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I knew he was probably trying to be helpful because he’d seen everything that had just happened. But his actions irritated me. I didn’t want anyone to know what was going on between us. And even more, I didn’t want him to realize how much this fucking hurt. Showing my vulnerabilities pissed me off. I wanted to ball my hand into a fist and punch Lowe in the face. Actually, any kind of violence to get this clawing sensation out of my chest would do. And since he was handy...
Aspen sputtered, her face coloring as she blinked at him. “You know...you know who I am?”
“My girlfriend and I take World Masterpieces,” he explained. Then he shrugged and gave her a bashful smile. “You’re actually her favorite teacher.”
She paled, but nodded and tried to smile back as she handed him a twenty to pay.
Lowe turned toward the cash register and sent me a glance as he did. But his gaze was unreadable, and I felt abandoned as he turned away.
Though Aspen stood just on the other side of the bar, she was suddenly unreachable.
We didn’t speak as we waited for Lowe to return with her change. And we didn’t look at each other. I watched her from the corner of my eye as she hugged her purse to her breasts. I folded my arms over my chest, frustrated because I could do nothing to fix this.
Lowe returned too soon. Now Aspen would leave. My mind whirled to come up with the perfection solution to fix this, but I had nothing.
After stuffing a ten in the tip jar, she spun away and hurried off. Without even saying goodbye.
I clenched my teeth and glared at Lowe.
He blew out a long breath. “Well... That sure sucked for you.”
With a harsh laugh, I shook my head. “Yeah.” Damn it. I still wanted to hit something. “I need a drink.” Yanking up the first bottle of bourbon I found, I flipped over a glass and splashed in a liberal amount. After downing it in one swallow, I hissed out a breath through my teeth, only to discover Jessie had actually come out of her office. She narrowed her eyes. I narrowed mine right back and watched her with a challenging arch of my brows as I poured myself another.
She pointed her index finger threateningly. “You’re paying for those, Gamble.”
After she turned and started for the exit to leave for the night, I glared after her. “No, I’m not.” Then I drank the next shot.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“Dreams come true. Without that possibility, nature would not incite us to have them. ” - John Updike
~ASPEN~
My cozy, two-bedroom, bungalow-style home sat in the middle of a street with trees in the front yards an
d kids’ toys in the back. Middle class’s version of the American dream. This was the first place I’d lived on my own, the first place I’d lived away from my parents.
I’d gained my freedom here. Within the first few weeks of moving in, I’d gone a little wild. Well, my version of wild, anyway. I’d painted my walls crazy colors like tangerine and robin’s egg blue. I bought towels and silverware that totally mismatched because they mismatched. I even went out and bought a bottle of wine to celebrate.
If only my parents had seen me then...
But that’s exactly why I’d done it, because I knew they’d disapprove. Well, that and because I’d loved those colors and I loved my mismatching menagerie of things, plus I really had wanted to do something commemorative to celebrate.
It was a small rebellion, but big enough in my book. Finally living for myself now¸ I cherished every little independent thing I got to do.
So, reading in the bathtub? Oh, you know I did that every chance I got. In the four months I’d resided in Ellamore, it had become my Saturday morning ritual. Besides, I really needed something this morning to get my spirits up. I’d felt depressed since Tuesday when I’d left Forbidden—and Noel—for good.
All my lavender-scented aromatherapy votive candles were set up around the rim of the tub and lit, casting a lazy splash of warmth across the walls of my bath, while mist from the heated water steamed up my mirrors and caused my pores to bead with perspiration. My feet rested by the drain while I propped my back against the other end, and the towel turban I’d used to wrap my wet hair also seconded as a nice cushion for the back of my head.
I’d kicked most of the bubbles to my feet because they’d been messing with my paperback—bad bubbles—but now that I was nearing a fairly intense and wildly physical part of the story, I was suddenly very aware of my breast floating just below the surface of the water. I slid my thighs past each other and shifted, wet warmth lapping my body as the hero’s tongue lapped over the heroine’s skin. Growing even more restless, I turned a page, anxious to find out what he was going to do to her next, because I had to say, the man was inventive with some of the things he liked to lick.
It reminded me of Noel Gamble’s tongue and how he’d glided it across my collarbone before he’d nipped at a freckle with his teeth. Swallowing when my nipples began to tingle, I shifted my legs again, rubbing them together to alleviate some of tension growing between them. But that only aggravated the situation more. In the novel, the hero’s hand wandered down a taut stomach and then between soft thighs, and I had to tighten my own together in response.
“You’re mine now, Isabelle,” he growled in her ear, his voice rough but his fingers tender.
Damn, why couldn’t some guy say cheesy crap like that to me?
But then an echo of Noel’s voice stirred my memory. “Want to hear a secret? I had a crazy-ass crush on you on the first day of class.”
