Truthfully, my hubris is a bit bloated right now. I’m blaming it on the kiss. My insides are still shaking. His lips were only on mine for a few seconds, but the effect of them lingers. My heart feels too soft right now, and it’s making my outside more prickly thanusual.
Isaac cocks an eyebrow from his place on the other side of the Cornhole game. His final bean bag just landed short of the hole, and all I have to do to clinch my victory is make this lastshot.
Which I do. It sails through the air in a perfect arc and slips in the hole with almost nosound.
The cheering sounds coming from my cupped mouth are loud and probably annoying, but I don’t care. “Aubrey for the win.” I say in my best sportscastervoice.
Isaac’s laughing and shaking his head. He reaches back to our table and hands me my drink. “To the victor go the spoils.” The tinkling sound of our glasses sends a shiver down myspine.
“And what are the spoils?” I keep my eyes on him as Idrink.
Isaac watches me, his eyes evaluating. He doesn’t speak, so I ask my questionagain.
He steps closer, and the heat in my core starts up. It’s a little annoying that my body does that every time. It would be a lot easier to keep him at arms’ distance if my body wouldbehave.
But with his chest so close to mine…. well, how much harder do I have to work? How much harder do I need tofight?
“To give you the spoils, I think I’ll need about an hour of your time.” His cheek rests against my temple, his words float down to myear.
“One hour?” My voicesqueaks.
I feel his nod. “Are you ready to gohome?”
I want to tell him yes, that when his deep voice reverberates against me like that, I’m ready to go almostanywherewithhim.
“Um-hmm,” is all I manage to say. He pulls back, looks down at me, and I see what I saw that night in the country bar. A man in need of a woman. But this time, Isaac isn’t inpain.
Am I? Certainly not like I was thatnight.
The pain is different now. A dull, unrelenting sort. Always there, never dealt with. My shadowy ghost. It beats a steady rhythm, much like myheartbeat.
Maybe I deserve a break from that. Just a brief respite where I can pretend to bewhole.
I find my voice. “One hour.” I don’t squeak this time. I sound confident. “And Isaac?” I lift aneyebrow.
“Yeah?” His voice has growndeeper.
“No babies thistime.”
He laughs and curls a hand around my hipbone. “Agreed.”
Is this the right decision? Probably not. But I’mtired.
Tired ofhurting.
Tired of holdingon.
Isaac takes my hand. As soon as we step away, a group of guys claim the bean bags we’ve left on the table. We walk out, Isaac in front, leading me through the crowd. His broad shoulders move with an easy confidence, giving me a feeling of peace andsafety.
* * *
The airaround us changes the second the front door closes. After a long run-down of her evening with Claire, Lucia has finallyleft.
“You.” Isaac walks toward me, his gait slow. The hungry gleam in his eyes is coming closer…closer…
I gulp. It’s loud, and Isaacsmirks.
He reaches me. His hand runs from my shoulder to my wrist, then he pulls back. Disappointment runs through me. “Our one hour starts the second we step foot in mybedroom.”
