Page 36 of Surviving the Break
“Oy vey.”
By the time I got home, not even five minutes later, Sam had fallen asleep on the couch. I quietly fed Pluto, then tiptoed over to place the blanket on the back of the sofa over her. I lightly kissed her forehead, then headed for the stairs.
I dropped to the end of my bed, pulling my shirt over my head before flopping to my back. Tonight proved what I’d feared.We could be good together.My mind rebelled at the idea, but my heart expanded, like a yawn or a sigh, every time Ash shared a piece of himself with me. Things were easier when I thought him to be an obnoxious, pretentious jerk.
My attention moved to my pearl, and Granddad’s words bounced around my brain.“Always look on the inside, squirt.”Therein lay the problem. Ash’s insides petrified me because while our backstories differed in many ways, the fundamental makeup of our cores was similar. We were both molded by circumstance, loss, and love.
I turned my head toward my nightstand drawer.My box.I lay there breathing, waiting for my body to issue signs of needing its fix. A magnetic pull or a loud rumble of anxiety in the pit of my stomach. Nothing came. Could I trust my gut?Could I let him in?It scared me to know how much I wanted to.
14
ASH
It was Thanksgiving, and Max and I hadn’t had quality time alone all week. Not since that night at my place. He’d surprised me at the hospital one day; we’d had lunch in the cafeteria while he waited for Pete to get through with his appointment, and I’d walked into The Center one evening to find that he’d stuck around to see me. Without verbally acknowledging that he’d made the decision, he was trying.
Aside from a few stolen kisses, my body had been relatively untouched. Unless you counted my own hand. It made me cranky.
“You’re pretty handsy today,” Max said for my ears alone, swatting my hand off his ass. He and Pluto came by the clinic's Thanksgiving open kitchen, something we did every year. We were outside the huge marquee pitched in the parking lot. Max was working on one of the faulty generators.
I waited for Justin and Sam to pass us on their way inside the tent before I brought Max's hand to the front of my jeans. “I’m pretty cocky too.” I ran my tongue along the shell of his ear.
“Fuck, Ash.” He dropped the plug he held to chase my tongue into my mouth. “Isn’t there somewhere we can go?”
“Uh-uh. No more restrooms.”
“An office?” he pleaded.
“There’s too many people in and out of there. Besides, I want you in a bed. No more confined spaces.”
We jumped several feet into the air when Damon’s voice boomed. “Can you two knock it off and get that thing working? It’s getting cold in there.”
With the setting sun came a gust of cool breeze. We needed the generator for the patio heaters we filled the marquee with. “Jesus, make some noise when you walk,” I panted.
He crossed his arms. “I called your name. Twice.”
“All set,” Max said, right before the rumble of the motor came on.
Damon went to tell everyone inside they could make their way out now, while Max and I joined Justin and Sam behind the buffet of food we’d set up near the back. We tied our aprons on and stood at our assigned stations. Pete and Pluto were in charge of the music.
The women filed in, wearing smiles, rubbing their bellies, some holding the hands of their children, who vibrated on their feet, talking animatedly while pointing at the firefly lights hanging from the rafters. “You did good, Dr. J.”
Trish’s voice snapped my attention from the joy taking place in the middle of the room. “You think so?”
“Yeah. You’re the man.” She winked.
“Are you trying to butter me up so I’ll give you an extra helping of sweet yams drenched in marshmallows?” I’d learned from our many discussions about her eating habits that she’d grown fond of that dish. I may or may not have ensured they were on the menu just for her.
Her face fell. “Are you going to deny me the yams? It’s Thanksgiving, for Christ’s sake.”
I snorted a laugh. “Grab a plate and get in line, you little terror.” I turned to Max, who, unbeknownst to me, stood there watching with stars shooting from his eyes. “What?” I asked.
He shook his head in wonder. “Nothing,” he said, before grabbing a serving spoon and taking the plate held out in front of him.
JUSTIN ANDDAMONkept Pluto for a sleepover, and Max and I raced back to his place. We burned with pent-up desire.
“Shit, ow! I can’t see,” I said, crashing into something hard and unknown as we burst through Max’s door, refusing to break from our kiss.
“The stairs are this way. Give me your hand.”
