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He released a breath, hoping to dispel the anger he could feel rising to the surface again. He hadn’t meant to take it out on Genevieve, and he didn’t want to do it again. She irritated him in a lot of different ways, but it wasn’t her fault Melanie had left him high and dry.
Genevieve turned around with a bright-yellow mug curled in her hand. He nearly smiled at how colorful everything was. The mug. The purple and green dishes sitting in the dry rack on the counter. Her pink outfit.
Damn. He shouldn’t think about the outfit or how hard it got him. The minute she tossed off her jacket and turned around, her ass on display, he had wanted to follow and squeeze. Feel how firm and round it really was. Then when she turned back toward him, giving him a longer view of her front, holy hell, he had been worried she would see how hard his cock had instantly gone. Rock damn hard.
Shit. She was only wearing a bra before him like she wasn’t half-naked.
Yet, repeatedly telling himself why he was here—Amelie, Amelie, Amelie—helped to keep his mind on track and his cock not leaping for attention. Not to mention, he didn’t want to mess with someone else’s woman. He didn’t know Julio, the guy she was obviously with. He could be huge, muscles galore, and smack him to the ground. Corey could hold his own in a fight, but he wouldn’t bet on himself to win. Women were something he loved—in his old life—but he’d never stooped so low and slept with a married woman or one in a relationship. That he knew of, anyway.
“Let’s sit on the couch.”
Then she walked around him, a wide berth telling him she was feeling the sexual tension as much as him. He followed, although wasn’t sure it was wise to take a seat. It would put him closer to her because she only had a small love seat. There wasn’t much space between them when he sat after her.
“I met Melanie in fourth grade. I don’t know why, but we attached to each other right away. Two peas in a pod. We were exact opposites, though. Me, more shy and reserved. Her, outspoken and ready for anything.” Genevieve looked at her mug, tracing a finger around the top.
“You don’t have to tell me all of this. I just need—”
“You want to talk about Melanie, then let me talk.”
He nodded but wanted to argue. He didn’t want to hear it all, yet by the sadness in her eyes, the ache, it felt like something she had to do. If it got him the answers he needed, then fine. He’d sit here and listen to the whole damn story. It wasn’t as if it would make him forgive Melanie or anything.
“She didn’t have a great homelife. Her mom did drugs.” Genevieve paused, staring at him as if seeing how he’d react.
Hey, he wasn’t proud of his past, but it was a part of it. That part—that shitty, difficult few years—shaped him into who he was. He wouldn’t apologize for it. He wouldn’t regret it either. Life was too short for regrets. Forget and move on was his new motto.
“Her dad wasn’t any better, left when she was four or five. I don’t even know if she knew exactly. By the time she got to seventh grade, she went into the system. Her mom wasn’t fit to raise her, and I’m not even sure she cared much. Despite Melanie moving around the city a lot, we kept in touch. We stayed friends. When we graduated high school, we moved in together. Ready for a new life, a new adventure together. I enrolled in college and she thought about it, but she changed her mind.”
Genevieve took a sip.
Well, shit. Now he didn’t want her to stop. The story was fascinating. Not only was he getting a glimpse of Melanie—not that he wanted it—he was getting a look at Genevieve as well. Despite the anger still slicing through his veins at what she had done a few days ago, he wanted to know more about her. Like, what possessed her to even go to such extremes and snatch his daughter away from him.
“I have a good family. Nothing like Melanie had. I have three brothers, very overprotective.” She chuckled. “And my parents have a good marriage. I can’t complain. I had a solid upbringing. Melanie had none.” Her lips twisted down until he swore she might start to cry. “Not even my friendship was enough.”
Her bottom lip wobbled, and Corey started to sweat. If she cried, he would be lost. Crying women and him did not mix.
But she inhaled and forged on.
“I don’t know when she started doing drugs, but I found some stuffed in our couch cushion a few years into living together. Boy, I have never had such a huge fight with my bestie like that before. It was terrible. She moved out.”
The pain that etched across her face was too much. He reached out and touched her knee, making her snap her gaze at him.
“Fighting sucks. I had that with my brother. We didn’t talk for three years. That was the hardest time in my life.”
His hand slid away, wondering as he moved it why he even said that. But the heartache that poured from her golden-hazel eyes told him exactly why he had.
“Is that why you started taking drugs?”
Not something he wanted to talk about. Ever.
“You’re telling a story right now. Not me.”
Genevieve nodded and took another sip of her tea. “I finished college and she started stripping. We eventually made up and started hanging out again. But not as much. Not as often. About a year ago, my brother, Alexander, wanted to start his own business and for some wild reason wanted to do it in Florida. So I helped him for a while. I sublet my apartment while I was away. It wasn’t going to be permanent for me. When I left, she never told me she was pregnant. I would’ve stayed. I would’ve been there for her. She didn’t have anyone else.”
Silence filled the air, her bottom lip wobbling again.
“What kind of business did your brother start?” Not that it mattered, but she had paused for far too long that he figured he needed to help her get out of the trance she had put herself in.
She shook her head as if shaking off the melancholy. “A gym. He’s a big sport’s buff. Loves working out and being fit.” She waved a hand up and down. “Me, too. I do yoga. I helped him with those kinds of programs.”
