Hold Onto the Stars by Tracy Broemmer

Chapter 8

Peyton flippedthe light switch in the garage before remembering that the home inspection done before he’d moved in had suggested that while the wiring in the house was fine, the garage needed to be completely redone. Apparently, when the seller remodeled and updated the house, he hadn’t wanted to sink the money into the tiny, detached garage. Peyton didn’t blame the guy. The garage was barely big enough for a riding lawn mower. Peyton was fine with leaving his SUV parked on the blacktop drive.

He had stacked some of his moving boxes in his garage—things he wouldn’t need right away and could unpack at his leisure. Though his backyard was still lit with fading evening sunlight, the interior of the garage was dim. There wasn’t much inside other than his boxes, but it still made him nervous having Junie roaming around the little building when he couldn’t see what she was getting into.

Before he forgot, he pulled his phone from his pocket and called Everhart Electric. Might as well schedule a time to get the man out here to rewire the garage. The little building had good bones. Peyton would certainly use it for a storage shed, if not a garage, and he needed lights for that.

He left a message with his request and contact information, and then he put his phone up and dragged a box out of the shadows to the driveway. Junie sniffed her way around the perimeter of the garage, but she tired of it and zoomed out to the yard. Peyton watched her for a second but turned his attention to unpacking.

“How old is she?”

He jumped like a skittish schoolgirl watching a horror movie when he heard the voice behind him. Several minutes had passed since he had made the phone call, and he’d been lost in memories and ideas for lesson plans when CJ sauntered up the drive toward him, eyes on Junie.

“Three,” he answered. What was CJ doing here? Had Violet sent her? He had texted with Violet earlier today. She’d sent him a goofy meme about dogs eating homework, and they had a short conversation following that. But neither of them had mentioned the date or suggested a follow-up.

Leslie had quizzed him that morning before the bell rang. He hadn’t been sure how to answer her. After all, it appeared that everyone knew everyone in Oak Bend, and everyone loved Violet, so he had hem-hawed around, trying to figure out how to say he liked Violet but wasn’t interested in dating her. His hesitation had spelled it out, though, and as he’d expected, Leslie was stunned that he didn’t want to see her again.

She’d even asked him about the goodnight kiss. And when he’d admitted there hadn’t been one, she was floored.

Was CJ here because Violet talked to her about the date? About him not kissing her goodnight? Because Violet wanted to go out again? Surely not. He and Violet were adults. They could communicate about something so simple, right?

“She’s sweet,” CJ announced just as Junie realized someone new had ventured up the drive. Peyton watched his dog fly across the yard to stand before her, one paw on the toe of CJ’s boot.

“Thanks. I heard you had a retriever.”

“Used to.” Her smile was tinged with sadness, but before Peyton could feel guilty for making her sad, she continued. “Jackson was a good dog. Lost him to cancer.”

Still wondering what she was doing here, Peyton pulled the box cutter from the pocket of his athletic shorts and leaned over to slice another box open. From the corner of his eye, he saw CJ lean over to scratch Junie’s ears.

“What’s her name?”

“June Carter Cash.” He squatted now and tossed the box cutter down to spread open the box. “But I call her Junie.”

“No way.” CJ laughed as she straightened. Noting that her ponytail was once again tugged back through the opening in her hat, Peyton took a moment to notice her elegant cheekbones and sexy—friendly, he insisted to himself—smile.

“Way.” He nodded. “Why?”

“You’re a June Carter Cash fan?”

“Yep. Johnny too.”

CJ’s throaty laugh flipped a switch somewhere low in his gut. For a second, he imagined nibbling on her neck, teasing that delicious laugh from her lips.

“Me too.” She nodded. “That’s why I named my dog Jackson.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was the only kid in my school who had ever heard of them. But I loved their song ‘Jackson.’”

Interesting, Peyton decided. He looked up at her and caught her eyes.

“How did you know their music?”

CJ flinched and hissed out a quick sigh. “My mom was a big fan. I remember listening to them when I was little.”

Peyton sensed that sadness again, but when CJ looked away, he let it go. They hardly knew each other; he had no right to ask for her secrets. Instead, he dug into the box and pulled out two binders overstuffed with baseball and football cards. Not things he needed at the moment, but on the other hand, he had put a lot of money into his collections when he was younger. He didn’t want this kind of stuff in the garage where it might get damp and mildewed.

“Wow.” CJ looked back at him when he stood up with the binders in his hands.

“No, I don’t have any Justin Verlander cards.”

That laugh again chased a chill up his spine. Jesus, she was sexy, and she didn’t seem to have a clue.

“I had a collection when I was a kid, but it was a little smaller.”

“Yeah?” He grinned and looked around for somewhere to put the binders. “But did you have football cards?”

“Of course.”

“You’re an NFL fan, too?”

CJ nodded.

“Lions?” he asked with a wince.

“Born and raised right here in Oak Bend,” she reminded him. “Of course, I’m a Lions fan. Just like I’m sure you’re a Bears fan.”

“Actually, no.” He shrugged. “Packers.”

“Hmm.” She nodded and looked around. “And was your mother a Peyton Manning fan?”

He snorted. “I’m a bit too old to be named after Peyton Manning.”

Eyes locked, they stared a bit too long, their smiles a bit too wide. If his neighbors were watching, it would be all over town in two minutes that he was cheating on Violet with her friend CJ.

“So.” He cleared his throat and finally leaned over to set the binders on the edge of the driveway. Junie wandered over to sniff them, but she ambled past them and lowered herself to rest in the grass. “What brings you by?”

“Oh.” CJ tucked her hands in her pockets. “Got the message that you wanted some wiring done in the garage.”

“You what now?” He tipped his head and looked over his shoulder at the garage, as if he would understand what she said better that way.

“Dad caught me on my way home.”

“Still not following.” He shook his head.

“Crosby Everhart,” she told him and held her hand out to shake his. “I go by CJ.”

“You’re Crosby Everhart?” He couldn’t hide his surprise. Not once when he’d seen the Everhart Electric truck around town had he thought CJ was Crosby Everhart.

“I am. Crosby Jean, though my dad calls me Crosby Junior.” She sounded kind of put out, but her lips were tipped up in a tiny smile. “I work for Dad.”

“Right. So, you’re here to see what I want done, and then he’ll do the work?”

“You have a problem with a woman doing the wiring job, Peyton Quinn?”

“You’re an electrician.”

“I am.” She nodded. “Is that a problem?”

The only problem Peyton had with that was the fact that she would be here all the time. Working. And he would be standing in the kitchen window watching her, staring at her ass like a pervert.

Remembering that she had asked a question, Peyton shook his head. “Not at all, Crosby.”

“CJ.”

“I like Crosby,” he told her with a shrug. “Fits you.”

“It doesn’t fit me,” she argued. “Crosby is my dad.”

“So.” He shifted his feet and turned toward the garage. “When I bought the house, the inspector said the wiring out here is old—”

“Knob and tube wiring,” she interrupted with a nod. “It’s not necessarily dangerous, but you never know if the electrical system is up to code.”

“Well, I figure if I’m gonna be here awhile, I might as well have new wiring put in.”

“And are you?” She arched her brows, but Peyton’s gaze dropped to her lips when she flicked her tongue over them to wet them. He stifled a groan when his cock twitched, and he held his breath, hoping she wouldn’t notice. “Gonna be here a while?”

“I plan to.”

She stared at him a moment longer before she finally broke the eye contact. Peyton watched her mosey into the garage. She touched the light switch and trailed her fingers over the particle board that lined the walls.

“Gonna park your car in here?”

“No.” He looked over his shoulder at the SUV and swung his gaze back to her. “I think it would be too tight.”

She lifted her eyes to meet his again, a sharp look of arousal on her face.

Holy fuck. She was interested in him, too. She had been friendly up until now, but there was no mistaking the flirty look she had given him a moment ago, and no way in hell he could be reading the look of desire wrong now.

“Too tight,” she repeated. “I think so, too.”

“I’ll um,” he sighed and gave himself a mental shake, “I’ll use it for storage.”

“Might as well,” she agreed. “I’ll get it on the schedule. Might be the end of the week? I have to trim out Eugene Long’s latest rental first.”

“Sure.” He nodded, although he had hoped she would start tomorrow. Not because he needed the job done that quickly, but because he wanted to see her first thing in the morning before he headed to school.

“You like it here, then? Not too quiet after Chicago?”

“Suburbs,” he corrected her.

“Still.” She stepped back out of the garage and folded her arms over her chest. Peyton had never thought t-shirts were sexy, but Crosby Everhart did wonders for the baby blue shirt now stretched over her breasts. “You can’t tell me your suburb was this quiet and nosy.”

He laughed and nodded to concede her point.

“True.” He toed a small crack on the drive and looked toward his small bungalow. “But yeah. I like it here.”

“The house looks good.” She turned her attention to the small, covered back porch. “Randy and Jennifer Howser lived here when I was in school. They had a black lab. I walked Pepper for them.”

“A black lab named Pepper?”

Crosby—damned if he could think of her as CJ now that he knew her real name—eyed him with amusement.

“I know, right?”

“Shadow would have been better.”

“No more original,” she mumbled. “Does the kitchen still have that pink and green flowered wallpaper?”

“God, no.” He shook his head. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would live in a house with a pink and green flowered kitchen?”

She laughed, and again, Peyton felt that chill trace his skin. If her sultry laugh did that much to him, what the hell would it feel like to have her hands on him?

“Do you wanna see it?”

“See what?” She drilled him with her gaze. Uncertain if she was flirting, Peyton hesitated. He looked around, glanced at Junie who was sprawled in the grass watching them with what appeared to be a smile on her face, and then looked back at Crosby.

“The house.”

She winced. It was quick, but Peyton noticed it and figured she would say no.

“Sure.”

“The kitchen’s actually pretty cool now,” he told her as he led her to the back porch. Junie scrambled to her feet and raced them to the door. Crosby scratched her head absently.

“Do you spend a lot of time in the kitchen?”

The mental image of kissing Crosby in his kitchen, of backing her up to the small island counter and hiking her up to sit so he could undress her made his cock jerk to attention.

“I do.” He pulled the screen door open and nodded for her to go ahead. “I like to cook.”

“What’s your specialty? My dad’s is omelets.”

Peyton filed away the fact that she mentioned her dad a lot, but the only time she spoke about her mother was in the past tense. Had she left them, or had she passed away?

“Lasagna. And cookies.”

“Not together, right?” She peeked at him over her shoulder and grinned.

“Not usually, no.”

The kitchen wasn’t huge, but compared to the tiny galley kitchen in his old apartment, it felt like it. The island counter measured four feet by two. He had plenty of counter space around the perimeter of the kitchen, and the white shaker cabinets were so spacious, a few of them were still empty even after he’d unpacked. At the back of the kitchen, in the small breakfast nook, he had a gray slate bistro table that matched the gray backsplash.

“This is gorgeous.” Crosby sounded impressed. She smoothed her hand over the frosted white granite counter as she walked to the bistro table. “I love this.”

“My sister picked it out,” he admitted.

She spared him a quick glance and then looked out the picture window over the table. It was a perfect view of the backyard. Peyton wondered what she was thinking. If she was seeing anyone. If she was fantasizing about having sex with him on the table.

“God, I can just imagine sitting here every evening with a cold beer. Relaxing after a long day.”

Fantasizing about his table, maybe, but her mind was definitely not in the same place his was.

“I like to have my morning coffee there while I skim over headlines.”

“You read the paper?”

“Online.”

“I’d have to have a Mountain Dew.”

“That’s right.” He laughed. “Not a coffee drinker.”

She shook her head as she turned back to him.

“So, you said cookies.” She tipped her head and smiled. “You’re gonna have to put your money where your mouth is. You know that, right?”

“You have a problem with a man baking cookies, Crosby Jean?” He crossed the kitchen to stand by her. Probably too close to her, but damned if he could help himself. Toe-to-toe, he could see the flecks of gold in her green eyes and the dark eyeliner that made her pretty eyes pop.

She laughed, totally unaware that the sexy sound was his undoing.

“No.”

“Good.” He nodded.

Gazes still locked, Peyton reached for her hand. She gave it to him willingly, but her brows dipped slightly in a frown.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” Her voice was just a bit gruff, and Peyton hoped it was desire making her feel a bit ragged and needy.

“Holding hands?”

“Peyton.” She tugged her hand away from his, but she didn’t move away from him.

He wanted—no, he needed to kiss her. It felt like his lungs were on fire, and the only way to soothe the burn was to press his lips to hers. As if reading his mind, Crosby parted her lips. He felt her breath fan over his face.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Dammit.” She groaned and lowered her head to rest on his shoulder.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“This. This is wrong.” She turned her face to his neck. “I was hoping you were going to be a jerk and kiss me after I said we couldn’t hold hands, and then you went and asked if you could kiss me.”

“And that’s bad?”

“Yes, because I need you to be a jerk.” She sighed, apparently frustrated with him.

“Because you like bad boys?”

This time, she giggled. Rather than tickle his cock, the sound made his heart light and happy.

“No. Because I don’t want to do this. And—”

“You don’t want to do this?” He lifted his hand to cup her cheek. “Am I reading you that wrong?”

“Dammit,” she said again. She tilted her head to look at him. “I want to do this, but I can’t, Peyton. So, I need you to be a jerk, so I can tell you off and walk away.”

“Why can’t you do this?” He fanned his fingers over her cheekbone, amazed at the heat in her silky skin.

“Because you’re dating Violet,” she reminded him. “She and I haven’t fought over a guy since we were kids. I won’t do that to her now.”

“Crosby, Violet and I went out on one date.”

“Right, and you looked like you had a blast—”

“We did. It was fun. But—”

“But what?”

“There was no chemistry.”

“Sex is overrated.”

“Dammit.” This time, he ducked his chin and rested his forehead against hers. “It isn’t, but this isn’t just about sex.”

“Of course, it is. We don’t even know each other well, Peyton.”

“I want to get to know you.”

“And what about Violet?”

“Can I please kiss you?”