Page 27 of After Care

“What happened?”

“I turned forty. I was over it. My kids were older, and I didn’t like my life. I didn’t feel like I had one. I found a new job and asked him for a divorce. When I found out he had an affair, it sealed my determination to take back something for me.”

“You seem like an independent woman.” It was the first impression I think Tommy got correct.

“I am. Or at least, I like to think I am.” I couldn’t admit to him that there were many times I was weak. I still wanted to be held. I still wanted someone to tell me things would be all right when they didn’t seem to be. I still wanted someone to love me.

He took a deep breath, and I continued.

“I got cancer around the same time I served David with divorce papers. He swore he’d change, that he’d be there for me. But he wasn’t. It was just one more thing that drove him to drink. I knew I’d be better alone than with him.”

“Very independent,” he muttered, as if surprised or impressed.

“I just wanted me back. I wanted my life,” I stated, patting at my chest. “And then I thought I was going to lose it. Lose everything. I couldn’t stay with David. I’m forty-three. If I’ve lived half my life, and was fortunate enough to get the other half, what would that other half bring? It couldn’t be a failing marriage, an alcoholic husband, and a very unhappy me.”

The air in the room grew heavy, and darkness filled the balcony window, bringing on another round of stormy weather. The oppressive atmosphere matched the one in Tommy’s room, and my stomach dropped at how I’d taken our carefree minutes and tainted them with memories of a man I once loved, but who didn’t love me.

Tommy hadn’t spoken, and I scrambled to the end of the bed, reaching over it for my underwear. I’d said too much, and the weight of it crushed me. If I was going to bare my soul, I wanted my underwear back on.

“I should go,” I muttered.

“I don’t want you to.” The words startled me. “I want to eat eggs, discuss music, and just look at you.”

“I…” I had no words. My heart raced. My stomach flipped. I wanted to kiss him. His lip twitched, and he tipped his head as if he read my thoughts. Taking another risk, I climbed over his feet, straddling his legs and crawled up the length of his body. His smile widened as I sat at his lap, painfully aware of what lay just underneath my backside.

“I’d like that, too,” I said softly, tracing a nail over his abs, making them suck in. A hand came to my hip.

“Kiss me, darlin’,” he asked, and I did. I kissed him with the same tenderness I did last night, with the longing I had to be with someone who was rough on the outside like him, but equally sweet. I kept my body still as I concentrated only on his lips, letting the tip of my fingers stroke the stubble on his jaw, shifting to nails scratching through the short hair.

“You like that, darlin’?” he muttered against my mouth.

“I do,” I purred, continuing to scratch while I returned to kissing. His lips were plump and delicate when he’d let them be, and the kisses washed over me, cleansing me of thoughts of my ex. I pulled back slowly, taking his lower lip with mine before releasing him. His eyes were closed, and he opened them slowly.

“You brushed your teeth,” he chuckled.

“So did you,” I replied.

“Is it strange that I like you using my toothbrush?”

“Not if you aren’t offended that I did.”

“Please, offend me,” he said, leaning forward for my mouth and forcing my body to rut back against his growing length. A knock at the door interrupted.

“Breakfast,” he muttered, gently pushing me off of him. “I’d rather get drunk on you instead, but I am starving.” He said it so casually, so nonchalantly, as if he had no idea how that thought ricocheted my heart rate and sent desire rushing through me.

If he wanted fine wine for breakfast, who was I to deny him?

+ + +

“Your music knowledge is horrendous,” Tommy chuckled, pointing a crispy slice of bacon at me. I smiled in response. I described every song by the singer—you know, the one by the short, pixie blonde about being alone—or—the band with four guys and the front one looks like so-and-so. Tommy was good natured about my lacking information.

“Favorite song of all time,” he asked. I had to really think about it and then I had to try to clarify without using a movie or television show, which he mocked mercilessly, telling me those references didn’t count.

“’Wait For Me’ by a band called Colt45.” I shrugged my shoulder, glancing down at my plate. “I saw them in a small venue when I was in college. They were amazing, and I just loved that song. It hit the radio, but I remember hearing them before it went public.”

I looked up to find Tommy staring at me, bacon still poised in between his fingers. He dropped the bacon on his plate and turned his head toward the balcony window. I had no idea what I’d said, but the air around us dropped ten degrees. He sat back and rubbed at his jean-covered thighs.

“What did I say?” I asked, bewildered. His head turned back for me, and a smirk curled his lips but didn’t reach his eyes.