My cock pulsed at the memory of pounding her on my kitchen counter, and I wanted her again already, wanted her to stay the night, repeat the performance in my bed, in my shower, on every surface. “Can I at least call you?”
She didn’t answer. Just threw her shirt over her head and reached for her pants. I took the little time remaining to grab a memo off the magnet pad Farrid kept on the fridge, scrambling for a Sharpie in the junk drawer. As Chelsea hopped on one foot, pulling on an ankle boot, I scrawled my phone number.
When I held the paper out to her, she looked at it, then up at me, like she was debating whether it was worth the conversation to say no. In the end, she took it, folded it in half, then dropped it into her purse.
She stepped close, dragged her finger through my hair over my ear, and leaned in for one last kiss. “Good night, Bas. This wasreally nice.”
Then she turned and walked out of my house with a slam of the door. And I didn’t know when—or if—I’d ever see her again.
Chapter Three
Chelsea
Challenge: Apply for a new job
It rained all week, which kept the coffee shop traffic throttled, giving me too much time to marinate in my own circular thoughts. Sometime Friday morning, blessedly, the storm clouds cleared, leaving behind a fall chill in the air. The blue skies and favorable temperatures brought people to the coffee shop, and everyone ordered their pumpkin lattes.
Because, no matter what a certain know-it-all chef thought, pumpkin spice was delicious.
As delicious as him.
The line for the cash register was at least ten people deep when I saw him. He was focused on a conversation with another guy in blue scrubs. He stood there in a heather gray Henley, relaxed and unfairly beautiful. His black hair an unruly aphrodisiac, with curls springing out at odd angles. His full lips begging me to suck on them again. And those haunting eyes. What would I do if they flicked my way?
I’d worried he’d try to find me given all the things I’d confessed in that weird bubble of manufactured honesty. Not to mention how I’d cried out his name on his kitchen counter while he pounded me. I shivered at the memory. The way he’d claimed me and then tenderly kissed me had shattered me in that moment. I’d fled before he could make me promise more than I could deliver.
That was two weeks ago.
It was better he hadn’t looked for me. I had nothing good to offer him.
But seeing him now with that mischievous smile plastered on his face, gorgeous from head to toe, I composed a breezy imaginary conversation. What would I say to him?
I wished I could have met him far away from here, on vacation, somewhere that torrid night would leave no strings attached. I never should have gone home with him. Not here where I lived, not where he could just waltz into my place of work looking like a snack. He was a toxin I needed to purge from my bloodstream.
I knew this was Old Chelsea thinking, but I didn’t have the benefit of alcohol or my trusty sidekick encouraging me to take risks and make big mistakes. New Chelsea would plant herself at the register and pay the consequences of her rash behavior. She’d look into the eyes of the man who’d seen beyond her mask and tell him she’d liked it. She’d liked it too much.
“I’m taking my break,” I said to Todd.
“Hey, but—”
I rushed out the swinging door, through the back room, into the alley where I leaned against the brick wall and breathed in the cool air. The earthy fragrance of Charlottesville hit me, and I wondered as I always did where it came from. Elizabeth swore it was the ginkgo trees, but I’d never located the source. I’d never encountered that particular scent in the hills where I grew up. I only ever noticed it here, on the Downtown Mall and the university grounds. It smelled like home to me.
My phone flashed with notifications. Mostly texts from Elizabeth.
Call me when you get off work.
I have news.
The last text I’d sent my mom remained unanswered. She hadn’t responded to my last three voicemail messages, either.Guess I wasn’t going to get a thank-you for the check I’d sent her.
She wouldn’t respond to this one, either, but I typed,Is everything okay?
I stared at the phone a minute too long. Maybe she was avoiding me. Or she’d fled the country. She’d probably been working long hours and didn’t have time to call. Or she forgot. Or she was drinking again.
My jaw hurt from clenching. I breathed in, breathed out, repeating the mantra: “My mother is not my responsibility, and I can’t control her.” She was an adult and could make her own decisions, even if those decisions involved neglecting to alleviate my worries.
“Chelsea?” Todd stuck his head out the heavy metal door. “We really need you inside, please.”
I blew a raspberry. “Yeah. Be right there.”
