch the bed and I fall onto it, only to almost be pulled off as he jerks at my boots.
“You’re like a world record clothes-getter-offer,” I say in awe.
Cannon grins at me devilishly as his fingertips work at the zipper on my jeans. He peels me out of the denim, leaving me in nothing but my black satin panties with little red bows at the hips. I’m not sure he noticed the matching bra, but that’s moot now.
