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Yeah, he had to do something to get sex with his beautiful blonde neighbor out of his thoughts. Something besides having it with her.
* * *
He was waiting inside for her when Tabitha came through the garage door into the kitchen shortly after seven that evening. With her hair falling out of her ponytail, her wrinkled scrubs sporting a stain and her makeup long since faded, she looked heartbreakingly beautiful. And exhausted.
“Go get your shower,” he told her, taking the satchel she’d had over her shoulder and putting it on the small built-in counter by the back door. “I’ll hold dinner until you’re done.”
He’d already poured the wine. Handed her a glass as she walked by.
“You’re spoiling me, Johnny,” she said, sending him a grateful glance. If only it was her gratitude that he wanted.
“It’s time someone did,” he told her, taking a sip from the other glass. He’d had half a notion, when he poured the wine, about making a toast. Something about their partnership and how well it was paying off for both of them. Maybe include a nuance about partnership fluidity, about how the best partnerships worked because both members were open to change.
Sipping his wine alone while she walked off, no doubt needing a shower more than she’d ever need him, was more appropriate. And, truthfully, the way he really wanted it.
Anything else and someone was going to get hurt. He needed his real life back.
She wouldn’t be happy there. Not only because it was a completely different world, different lifestyle, but because eventually, like Angel, she’d be hurt by his lack of the internal driving force that transcended normal human capabilities. Or, if nothing else, bored by his lack of it.
His own hurt, he could handle, but if he hurt Tabitha...
There’d be no excuse good enough for that.
* * *
“This is delicious.” Tabitha’s mouth hung open as, forkful of lasagna suspended in front of her, she praised his meal.
Like the night before, she’d come to dinner in sweats and a long-sleeved cotton shirt, black sweats and white shirt both times, her face freshly scrubbed and devoid of makeup, her hair shiny and hanging over and around her shoulders.
Both nights, just looking at her had given him a hard-on.
“Lasagna’s my favorite,” she said, as though he didn’t already know. Johnny watched the fork. Anticipated the moment the pasta would slip inside, the exact second the fork would touch her tongue and her lips would close around it.
He was in trouble. Real trouble.
* * *
Sunday night, after three twelves and working on their lists each night, Tabitha should’ve been exhausted to the bone. Instead, she felt a lift in her spirits as she clocked out and left the hospital with almost a spring to her step as she made her way to the employee parking lot.
She was starving and anticipating another home-cooked Johnny meal. Although, truthfully, fast-food carryout would’ve been fine with her. Mostly she was looking forward to an hour or two alone with him. Talking about Jackson, answering Johnny’s gazillion questions about life with her son, questions designed to bring up memories from the year they’d had together. The Mark questions she wasn’t looking forward to. And yet, being able to share her past with Johnny as she remembered things—such as the fact that Mark didn’t like dark chocolate, only milk—made the remembering...easier.
She wished there was something she could do for Johnny. Something in addition to the relatively simple task of being his food-truck employee. In the past couple of weeks, he’d done so much more for her than they’d ever agreed upon. Meeting with Mallory, giving legal advice, paying for Alistair, just to name a few. He’d become one of her greatest sources of strength. No matter how tired she felt when she left the hospital, walking in the door to Johnny’s grin always woke her right up. Gave her the mental and emotional fortitude to get through an evening of sometimes painful memories and then be able to fall asleep when her head hit the pillow.
If she didn’t know how wrong it would be, she’d think she was falling in love with him. Best-friend kind of love. The feelings that lasted long after sexual attraction faded. Love that lived on even after death.
That would be wrong, though, and she knew it. Johnny was counting on a one-year partnership that would let him walk away without regret when his sabbatical was up. He needed a friend who didn’t interfere with his grieving, one who would help him honor his wife, not try to replace her in his affections. One who would be perfectly fine on her own when he left.
That was what she owed him. That was what she could do for him. Keep to her part of their agreement. Be ready, willing and able to say goodbye with a smile on her face when the year was up.
That reality deflated her good mood. But only until she reminded herself that for the next three months Johnny needed her to tell him everything she could, to share her thoughts and feelings with him in regard to finding Jackson—which was pretty much every thought and feeling she had these days. With her mind back on track, she focused on the evening ahead—refining and then printing the list they’d made and the packing she had yet to do. First thing in the morning they were going to be on the road again. Spending the next six nights in the suite in San Diego, since she wasn’t due at the hospital until the following Monday.
Filled with something akin to excitement, she pulled into the garage. She thought about the fact that she’d be spending six nights with Johnny, and maybe even have Jackson back home with her before she’d be driving her car again. Chiding herself for her whimsy, she wondered what they’d be having for dinner.
She felt an instant rock in her gut as she pushed open the garage door into a dark, deserted kitchen.
?
??Johnny?” Was he in the living room? They’d joked about ordering a pizza some night. Perhaps he’d decided not to cook?
