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Yet, I do.
And this is where the problem lies.
Forty-One
LOOKING FOR A SIGN
Tucker
“Ophelia, babe… turn around.”
“Don’t call me that, please. I can handle Hamlet, Shakespeare, Shagspeare, Spitfire, and Pocket Rocket, but now you’re too familiar,” she grumbles while poking about inside boxes for no reason other than filling time while I stand here.
“Too familiar? I think we are past worrying about familiarity. I have seen, touched, devoured every secret you keep under your clothing. Now turn around.”
There’s no movement at the station.
I look to the ceiling.
Come on, Jillian, give me a sign.
I reach out and touch Ophelia’s hand.
ZAP!
Hell, yeah, Jillian!
Team Tuckelia.
It is growing on me.
Forty-Two
NO GOATS WERE HARMED
Ophelia
“Ouch!” I whirl around, rubbing the top of my hand where we connected. “Will you stop doing that!” I clutch a goat toy under my armpit. “I’m beginning to think every time we get zapped, an invisible entity is trying to gain our attention or make sure we are acknowledging each other.”
“The thought has crossed my mind.” Tucker’s hands land on my waist, gently drawing my hips forward closer to the place my va-jay-jay has a crush on. I think I hear her squealing with delight at the prospects.
Cue tummy tingles and an escalated heartbeat, combined with thigh clenching goodness, leading to panties melting.
Oh, right, I’m not wearing any.
Why do I want to wrap my legs around his waist and force him back against a wall, rubbing myself against him?
Because you like the guy.
His hands caress my body gently in a too familiar way as though to make his point loud and clear, and all I want to do is melt into the moment.
But that would be a bad idea. Wouldn’t it?
He tugs on the goat I’m still holding to help me along with the war I am mentally waging.
I grip the goat harder.
“Hamlet, you’re going to rip his head off. What did the goat do to you?”
