When We Kiss

“Yes, I worked Sunday, but that’s it!” My voice rises. “I usually work every day for hours and hours!”

“That doesn’t sound good for you. What’s the old saying about all work and no play?” His cocky smile only increases my stress.

“It’s w

hat made Jack Nicholson lose his shit and axe murder everyone in the Shining!” The tension in my chest is almost more than I can bear. “I’m going to need you to give me some space, okay?”

His smile dissolves into more of a crooked grin, and his eyebrows rise. “I’m saying for the next couple days, you can’t just show up here for a booty call.”

“I never thought of you as a booty call.” His voice is low, possibly a touch defensive.

Trickles of pain begin to filter into the sides of my stomach. These words are coming out, but they’re not really how I feel.

“I just need a little space, okay? I need to get this job done and think about it. Think about what I want to do. Can you let me do that?”

His hands go up, palms facing me as if I’m holding a gun on him. “You got it. I’ll leave you alone.”

“Thank you.” Cramps are in my sides now, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to cry. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later.” He nods and hesitates for a moment before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. “Goodnight, Tab. I was just thinking about you.”

His clean, Chad-scent drifts all around me, but he pulls back, turning without another word and heading to his waiting truck in my driveway. My lips press together to stop the trembling, and I grab the door, hurrying inside before he can see me cry.

Why the fuck am I crying? I’m just being honest. For almost a week we’ve been together nonstop. I’ve neglected my work. I’ve neglected my friends. Now I’ve been offered my dream job and I’m not even sure if I want to take it… What the hell?

Now would be a really great, fucking time to have a mother to talk too. Oh, right, she ditched me when I was a baby. I walk across the room and kick the small trashcan under my desk so hard it hits the opposite wall and falls over.

Nothing spills out, and I hiccup a breath. Chad emptied it the last time he was here. He’s so thoughtful… he pays attention to everything. He’s kind of perfect…

Collapsing to sit on the spot, I bend my knees and rest my forehead on the backs of my hands as tears pour from my eyes. I used to have it all figured out. Now I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

Nineteen

Chad

I should’ve walked to Tabby’s place. I’m too pissed to sit in my truck, driving back to mine.

Space? Are you kidding me? This afternoon she was riding my cock and screaming my name, less than eight hours later, she’s asking for space. What the fuck happened?

The minute I’m in my drive, I throw it in park and get out, leaving the keys in the visor. I don’t even want to go inside. I step out and start to run. I don’t have a plan in mind. I’m just blowing off steam.

I jog up the short drive until I’m at the cross section leading either left, down into town, or right, up into the old garden district. I take a right and follow the streets past the old houses. It’s darker here because the live oak trees line the path with their heavy, thick limbs filled with thick green leaves hang low, blocking the light.

When I get to Marjorie Warren’s giant mansion in the center of the oldest part, I take another right, heading down to the dead end road. It only ends for cars. A bike path leads into the trees, down the hill, past the scrub bushes, following the narrow road I’d been on earlier today.

Bearing to the right, I jog across a wooden bridge, my feet making dull thudding noises as I cross. The water trickles under it. So many little streams and creeks run through these woods. None of them are big enough for boating, but they keep this land from being developed. It’s too wet with all these small capillaries running out to the ocean.

The path drops down, still following the narrow road above. They both circle around, and if you know what you’re doing, if you’re a local, you know it leads to a secluded beach hidden by a cove. It’s pretty and private, and not many people come out here. They prefer the beach bars and social life out on the strip.

When my feet hit sand, I stop. I’m breathing hard and slick with sweat. The edge of my anger is slightly dulled by the exertion but not completely gone. Toeing off my shoes, I leave them at the top of the path and walk straight into the crashing waves, going under and letting it all wash away. This place is beautiful.

The sun is just creeping down the horizon when I emerge from the water. I start to walk along the shore, allowing the breeze to dry my skin and hair. It’s only about seven-thirty. I was anxious to see Tabby, and I headed over to her place right after dinner. The memory fans the smolder of anger in my chest—until the happy squeal of a little girl catches me off guard.

I trot forward and see a familiar sight hopping like a kangaroo all along the water’s edge. I look around, scanning the beach until I see Emberly following along behind her.

“Mister Chad!” Coco squeals and takes off running toward me. “Is Aunt Tabby here?”

As soon as she gets close enough, I scoop her up in my arms. Coco is such a funny little girl. Nothing bad ever happens in her world—unless you count Melody not wanting to be bossed around by her.