Page 64 of Between Us

As my body unwinds and I come down from the high, he gently removes his fingers from inside of me. For a second, we both just look at his hand that I made a complete mess of.

I can feel my cheeks starting to burn and am about to offer to get him a napkin—even if I have to limp over there—when he does the last thing I had expected.

With a dark, glazed expression he brings his fingers to his lips andsucksthem into his mouth. I’m already squirming in my seat, suddenly ready for a second round, when he groans in pleasure.

Catching me staring, he pops them out and smirks, using that same hand to gently grab me around the throat and kiss me again.

He pulls away enough to break the kiss but we’re still stealing each other’s air. “You’re so hot,” I blurt out against his lips.

A shocked chuckle falls out of him, as he tips my head back by my chin and murmurs against my lips, “That’s exactly what I was just thinking about you.”

Without any hesitation, I grab the back of his neck and pull his lips the last couple of inches down to mine. He holds me to him with an arm around my waist and we stay like that for a few minutes longer.

When it gets to around one a.m. I know it’s time to go, not ready to take the leap of staying the night with him just yet.

Untangling from his embrace, he helps me pull my skirt back up and guides me to the bathroom to clean up. He offered to get a towel for me, but I’m still reeling from the level of intimacy we just reached. And from the small reassuring smile he offered me, I knew he could sense that.

I didn’t, however, fight him on carrying me to his car and my front door.

Chapter Thirty-Two

Blake

Afewuneventfuldayshave passed since Adrian showed up at the Paulson’s to save me and… other things. I’ve seen Adrian twice since Saturday night, and both times started with me doing my ‘tomato impression,’ as he puts it.

It’s not that I’m embarrassed about what we did. Not at all. But it’s all I can think about. And when I see him, the memory suddenly feels even headier.

We still haven’t talked about what happened with Zippy. I did call Erika on Sunday to check in, and she said the bump was half the size as the night before already. That was good news, which I quickly passed onto Adrian hoping to put his mind at ease too. I figure there isn’t much else to say since everything is okay with us.

If anything, the hardest part was hiding the truth from my dad. I have this pit in my stomach that’s been there since I left the Paulson’s. I’m positive he doesn’t suspect anything, but I worry how Adrian’s feeling, especially with how much time they spent together with some cases on Sunday.

Thankfully, my dad’s probably too preoccupied with his newfound anxiety about how much interest I’ve taken in Benji the Beagle’s recovery, as well asChispa’ssurgery today. I know it comes from a good place, but it’s frustrating to have him slightly hovering over me again.

He’s worried about how involved I am withChispa’scase. Even though he doesn’t realize the connection to that topic, the wrapped ankle I’m sporting only added to his concern, and argument, against me coming to the clinic on my day off.

Except I couldn’tnotbe here for Lela and Jorge. Not that she had to ask, but her daughter called the clinic a couple of days ago asking if there was someone who could be there with her parents since she wouldn’t be; I knew I had to.

And I know my dad has a vet tech, and an assistant, who speak Spanish and will be in surgery with him, but very few employees know more than the common greetings.

Even though he asked me to take an emotional step back, I want to believe he knows me better than that. And it was always going to be a big fat no.

Either way, he should be glad I didn’t listen considering the evening receptionist called out, so I’ve been helping up here for the last hour. I’d rather be sitting with Lela and Jorge, but they’re close enough I can keep an eye out if they need anything. And really, it’s slow. I’m just up here so the vet assistants and kennel workers can focus on their jobs in the back.

The bell over the front door tells me that one of the last pet owners of the evening is here. Except when I look up, I amnotlooking at Diane Moore. Standing in front of me, looking equally surprised, is Cody Howard. As in the same Cody who played baseball with my brother, and one of the boys I had a long on-again-off-again fling with.

He looks just as surprised to see me, except he recovers quickly with an easy smile. “Hey, Blake.”

It makes me feel weird and small sitting with him standing there. It doesn’t feel like that with Adrian, I think. I always feel comfortable when he’s around.

Clearing my throat, I slowly stand up, grimacing at the pain shooting up my ankle. I ignore the crutches leaning against the desk and lean my hands down to hold some of my weight.

“Hey, Cody. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I’m just helping my mom by bringing Licorice in. Oh, and she got remarried. That’s probably why you didn’t recognize her last name.” I just nod and try to smile. Makes sense. “How have you been?”

He’s always been friendly, which is partly why I liked him well enough. I even used to feel like he was easy to talk to. But not anymore. It’s not even embarrassment like I once assumed it might be. I feel kind of guilty for ignoring him, despite the fact that he’s never shown interest in more than clandestine meetings—and even that sounds too appetitive for what we did. Which was met up in the backseat of one of our cars. And sometimes at the beach. And at one of our houses, though that was rare.

“I’ve been good. Just helping out here,” I shrug. “How about you?”

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