Follow Me Always (Follow Me 3)

It’s actually pretty fun.

Plus, I’m using my talents, arranging my ingredients just so. Finding the perfect spot in the grocery store where the lighting will set off the colors so they’re the most vibrant.

I whip up the étouffée and let it simmer. I’ve already made my chocolate mousse for Braden, so I decide on another French favorite to complement the meal—crème brûlée. The custard part is tricky. It needs to be thick and creamy but not too much so, or it becomes more like flan.

After everything’s done except the burnt sugar coating on the crème brûlée—which has to be done with a small blow torch right before we eat it—I check my watch. Six thirty. Time enough to shower before Braden arrives.

I turn and—

Someone knocks on the door. I wipe my hands on the apron I’m wearing. It can’t be Braden. He’s never early.

I look in the peephole.

Shit! It is Braden. A half hour early. I open the door slowly, knowing I’m a fright.

“Skye,” he says.

“You’re early.”

“I know.”

“Well, come on in. I was just going to hop in the shower.”

“That’s a great idea,” he says. “I’ll join you.”

I wrinkle my forehead. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“I’ve been in meetings nearly twenty-four-seven since I left Kansas,” he says. “I need a shower, too.”

“Be my guest, then.” I gesture him toward the bathroom.

“Oh, no. You can’t dangle the idea of a shower with you in front of me and then take it away.”

“I didn’t dangle anything, Braden. You know that as well as I do. We’re not together right now, despite—”

“Fuck it all, Skye. I don’t care.” He grabs me and slams his mouth onto mine.

The kiss is more than pent-up passion. It’s primal, like a mark. Like when he bit the top of my breast that time.

He’s missed me. He’s missed me every bit as much as I’ve missed him.

He can’t stay away from me any more than I can stay away from him. Still, tonight was supposed to be special. I was going to share something with him. I was going to answer his question.

Granted, I want to answer it after a shower so I look good.

But now will have to do.

I break the kiss and push him away.

He cocks his head. Is he going to say something? He looks inquisitive.

But he remains silent.

“You’re the one who ended things,” I tell him. “Then you go to my parents’ home without telling me. Then you tell me you want to have vanilla sex.”

“All true statements,” he says.

“But you can’t be with me, you say. Not until I can answer the question you asked me after the club.”

“That’s true.”

“So why are you kissing me? Why are you trying to get into the shower with me? Because we both know what will happen in the shower.” I’m getting wet just thinking about it.

He stalks toward me and pushes me against the wall, pinning me, his hands gripping my shoulders. “Why am I kissing you? Don’t you know by now?”

“N-No. I mean, yeah. You love me. You desire me.”

He shakes his head. “It goes so far beyond that, Skye. You know that, because you feel it, too.”

I nod, shivering. Yes, I know it. And yes, I feel it.

“You’ve become a drug to me, and damn it, I can’t leave you alone, no matter how much I know I should.”

“Y-You don’t have to leave me alone, Braden.”

“Don’t I?”

“No. Because I have an answer. Tonight I’ll answer your question.”

He crushes his lips to mine once more. My apron is a grimy mess, and I know I’m getting God knows what all over his expensive suit. But if he doesn’t care, why should I?

Our tongues tangle and duel. The kiss stays primal, as if we’re two animals getting ready to mate.

For that’s what our desire is—animalistic. It has been from the beginning. We’re drawn to each other as if the universe has forced us together for some divine purpose.

And perhaps it has.

Perhaps I needed to figure some things out about myself to live a happier life.

Perhaps Braden needs to do the same thing.

Our love came after the primal instinct to come together, as if our hearts followed our souls.

The best kind of love.

We kiss and we kiss and we kiss, until the savory scent of the shrimp étouffée wafts to me. I break my mouth away from his and inhale a deep breath.

“I have to check dinner. I can’t let it get ruined again.”

He trails one finger down my cheek. “Okay. We’ll have the shower after dinner.”

“After we talk,” I say.

He nods. “After we talk.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Unlike my first attempt, this meal for Braden turns out perfectly. The shrimp étouffée is spicy and delicious, and the Beaujolais-Villages I picked complements it very well. We don’t talk a lot at dinner. Just a little about his trip and about the posts I’ve done this week. He seems pleased with my progress as an influencer.