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But it’s not just the physical stuff. It’s her voice too, and her smile; the way she teases and soothes. The frowny little pout she gets when the dishwasher gives her trouble, and the way she sings under her breath as she mops the bar floor.
I’m so gone for this woman. Look at me: I’m toast.
And when I gently grip a handful of her hair, Dani whimpers and gazes at me like I hung the moon. When I lean forward, she meets me partway.
Our kiss is long and deep.
I’m not practicing for anyone but her.
And when I stagger back a few minutes later, breathing hard, lips tingling and my cock so hard it hurts… I’m born again. Made new.
Nine
Dani
Iwake up at four AM after tossing and turning with a nightmare. My apartment is dark and stiflingly hot, even with the windows thrown wide. My pajama shirt sticks to my sweaty back.
Kingston.
My heart is still racing, even hours since our kiss. My fingertips brush my lips, my hand shaky in the gloom.
Was the kiss just practice too? Did it mean anything to Kingston at all? Hell, did he even like it?
“Gawwwd.” Flopping over, I bury my heated face in my pillow. Every bone in my body aches from exhaustion. I’m not sick—just so, so tired.
It’s like the crash after an adrenaline rush. An electric blackout after a power surge. Kingston’s kiss amped up all my senses, sent me soaring, put my whole body on edge in the best way, and now… I’m coming down hard. Crashing back to earth.
Images prick at my hind brain as I lie there, face smushed into the pillow. Snippets from my bad dream. I was working the bar in King’s, pouring drinks and loading the dishwasher like usual, and then the clock struck midnight and the crowd changed. Suddenly, everyone went from t-shirts and jeans to formal tuxes and fancy dresses, and the chairs magicked into neat rows with a gap down the middle.
It took me a while to realize what was happening in the dream, even though Kingston stood at the front of the room in a black tux. He smiled down at a mystery woman dressed all in white, a veil covering her features.
When they said ‘I do’, the dishwasher groaned and rattled so loud by my hip, I thought it might start an earthquake. The folks in the back row turned around and glared at me, like I was ruining the mood. And when Kingston and his bride kissed, the mirror behind me shattered and rained broken glass to the bar floor.
Broken mirrors are seven years of bad luck, right?
What are demon dishwashers? Five years? Ten?
Doesn’t matter. It was just a stupid dream.
My tears soak into the cotton pillow case, and it takes me a long time to fall asleep again.
* * *
“Woof,” Charlene says when I trudge into King’s for my shift at eleven. She’s already behind the bar, hips swinging to the country track humming from the speakers. Her red hair is piled up on top of her head, and she’s got a dish towel draped over one shoulder. She eyes me with concern. “You okay there, munchkin? You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”
“Yup.”
Too tired for full sentences. Too worn down by life. All I can do is drag my sorry carcass across the bar, squeezing behind the cash register and dropping my backpack on the floor.
“Alright…”
Charlene squints down at me as I crouch gingerly, moving slower than an old age pensioner. My backpack feels like it weighs a ton as I shove it in my assigned nook, even though there’s barely anything in there. Just the pink vest and personal alarm that Kingston gave me, a cheese sandwich wrapped in foil for my break, my phone, my keys, and a bottle of water.
“I’m sensing a mood,” Charlene says.
“No mood.” A headache flares behind my right eye as I speak, and I wince and dig at it with my knuckles. Good thing I was too wrecked this morning to bother with make up. I’m still crouched by Charlene’s feet, trying to scrounge up the willpower to stand up again. Where did I put those painkillers that Kingston gave me? “Just a bad night’s sleep.”
The toe of her sneaker nudges my thigh. “You sure about that? Because you’re acting like someone drove over your kitty then posted it through your letter box.”
