For the space of a few breaths, I feel defeated. Empty and sad.
I’m an ex-con. A roughneck. A nomad, between jobs. I can cook, but she’ll replace me as soon as she can.
I’m a fucking gigolo, now, too.
Humming, she works to move me off her.
“Sorry.” I pull out, lift up and back, sit on the edge of the bed and watch the relief take over her face when she lowers her legs back down again. “You okay?”
She nods and smiles and stretches, looking warm and happy as a cat.
If she were any other person, I’d lean over and give her a kiss. Hang out for a sec and then take off for home. Sated as hell after the absolute best sex of my life.
Hands down.
But with Kit, I can’t. No kissing those lips. They’re off-limits.
Funny how kissing her mouth is all I can think of while I stumble out of bed and into my clothes. I turn to see that she’s wrapped herself up in her blanket, burrito style.
“Need anything?”
She shakes her head, still dreamy, probably not fully come down yet from the absolutely bonkers sex. I’d give her aftercare if this were a thing. I’d stay for her.
“All right.” I nod, jaw clenched. “See you tomorrow.” I’m out the door and down the hall by the time she says goodbye because the last thing I want is one more oh-so-grateful thank you.
What I do want right now is those off-limits lips. More than I’ve wanted anything in my life.
And it’s starting to feel like a problem.
26
Kit
The phone rings a few minutes after I get into work. “Parlor, this is Kitty,” I say, mind not entirely on what I’m doing.
Immediately, there’s dial tone, which creeps me out. I’m old enough to have seen those hang-up horror movies and, though it may be full on daytime outside, I’m alone here.
I don’t like it. I lock the door. I’ll have to open it when the staff arrives, but that’s not an issue. I’d rather do that than be freaked out like this.
About twenty minutes later, there’s a knock. I’m about ten feet from the door when I recognize my ex and let my footsteps fizzle to a stop. Fuck.
He cups his hands to the glass and peers inside. I move to the door and unlock it.
“Hey. Kitty.”
“What?”
“Geez. Okay.”
“You don’t get to be the injured party.”
“No? No?”
Carefully, I lodge my foot behind the door.
“You think you’re all victim here, but let me tell you, Kitty, you aren’t that easy to be with, okay? I mean…the number of times I came home after a long day of classes and you were unavailable or too tired to?—”
He stops, mouth open, eyes, too, like he’s just been bopped on the head—and remembered that fighting’s not what he came here for. God, he’s so transparent.
