“Fuuuuck.”
With one last thrust, I let go, and Grace comes with me.
The minutes slip away too quickly. Delaying the inevitable just a little longer, I trace the lines and curves of her tattoo with my fingers. The phases of the moon arch over a cluster of pink, white, and red oleanders—the official flower of Galveston, where we were married.
Our legs tangle under the sheets. I’ll have to go soon, and she’ll spend the rest of the weekend alone. Fuckin’ job. At least on stakeout, we shouldn’t be in any real danger. This is an intel-gathering op only.
Grace rubs her foot up and down my calf with a sigh. “Will I see you at all tonight?”
“Not unless we can convince the chief that Marvin’s intel is as worthless as teats on a bull. You painting this weekend?”
“Maybe tomorrow.” She stretches, and her nipples tighten under the sheet. “One of my students wants to turn in his final project early. I told him no the other day, since we were supposed to be gone, but I emailed him back last night. I’ll meet him at the community college a little after noon. If I start my run there, I can get in a flat, eighteen-miler that takes me around part of Lady Bird Lake.”
I trail kisses along her shoulder. “There ain’t a lot of traffic out that way. You’ll take Belle, right?”
Grace turns to face me, disappointment churning in her blue-green eyes. “She stepped on a wasp yesterday. I left you a voicemail. The vet doesn’t want her running for at least a few days—if not a week. I’ll drop her at Bark Away so she doesn’t destroy another pair of my shoes.”
“Dammit. I did listen. Fucking all nighter is messing with my head. But I don’t like you running out there all alone.”
“Aaron—”
I cringe at her tone and hold up a hand. “I know, I know. You’re a grown-ass adult who can handle herself. But…take your pepper spray and your whistle. Please. And call me when you’re back in the car.”
Her expression softens, and her palm against my cheek is reassurance we’re mostly square after my fuckup.
“I’ll be done by five. Don’t worry.”
I press a kiss to her forehead and get to my feet. “Darlin’, I always worry.”
Straightening my tie, I stand in front of the mirror and cast a glance over my shoulder at Grace. She’s still in bed, Belle curled up next to her. God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
“I know we ain’t supposed to go to bed angry, but the make-up sex is pretty damn hot.”
She throws her head back and laughs, then narrows her eyes at me. “AJ Stone, if you pick a fight with me again tonight, there won’t be any ‘make-up sex’ to be had. Now get out of here before the chief comes banging on our door looking for you.”
Chapter Three
Grace
I circle the community college parking lot for fifteen minutes before a space opens up. I should have remembered that Austin Pride was using our quad as staging grounds for today’s parade. It’s a good thing I don’t plan on leaving anytime soon.
By the time I finish my run, the parade will be long over. I’ll get to see a bit of it on my way to the lake. Maybe all that positive energy will help keep me from bonking at mile fifteen like I have on every single training run the past two months.
The comforting scent of drying oil paint surrounds me when I step inside my classroom. Several of my students’ final projects are still in progress along the fringes of the space. Others are finishing theirs up at home.
My fingers itch with the need to create something—anything. I love painting. But drawing is where my heart is.
Maybe I’ll break the seal on my new sketchbook tomorrow. Training and teaching have stolen every ounce of my creativity the past few months, and I’ve missed spending all day in my studio bringing something beautiful to life.
I had no clue when I signed up how much this race would eat me alive. Last year’s half marathon was a walk in the park—fun, even. But twenty-six-point-two miles? That ain’t just twice the distance. It’s twice the pain, four times the blisters, and a whole lot more cussin’ at myself for ever thinking this was a good idea.
A gentle knock on the open door pulls me from my little pity party.
Joshua, twenty years old and built like a semi-truck, fills the doorway with a black portfolio clutched in one hand. His smile wavers for a beat, but then brightens.
“Hey, Ms. Stone. Thank you so much for meetin’ me today.” He lifts the case a little higher. “You’re saving my bacon. Otherwise, Ruth and I were gonna have to wait a whole month to get married!”
He’s so earnest. Like waiting four short weeks would wreck his whole world. Though, I can still remember how excited I was when AJ proposed. And how our one year engagement was eleven months and twenty-nine days too long.
