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“Have you kissed him yet?” Rose’s eyes are wide with the curiosity of a gossip columnist.
I shake my head a little faster than probably warranted, given I’m not trying to hide anything. We haven’t kissed. In the past six weeks, Troy and I haven’t come close to kissing—other than the day at the cabins when we walked the dogs to the stream. But Zara interrupted us, preventing things from getting that far.
Or maybe I imagined the near kiss. How could he possibly want to kiss someone as screwed up as me? Someone who has “kiss” on her list of things that relaxes her. But not because kissing was one of my favorite activities. It’s because I want to replace the bad memories with new, positive ones.
But since I’m too messed up to be with Troy, I’ve deliberately avoided any situation where a kiss might end up being a possibility. “Why would I kiss him?”
“Because we’re talking about Troy Carson,” Delores says. “He’s one of the good guys. You can’t go wrong with him.”
This isn’t the first time the topic of kissing has come up in the past week. Robyn brought it up during therapy because it’s on my list of things that might relax me.
That, and sex.
“It might take a lot longer than a few weeks or months before you’re ready,” Robyn explained during our last session. “But don’t avoid intimacy because of what happened in the past. Consensual kissing and sex are part of being a healthy adult.”
* * *
Violet disappearsout the front door as soon as yoga class ends, not giving me a chance to talk to her. And the sharp feeling something is wrong, that the bruise on her face was from a fist and not a doorframe, won’t stop jabbing me.
Troy’s truck is parked in my driveway when I arrive home. He’s leaning on the driver’s door, phone in hand. He looks up from his phone and smiles. “How was yoga?”
The playful upturn of his mouth causes my heart, which was already beating hard from the ride home, to pick up its pace.
I can’t help but smile. “Good. If anything, I’m getting more flexible.”
I unzip the trailer cover and release Bailey. She happily jumps out and stands next to me. I give her a treat and place my hand on her warm body, grounding myself once more. I inhale deeply into my belly like I’ve learned to do in yoga.
Troy doesn’t say anything. He knows this ritual is important to me every time I bike anywhere. It helps to settle my pulse and make me feel grounded.
Once I’m ready, I lock my bike in the garage and we go inside the house.
Troy walks through the house to secure each room. Like he did as a Marine. I don’t need him to do that, but it seems to make him feel better. As if it’s somethingheneeds to do for his own mental well-being.
I’m pushing the tiny pegs into the new kitchen cabinets for the shelves to rest on when Troy comes into the kitchen. My gaze takes inventory of Troy’s hard body and the tattoo peeking from under the edge of his T-shirt sleeve. A mountain scene drawn in a maple leaf. Underneath it are two hockey sticks that cross. “You still have your T-shirt on,” I blurt.
His eyebrow lifts, and damned if my ovaries didn’t just incinerate. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to remove it.”
“Your preference of working without a shirt on was a popular topic in yoga today.”
“You were talking about my nakedness?” An almost-laugh colors his tone and crinkles the corners of his eyes.
A laugh that’s part snort, part giggle escapes me before I can stop it. “Hey, don’t look atme. I wasn’t the one talking about it. That would be Rose, Samantha, and Delores. They’re quite enamored with you.”
“Oh, really? And doyouwant me to remove my T-shirt?” His lips twitch into a smile.
Yes, please.“That’s up to you.”
His smile widens into a heart-stopping grin, and he tugs his T-shirt over his head.
He tosses it onto the island, his muscles flexing. And I swallow.Damn.He really is fine—with all that hot, firm muscle.
“And what else did they talk about when it comes to me?” His tone isn’t conversational or friendly or amused. It’s all smooth and seductive and teasing. Or maybe that’s just my imagination.
Perhaps all that talk of kissing tonight has messed with my mind, because I can’t stop staring at his lips, their soft and inviting texture. “They wondered if I’ve kissed you yet.” My voice is low and breathy, and I can’t seem to drag my eyes from his mouth.
Troy closes the distance between us. We’re an arm’s length apart. And still I can’t stop staring at his mouth. I swallow a wave of emotion and breathe in his clean scent, a tantalizing hint of rainbows and sunshine.
“And you told them what?” he asks.
