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I look down at the way I’m wringing its neck. “Shit, sorry, Butthead,” I murmur, relaxing my stranglehold.
Tucker laughs softly. “Butthead?”
“I can’t be held responsible for the goat names.” I shrug casually, like my va-jay-jay isn’t singing an aria opera to get my attention.
“Hamlet put the goat down. We’ve got a private window of opportunity here I’m not willing to let slip by, and I want to say goodbye to you with my mouth on you.”
V does an Irish jig because she knows public “goodbye time” is not going to be the same as private goodbye time with Tucker, but at the same time, I am trying to avoid a personal one-on-one goodbye because anything can happen.
Where’s a loud, Mighty MacDougall boisterous-hug-train goodbye when you need one?
Ever since losing my family, I havehatedgoodbyes. I would prefer a “check you later.” There seems a lot less to lose. Goodbye feels so final because you may never see the person again.
“Hey, what’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours, Hamlet?” Tucker tugs the goat out of my hand and reaches past me, placing it on the tidy sparse desk behind me.
“I’m not good at goodbyes. Ask Gwendoline. I refused to let her come to the airport to see me off to the States.”
He gently moves my head so that I’m looking into his pretty brown-green marble eyes, so there’s no place to hide.
“I was never saying goodbye-goodbye.Spitfire, I’m not trying to fence you in, but we both know we found a connection in Redondo Beach.”
“You’re pretty sure of yourself.” Yup! That’s my line of defense all used up.
He grins confidently. “Cocky is the word I think you’re looking for.”
It comes to mind.
Forty-Three
NEVER GOODBYE
Tucker
Ophelia wets herlips. “No strings. No attachments,” she says so softly, it’s barely audible.
“Just my mouth on you,” I murmur, just as softly before sliding my hands underneath her bubble butt, lifting her onto her office desk. I think Butthead might now be suffocating under her luscious globes.
Lucky little guy.
“Why hate on goodbyes?” I want her to open up to me. “I could make this one very enjoyable—even memorable.” I lean in, resting my palms on the desk on either side of her hips, nuzzling her neck, inhaling my deodorant and soap she used in my bathroom.
On a soft sigh, she angles her head, allowing me greater access, her fingers grasping my shoulders.
“Mmm… you smell of my conditioner and body wash. That makes my caveman growly, Hamlet. It makes me wonder what it would be like to shower with you.” I inhale deeply, running my nose up the side of her elegant neck. “I’m hungry.” I punctuate my comment by gripping her thighs and spreading her legs a little wider, keeping Woody away from her core. For the moment.
She shoves her hands against my chest, pushing herself backward away from my mouth, tipping my head up to face hers. “There are beautiful Inuit girls in Alaska,” Hamlet randomly announces.
“Yes, there are.” No lie there.
Her brow wrinkles. She isn’t expecting me to agree so quickly.
“There are handsome men here in Temecula, namely one Jensen Peterson.” Her eyes widen.Touché.“I’m leaving knowing he’s sniffing about, and I don’t like thinking he’s interested in you. I want you to know I have looked up your handyman: Mr. Handy-with-wood. I think I’ve proven to you already that I’m handy with wood, too, but even though you say no strings, no attachments, the connection between us is powerful. I’m a patient man. I have my playbook, and it has my long game mapped out.
“You’re worth every hurdle you place in front of me. I’ve learned how to out-maneuver a few already. We both have prior arrangements. Timing hasn’t been our forte. I’ll leave you once we have finished here with a solemn vow: you won’t hear my voice for the next ten weeks. I like a woman with a plan and a future she wants to take care of, but I will be finding you once the time is up, which by the way, you will have to let me in on. Are we talking a full year, or have you—”
“I reckon after you come back from Alaska and have had time to relax from the journey, I will be here.” She lifts her left ass cheek, producing a squashed goat. She laughs. “Poor Butthead. You can take him with you.” She shoves the stuffed animal toy in my hand. “I’ll get Alice another one in a moment, but for now…” She pauses to wet her lips again. “You were coming to tell me ‘check you later.’”
She is comfortable with nicknames and no strings, but I can see she wants her cake too. After all, we’ve shared a whole high tea party. There’s nothing we haven’t tasted.
