Page 32 of The One Who Got Away
“I can’t take this, Gus.”
“I know. Is there any way she’d see someone to talk about stuff?”
She sighed and straightened. “I don’t know. I know it’s just because of the way my dad left. I could strangle him for doing this to her.”
I rubbed her back. He’d left both of them, but Eloise was taking the brunt of the backlash. “Have you talked to him?”
“He tried to call me a few times, but I feel too guilty to actually answer.” She pushed off the bed and tugged on the hoodie in her bag without bothering with the bra.
My mouth dried and I pushed back the horny side who wanted to drag her back to bed.
That was well and truly over for the day.
She stepped into her leggings from work and stuffed her feet into her shoes before leaving the bedroom. She came back a minute later. “God, I’m sorry. We need to clean all this up. Should we wash the sheets or something?” Her face reddened. “I’ve never had a hotel or whatever this is called--tryst.”
I laughed. “Tryst?”
“I don’t know what else to call it.” She put her hands on her hips as she looked around the wrecked bedroom. “God, we went a little wild.”
I stood next to her. “I want to take the sheets home so I can sleep with your scent tonight.”
She turned to me. “That’s oddly romantic.”
I felt my face heat. “Okay, let’s do this.”
It took us ten minutes to de-sexifiy the room. We used half a bottle of Febreeze I found in a closet and called it good. The drive back to her car at Bite Me was a quiet one. She was furiously texting most of the time.
She was distracted when I parked and almost left without kissing me goodbye.
Suddenly she ran back to my side of the truck and opened my door, climbing onto the foot rail to kiss me stupid. “Sorry, it fell apart in the end. I had the most amazing day.”
“It didn’t fall apart.” I slipped my fingers under her hoodie, needing one more touch.
“We were supposed to be feeding each other brookies.”
“We’ll do that next time.”
She sighed and kissed me one more time. “Definitely next time.”
I watched after her to make sure she got in her car and drove off before I headed back to the house. I wasn’t sure I could handle my mom asking questions, so I turned off to Cam’s place at the last minute.
He lived a few streets over from our childhood home, and still somehow off the beaten path. He’d bought a few acres of land, but hadn’t quite figured out what he wanted to do with it. So, it was part workshop, part living space. He’d bought a few shipping containers and made his own apartment, then built off of them to make an outdoor area for grilling and chilling.
He’d fused two large containers together to create a workshop where he spent the most time. I skipped going to the house. Sure enough, the huge garage-like door was open,and music poured out. My brother was partial to country music which wasn’t my taste, but Chris Stapleton was okay in my book.
He was flat on his back on one of his rolling boards underneath a large bureau of some sort. He liked to refinish old furniture he found in estate and garage sales. He flipped them and made a damn mint.
I made a pit stop at his mini fridge and grabbed a beer for each of us before kicking his boot. “Hey.”
Cam rolled out, sawdust in his hair and a smear of varnish on his cheek. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
I handed him a beer. He took it before getting to his feet. “Girl problems?”
“Not really. Eloise and I are doing ok.”
“About damn time.”
I dropped into his battered Lazy Boy. “Yeah.”
