“Clementine?” I accidentally say out loud.
“What?” Lia whispers.
“Uh, Clementine,” I repeat, for God knows what reason.
“Like the fruit?”
“Sure,” I answer.
“Why are you saying that?”
“Can’t think of JP’s pigeon friend.”
“Kazoo?”
“Ohhhhh, right.” I smile to myself. “Kazoo.”
“Why are you thinking about JP and Kazoo?”
So I don’t get a boner.
Because your ass is pressed right up against my pelvis, and if I even move a little, I know the friction will be enough to give me a semi.
“He was talking about him earlier today, and I couldn’t think of his name.”
“Oh . . . well, it’s Kazoo.”
“Yup, logged that away.”
She places her hand on top of mine and says, “I think I need to change, Breaker.”
Change her clothes? Into what?
She’s barely wearing anything as it is.
My mind floats to her in lingerie, walking toward me, sexy as shit with her tits . . . NO!
Kazoo, think of Kazoo and the way JP blows kisses at the damn thing. Revolting.
Satisfied, I say, “Do you need pants or something?”
“No, not that kind of change. I mean, like my life needs to change.”
That snaps me out of my “I’m in love with my best friend fog.” “Change? What do you mean, change? You’re perfect as you are, Lia.”
“I feel like I’m in a rut, that I’ve been going through the motions and not truly allowing myself to experience the things I need to experience.”
“What do you mean?” She twists so she’s on her back, and my hand rests directly on her stomach. Her head tilts to the side just enough so our eyes connect in the dim light of the room.
“Ever since my parents passed away, I don’t think I’ve given myself a chance to live. I mean, I’m about to get married in four weeks, and it feels almost like a death sentence rather than a thrilling event. And I’m not sure if that’s because I’m mourning my parents or The Beave is ruining the process, but I’m not having fun. I want to have fun. I want to do things I’ve never done before. I want to live a life my parents wanted me to live, and I don’t think I’ve been doing that.”
My thumb smooths over her stomach, the touch to comfort her. “What are some things you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But I think there needs to be a change.”
“If you feel that way, I will one hundred percent support you,” I say, and she shifts so she’s facing me now, her face only inches from mine. Her shirt bunches up around my hand at her waist.
“You will?”
