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It had begun to feel like a hopeless cycle—like I was a shell of the man I’d been, simply going through the motions. But then I’d seen her again last night. It felt like time had slowed down when she came pushing through the line at the book signing. I’d even grinned when I saw she was sweaty again, probably from power walking to make sure the coffee was still hot when she threw it at me. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t still remember how it felt to have her sweaty body against mine—to drink in her sweet scent and feel her walls clenching tight on my cock.
In the instant before I’d realized what she was doing at the book signing, I’d been about to smile. Actually smile.
I wouldn’t have even given a shit about the satisfaction it probably would’ve given her.
But then she stuck her arm out and covered me in hot liquid, making sure I couldn’t forget how I’d left her the last time we met. How I’d assured her there was no room in my life for her. In the moment before she threw the coffee.
I got out of my chair to walk a familiar circle around the room. I considered plucking a book from the shelves and giving myself an hour of reprieve from the guilt of not writing but decided to pace instead. Maybe I really would take Nilla up on the idea of going for the writer’s retreat, but I had a bad feeling I’d cancel at the last minute.
My thoughts kept shifting back to the tiny, smart-mouthed woman in my guest room. It was impossible to forget she was here.
She was in my house.
Kenzie felt like a single, delicate thread leading straight back to the last time I’d felt in control. The weaker part of me wanted to carefully take hold of it and see if I could retrace my steps. If maybe I could use her to find my way back. Back to the version of myself that had written with confidence and hadn’t cared what would come.
I should’ve been planning to get her out of my house and my life as soon as possible. Instead, I felt reluctant to see her go. It was only the slightest spark, but I had to admit I felt something with her around. Like the tiniest ember managing to stay lit in the dry, damp kindling beneath my creativity. I couldn’t help wondering if keeping her around would make that spark roar to life. If maybe it’d turn into words on the page, even.
I was dwelling on everything when my cat, Meatball, fell from the rung of the ladder he’d been trying to climb.
Meatball was not like most cats. He was gray as ash, overweight, and uncoordinated. He was also a spoiled little bastard with a nasty streak, and he had a supreme talent when it came to distracting me.
I studied his chunky body as he unrolled himself from the pile he’d fallen in. He got up, meowed indignantly, and then made sure I saw him licking his paw as if he was a real cat. He caught me looking, then sauntered out of the room with his tail held high.
After I… acquired Mr. Meatball, I’d assumed I could pass off his care to an employee. I wasn’t a cat person, but I hadn’t exactly had a choice in the matter. He was a pain in the ass, and he’d chased off every cat-sitter I’d tried to hire so far. I guess I had to admit I could be a pain in the ass and had possibly scared off a few of them, too.
Maybe... It was a stupid idea. A very stupid idea. And there was a chance she’d laugh me out of the room if I suggested it, but I knew one thing. I needed to find a way to keep Kenzie around.
I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t repeatedly visited the memory of fucking her. I’d even considered breaking my rule and trying to find her for a second round only a week after the conference.
No woman had ever haunted me the way Kenzie had. Some nights the memory of her came over me like a tidal wave. Her smell. Her taste. The sounds of her moans hot against my ear. In those moments I thought I could’ve given everything up for just another few minutes in that place with her—a few minutes of nothingness where we’d both let our bodies do the talking. Where it hadn’t even mattered if we liked each other, because what we were doing felt good.
It had been simple. Primal. And fuck if I didn’t crave it again.
Day by day, the intensity of those memories faded. It had started feeling like trying to hold onto the wisps of a particularly wonderful dream, and all the best parts had long since drifted out of my grasp.
