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“I’m fine,” I tell him, noticing when he squeezes his fingers once again that we’re still touching, practically holding hands.
I pull my hand back, but I don’t snatch it away as if I’m offended by his touch. I’m not. Even if I hadn’t had impure thoughts about this man, I wouldn’t be offended. It took me a long time to understand that touch is one way people comfort each other—a soft hand on the back, a warm hug of comfort. None of them are sexual. They aren’t bad despite being told on many occasions growing up that they weren’t allowed.
Mothers raising children in the Fundamentalist Church were never overly attentive to their children. There weren’t many occurrences of hugs and words of encouragement. Succeeding at anything was expected, not celebrated. Emotions were ignored because they were wasted if they weren’t in celebration of the Lord.
I shake my head as I take a step back. I’ve spent a lot of time actively trying to let go of every hold the Church had on me, but no matter how hard I try to forget my life before the Corps existed, sometimes it pops up like I was kneeled in prayer just yesterday, when in fact it’s been nearly a decade since I hit my knees with reverence on my lips.
“It’s okay not to be okay,” Drake says, sounding more like a therapist than a bartender.
My lips form a flat line as I tuck the two pregnancy tests into the crook of my arm before bending to grab the hand soap.
“If you’re not busy, I was thinking we could go grab some lunch.”
My heart kicks up another notch.
I don’t know what’s worse, the offer two months ago at the bar that I have no doubt would’ve ended up with one or both of us naked and begging for more, or the soft, comforting way he’s looking at me now without a hint of sexual need in his eyes.
I shouldn’t want either side of this man, but for some reason, I want a little of both.
He hasn’t advanced a single inch in my direction since touching my hand, but it doesn’t stop me from taking an additional step back, putting even more distance between the two of us.
“No,” I tell him, a sharpness to my tone I know he doesn’t deserve. “Have a good day.”
I turn and walk away, knowing it’s rude but uncaring. I was too close to telling him yes, too close to wanting whatever he’s offering.
“I grabbed two different kinds,” I tell Alyssa when I find her close to the front of the store.
She thanks me as I place the items in one of the few empty spots in the cart. I’ve never had a problem going with her to get the shopping done for the clubhouse daycare that she works in. It gives us a chance to chat, and it also helps with her fear of being in crowded places. Target isn’t exactly a madhouse midmorning during the week, but she’s still reluctant to come completely alone.
“Did you get to say hi to him?” Alyssa asks, nodding her head in the direction of the self-checkout lane.
“No,” I lie easily, frowning all over again when I watch him scan the box of condoms before pulling out his wallet to pay for his purchase.
“Looks like he plans on having a good time tonight,” she says with a laugh.
I ignore the comment, turning around once it’s our turn to load the items onto the conveyor belt.
I haven’t seen the man in two months because I’ve avoided the bar. I knew the chances of running into him today were slim, meaning if I’m able to avoid Jake’s in the future, there’s a real chance I’ll finally be able to get the man out of my head.
Chapter 4
Drake
“It’s not going to happen,” I say, my smile bright despite my irritation.
“You never know,” Maude says, her eyes glossy and a little unfocused due to the numerous drinks she has had tonight. “Some guys are into older women.”
“They are,” I quickly agree, biting my tongue to keep from telling her that there isn’t one Cerberus guy I can think of that’s going to be into a seventy-five-year-old alcoholic.
Cerberus is all about clean living and, from what I’ve heard, really dirty sex.
The women at the bar chat incessantly about their dalliances with the guys, and since I swing in both directions, they include me in on those conversations. The stories I’ve heard would make most people blush and want to cover their eyes in embarrassment of it being spoken about out loud.
“You never know,” Maude continues. “Tonight might be my lucky night!”
I hand her a napkin when she misses her mouth. It isn’t the first time it’s happened tonight, and the woman is getting dangerously close to getting cut off. If I wasn’t aware that she gets a ride to and from the bar on the nights that she visits, I would’ve stopped serving her over an hour ago.
