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ChapterFourteen
Gideon
KissingSkye last night was a boneheaded move. When she left the restaurant, I paid the bill and then used the restroom just to give her time to get to her car and drive away before I left. I thought about going back to the Cat but ended up driving around for a while instead. I did look up Wamba’s address on my phone and drive by there, just for the hell of it. I had been there before, but it was so long ago, I didn’t trust my memory. He’s got a nice house, but I’m sure to him, it’s haunted.
I’m not a big drinker, and I rarely hit the hard stuff alone. But I ended up in some corner bar, taking a shot of some cheap whiskey that burned so badly going down, I thought for sure it would scar my insides and leave me incapable of feeling anything when I saw Skye again.
Only for me to get to her place and find her curled up, asleep, on the loveseat. In some skimpy tank top and short shorts. Pajamas, I know, maybe meant to be more comfortable than sexy lingerie. But the second I saw her there, my dick got all pumped up and ready for action. I watched her sleep for a few seconds, loving the peaceful look on her face. Her lips were parted just slightly, and she had her hands folded under her chin. But then, I had to go and notice her long legs all curled up. The pink on her toenails. Her sweet little ass cheek in those shorts.
I thought the whiskey would kill my need. And then I was stupid enough to think one kiss would do it. I hadn’t planned on her being so sweet, so open to kissing me back. I hadn’t thought past the heat of her mouth and the flick of her tongue. Never crossed my mind that anything else would have to touch. That my hand might get greedy and scoop up her long, dark hair. That she would press close enough to touch my junk.
Now I’m all kinds of screwed because I can’t get her off my mind. I want to kiss her again. I want to do a hell of a lot more than kiss her again. The first thing on my mind is the swell of her breasts over the top of her tank top. I want to put my face there. I want to feel her soft skin on my face, on my lips. And then I want to tug the tank top down just far enough to free her nipples, and I want to drink. Something tells me tasting her would be better than a glass of Macallan scotch.
I’m playing a piece for Roseann, my piano student. A simple piece, and I keep messing it up. Because I’m thinking of Skye. The first time Roseann doesn’t notice. I’m playing too fast. But then once I slow down, my fingers keep tripping over the keys.
“Ugh.” I groan and drop my hands to my lap. “Sorry. It’s been a day.”
“Everybody has ‘em.” Roseann’s simple comment freezes me. If I’m this hung up on kissing Skye, what’s she thinking? Is she having a bad day? Not like I think she wants me, and she’s daydreaming about repeating last night when we’re both home later, but what if I made her angry? What if she thinks I’m an ass for kissing her without asking her? What if she asks me to move out?
What if she tells Chloe?
Well, I mean, I don’t care. Chloe and I are really close, but I don’t think my sex life is any of her business. Even if I am thinking about sex with her best friend.
But I don’t want to make things awkward for them.
“Get her a gift,” Roseann says to me.
“You wanna do this?” I nod my head at the sheet music. “Give it a try? You’re sure to play it better than I am.”
She laughs and moves to the center of the bench when I slide out of her way.
“What’s her name?”
“What?”
She doesn’t buy my innocent act. I laugh and duck my head. I’ve never done this. Even when I was tangled up with Alaina, I didn’t need to talk about it with anyone. Even knowing the sex, the hanging out, would end, that she would go back to her husband, I didn’t talk about it.
But this feels different.
“Skye.”
“Pretty.” Roseann nods her approval.
“She is,” I agree, although I know she’s just talking about the name.
“You look like you know you’re in trouble with her,” Roseann continues. She sets her fingers on the keys and glances at me. “Take her favorite treat home to her.”
Might be a good idea. I could take her something. Tell her I’m sorry, that I was way out of line kissing her like that.
The trouble is I don’t know what her favorite treat is. And I can’t ask Chloe.
“We’re not…” I shrug and bite my lip. “Dating, exactly. Kind of more like friends. I don’t know what her favorite treat is.”
“Okay.” Roseann considers my confession. “When Doug was in the doghouse, he always brought home chocolate covered strawberries.”
“What if she’s allergic to strawberries?”
“Well, then, she won’t eat them, but it’s the thought that counts, right?”
