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While I cling to him like a spider monkey, his fingers press into the crevice between my thighs, toying with my most sensitive spots through my jeans, stirring a flood of warmth and desperation. I need him to touch me there again.
“Upstairs, now,” I demand in a hoarse whisper, tossing all caution aside. My lips feel bruised.
“My thoughts exactly,” he manages between kisses, before turning toward the door.
His feet falter, his hands growing lax.
I pull away to see what made him put on the brakes.
Todd is at the base of the stairs, slack-jawed. “I was just taking out the trash and …” His words drift.
I let go of my vise grip of Garrett’s body and land on my feet on the dirt floor. We step apart.
“… saw the door sitting open.”
Garrett clears his throat. “I was meeting with my general contractor, and Justine interrupted me.”
“Yes, I interrupted.” With my tongue.
A stupid grin spreads across Todd’s face. Today’s Tommy Bahama shirt is purple with pink pineapples. It’s annoyingly cheerful.
“How’s the move coming along?” I ask, my voice loud and forceful, as if that’ll erase the memory of what he witnessed. I’ve resumed my daily soup visits since Garrett negotiated our peace treaty, refraining from accusing Todd of betraying my Bonny Acres secrets. I didn’t want to risk another feud, and besides, I deserved that payback. “What is it now? One week away?” Bob and Bethany are long gone, as is Death Metal Dawn.
Todd’s the last man standing, his shelves growing bare from inventory-reduction sales. It’s cheaper and easier than moving it across town, he claims.
“A week and a half. I close doors next Saturday.”
That’s Sara’s bachelorette party. Could this be my excuse for skipping it? The end of an era. Small-town solidarity and all.
An awkward silence grows.
“So, does the granny gang know about this?” Todd asks, and there’s no need to press him on what he means.
About me falling hard for the slick-as-sin developer? Hell no.
Am I a complete fool for letting this happen?
“You mean, all this Polson Falls history”—I wave a hand at the crates—“that you’ve been hoarding in your basement instead of giving it to the museum? No, I can’t see how they would.”
Todd folds his arms, not cowing to my challenge. “They can have whatever they want, but it’s not mine anymore. They’ll have to ask HG for it.”
“I’ll pass that information along. I should head back to work now.” I steal one last look at Garrett, to soak in his physical perfection until we can deal with whatever this is that’s happening between us. “Don’t even think about throwing any of this out. It all needs to be saved.”
“Even the murder table?” Garrett hollers after me.
“Especially the murder table.”
“See you tomorrow,” I offer, charging past Todd.
“No lunch today?” There’s humor in his voice. I’m discombobulated, and he knows it.
Shit. Lunch. My wallet. That’s why I came outside in the first place.
“See you in ten.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
I stare at Garrett’s number programmed into my phone. Never in my life have I hesitated texting someone before, and yet for some godforsaken reason, I’m too nervous to do it now. Is it because he never gave me his number? Or because it’s going to cross some weird relationship threshold—having his dick in my mouth is one thing, but calling him? Whoa, slow down, Justine.
Or is it because that little voice in my head is warning me to stay back? That despite telling myself I can keep it physical, I’m not sure I can.
I toss my phone onto the couch beside me and listen to myself breathe.
Is the house always this quiet? Scarlet went next door after dinner. I won’t see her until the morning when Shane leaves for work and she comes home to get ready for school.
Hugging a throw pillow, I flick through Netflix, unable to find anything that grabs my attention. Probably because my attention has been hung up on Garrett since stumbling out of that basement.
That kiss today … My fingertips skate over my lips. It was different from the other times. Still electric, but somehow more. I want to chalk it up to the intensity of the moment—that creepy basement, the lights flickering, my senses on overdrive—but I’m not sure I believe that. It’s more likely that I’m seeing Garrett as someone other than the cold-hearted jerk I convinced myself that he was.
But did he feel it too? That unspoken shift between us?
I had every intention of cornering him after work—in the sales center, in his dive, wherever I could find him—but he was gone, back to Philadelphia, according to Morgan. Who knows for how long this time.
He didn’t even stop by to tell me.
That’s a sign, isn’t it? Even though I don’t want to believe it, that’s a sign that this is all just fun and games.
