"Who's Gloria?"
I forget that Tabitha has not always been in my world. She just seems to fit. "Gray's girlfriend. She runs the camp. She does a lot with backstage and costumes and stuff. She also acts, but I don't think she's doing that anymore. Still, she's a great resource to have. Last year, she showed up in town and almost single-handedly saved The Edison. We owe a lot to her."
I don't want to think about the stress of last summer. The mere mention of it gives me heartburn. Hopefully Linda Keene makes better business decisions this year, so we don't end up getting through by the skin of our teeth again.
"Oh wow. I guess Grayson's lucky that his girlfriend has so many hidden talents. He picked well."
"Yeah, funny thing. They weren't together when she came to work for The Edison. But by the end of the season, they were inseparable."
"Aww, that's so sweet." Tabitha nestles into my shoulder again. "So romantic."
Ugh, no. I mean, Gray and Gloria are fine, but no. Just no. "For right now. We almost lost everything because Gray's ex is a vindictive bitch. It's really best not to mix business and pleasure, especially with the dramatic types."
Tabitha laughs. "Tell me about it. We had issues in our group. It's not why we broke up—not the full reason—but it contributed to it. Totally. And then, ten years later, the same who-slept-with-who thing came up and almost derailed our reunion concert. We made millions off that concert, so people screwing around could have really messed it up."
Millions.
She could probably buy and sell The Edison four times over. Another reminder that Tabitha is out of my league.
But that would imply that this is more than a casual thing. It's not, so we're equal. Still, I should warn her that my place is nothing special. As we walk down the stairs from the train station and cross Queens Boulevard, I start to worry.
She's gonna run the minute she lays eyes on the place. It's ugly brick, with people stacked on top of one another like a can of sardines. "Well, this's it." I shrug like I don't care.
"Oh, it's, um …"
"Yeah. Welcome to Queens." I look around at the depressing neighborhood, even more dank in the artificial street light. "Not exactly fit for a queen though. I think it was misnamed."
Tabitha laughs, though I notice she's stepping a bit more gingerly, like she doesn't want to step in poverty. On the other hand, I watched her give a hundred bucks to a homeless man without blinking. Maybe I'm reading too much into this.
Maybe I'm looking for an excuse.
Maybe I need to pull my head out of my ass and kiss this woman.
Option C wins.
"Mmm," she says, her lips still pressed into mine. "Is that a sneak preview?"
"Consider it an appetizer." I plan to devour her, so it's not a lie. I hope the feeling's mutual. "I'm on the second floor, so it's not too bad."
"Except for when the person above you causes a flood."
I can't believe she remembers that. I'm glad she does, though, because there's still unpainted drywall on my ceiling and bathroom walls. At least it's been replaced already. I just won't turn on all the lights, and I'll keep her elsewise occupied.
I can live with that.
"Come on," I fiddle with the keys in the door. I practically run up the stairs. Mostly so she doesn't get too much time to look around, but also because I can't wait to get inside with her. I've been thinking about this since I walked away two weeks ago. Women are never on my mind for two weeks.
At least not like this.
We're barely through my door when Tabitha grabs my face, pressing her hands into my cheeks as she leans into me.
Nice to know I'm not the only one anxious for this. Her mouth is warm and inviting, as I suspect the rest of her will be. We're still wearing our coats, bags slung over our shoulders. Time to lighten the load a bit.
I slide the bag off her shoulder—good Lord, what's in here?—and toss it on the floor. My own rucksack hits with a thud. Tabitha is on the same page as she pushes my jacket off, never breaking contact with my mouth. I fumble a bit as I remove her coat. She shrugs out of it. My hands find her ribcage and slide south.
I caress her firm, tight backside and glide up, looking to free her of her shirt. Except I can't find the edge of it. I try to play it off as gentle stroking rather than the desperate fumble it truly is. Where the frick is the bottom of her shirt?
Tabitha starts to giggle. "What are you doing down there?"
