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“Pushing Limits.” The super-popular rock band.
“Really? They’ve really agreed to play?”
“Their lead singer has firsthand experience with PTSD, and because of that, they volunteered to perform a set. It’s huge they’ve agreed to help out, especially for such a small event.” And especially on such short notice. The festival is set for September nineteenth. In four months.
“That’s incredible! Does this mean you’re quitting your day job and becoming a festival organizer?” She flashes me a teasing grin.
A soft rumble of a laugh tickles my throat. “Christ, no. If it weren’t for Delores, I wouldn’t even know what I was doing. She’s been coaching me.” I get Jess up to speed on everything that’s been arranged so far since the last meeting, minus the part where the finance committee and I are trying to raise the money needed to run the actual festival. I don’t want her to worry about that.
“Which means the PR and marketing committee can step up our game now.” She’s positively glowing at that. “I’ve got some leads on individuals and their families who I can talk to about their experiences with PTSD. I was thinking I could also write an article about the work Jenny does with her service dogs. Raise awareness of how important they are for their owners with PTSD.”
“What about you? Are you going to write aboutyourstory?” The story I want to know, but because she doesn’t fully trust me yet, it’s locked away in her vault. Only Robyn has access to it.
“My story’s too boring to tell. But I could talk about how I’m raising a puppy who will eventually go to someone with PTSD.” She glances fondly at Bailey, who’s zonked out on her dog bed alongside Butterscotch. “I’m thinking of writing an article from the point of view of the more experienced PSD puppy raisers. I can talk about my experience as a newbie, but it’ll be better to get pointers from the pros.”
“Sounds like a great idea. Does this mean you’re gonna interview people?”
She turns and reaches into the kitchen cabinet. “Yes.” Even without seeing her face, I know uncertainty is written on it. I can hear it in her voice.
I rest my hand on her arm and stroke my thumb across the soft skin of her triceps. I want to kiss her again, to show her how proud I am of her.
None of what she wants to do for the festival is easy for her.
44
JESSICA
May, Present Day
Maple Ridge
For the next two hours,Troy and I work on the renovations. I help him remove the wallpaper in the living room.
The entire time Troy and I are scraping off the wallpaper, I can’t help but dwell on the kiss.
Kissing Troy felt good. Better than good. Spectacular. Which had been part of the problem. And then everything collided into a big pileup of messed up emotions. It had all felt too soon…and not soon enough.
I sneak a peek at Troy. His hard-earned muscles are pieces of fine art. But it’s not only that. His body isn’t solely the result of working out and running. His strength and agility are innate, woven into each muscle fiber.
I run the tip of my tongue along my lower lip, allowing myself for a fraction of a second to fantasize what it would feel like to do the same to his muscles. To taste him. To tease him.
I blink, shutting down that image, not ready to go there for real.
It’s getting late and we both have to get up early, so we pack up the putty knives and spray bottles and dump the torn bits of wet wallpaper into the trash.
“Can I kiss you again before I go?” Troy’s warm brown eyes are filled with hope and longing. Not to mention a dose of naughty lust.
There’s no doubt he wants me. I got that impression when I was on the kitchen counter, kissing him. The hard press of his length on my core gave it away.
The biggest surprise is how my body responded. My panties turned wet from the contact of his cock against me. But his kiss…his kiss also gets credit for that.
“You can kiss me before you go.” I want to go to bed tonight with the memory of his lips on mine. That should chase away the nightmares that usually plague my sleep.
Troy lowers his head to mine. I meet him partway, reaching up on my toes. Our mouths touch, and the heat curled inside me from his earlier kiss unfurls, igniting lust-starved synapses. I release a small moan.
Troy deepens the kiss. Our tongues tangle and dance and tease. I feel like I’ve been wandering lost in the desert, dying of thirst, and Troy’s the magical fountain that’s appeared just as I was losing hope.
Bailey barks—at least I’m pretty sure it was Bailey and not Butterscotch.
