Nope, definitely the tequila, I think as I sway slightly. Whoops.
But Zachisresponsible for the heat that’s spreading through my belly, and lower.
I watch, transfixed, as he lifts the bottle of liquor to his own mouth, staring at the way his lips pillow the rim of the glass bottle, how his throat works as he swallows…
We’re standing entirely too close to be appropriate, maybe a foot separating us. He smells amazing from this close. Like cedar and citrus and… and smoke. It’s earthy and ultra masculine and I love it.
His mustache and close-cropped beard are what my every fantasy is made of. I’m not at all ashamed to admit that I’ve done a lot of daydreaming about that mouth and the ‘stache that covers that upper lip.
He doesn’t even bat an eye as he swallows down the alcohol and lowers the bottle from his lips, handing it back to me. Again, our fingers graze, for far too long to be accidental this time. I can’t tear my eyes off of his. And all I want is for him to lean down and kiss me. Or I might just throw my arms around those big, broad shoulders and do it myself—
“Louise,” he breathes, his voice lower, far more husky than it was before, the deep timbre of it hitting me low in the belly. I shiver. “You can’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask on a whisper, swallowing hard.
“Like you want things from me that I can’t give you, Princess,” he breathes back, that blue gaze bouncing back and forth between mine and my mouth. “I can’t do whatever it is that’s running through that pretty little head of yours.”
The alcohol in my system has effectively turned off my give-a-shit—because,he thinks I’m pretty?—and I whisper, “Why’s that, Zach?”
Taking the bottle from my hand again instead of answering right away, he lifts it and takes a larger swallow this time. He sets it down on the counter next to us, the glass thudding dully on the countertop. Then he steps back, putting several feet of space between us.
He sighs, staring at me. “Because I’m technically still married, Lou. My divorce isn’t final, and a fling with someone as youngand sexy as you would deraileverythingI’ve been fighting like hell for over the last year. That’s why.”
My stomach does thisgodawfulflipflop in my middle that feels an awful lot like butterflies dive bombing to their demise. My chest tightens painfully until I can’t breathe. Well,fuck me.
He backs away several more steps, then notches his chin at the microwave when it beeps a reminder at me. “Eat your dinner, Louise.”
Twelve
Louise
“What’s the matter with you today?”
I glance up from my breakfast, where I’ve been shuffling my French toast around on my plate for the last several minutes. “Huh? Oh, just hungover. And I started my period. I’m just cranky.”
Grandma Jude harrumphs from her seat across the booth from me, gazing at me over the rim of her colorful coffee cup. We’re at our favorite breakfast diner, a little hole in the wall place that serves the best cinnamon French toast in northern Michigan, if you ask me.
My roiling stomach doesn’t agree this morning, but honestly, I can’t tell if it’s from the amount of tequila I indulged in lastnight or that fucking bomb Zach had dropped in the middle of my kitchen and then walked out like nothing happened.
Eat your dinner, Louise, I mimic unkindly in my own head, stabbing my fork into a bite.Oh, by the way, I’m still married.We’ve just been flirting outrageously with our fuck-me-eyeballs for the last week, and I just drank out of the same bottle of tequila as you, so it was like we kissed, no big deal. That’s fine, right?
I’d been half tempted to toss the plate of food into the trash can after he’d walked out just for spite, but it smelled really good…and I was starving. Every bite was delicious. It pissed me off how good it tasted.
I did finish off that bottle of tequila to drown my hurt feelings and stung pride.
My head was pounding, and my stomach was less than happy with me this morning when I woke up. And that was when I discovered I’d started my period during the night.
Yayyyy.
My bad day from yesterday makes so much more sense in the light of day. I feel somewhat validated that I wasn’t just being an emotional hot mess for no reason.
“When are you going to invite me over to that new place of yours, hmm?”
I look up at Grandma Jude and smile, but I hope my panic doesn’t show as I say, “Soon, I promise. I’m just getting settled in is all.”
There’s no way I need Grandma Jude meeting Zach or his girls. Not right now.
Possibly ever.
