Page 43 of Cold as Stone
Thanks for bringing me home last night. And thanks for helping with the painting and…other stuff.
God, that sounds like I’m twelve and can’t openly talk about an orgasm. Which, technically, is true—not the twelve part, but the talking about orgasms with Lee part. Delete.
I set the phone down with a frustrated sigh and begin to get ready for work. Possible scenarios run through my head as I shower, eat breakfast and drive to the bar.
Normally when I’m surrounded by the quiet buzz of the fridge and the distant hum of the street I calm. Not today. Nothing seems to help. I rearrange the bottles behind the bar by height, then by color, then by how much alcohol they contain. I move to the tables, straightening chairs that are already perfectly aligned and checking saltshakers that don’t need checking.
My phone buzzes, and I lunge for it like a lunatic.
Unknown
Your car is due for its 12 month warranty check. Book in now to save 10% off your next service.
“Pathetic,” I mutter, shoving the phone back in my pocket.
But I can’t stop thinking about what Mercy said yesterday.
Am I running?
The plan was always to stay six months. Sell the bar. Handle Mom’s estate. Figure out what to do with the money.
Except… when was the last time I felt as alive as I did last night, pressed against the door with Lee’s hands on me and his mouth claiming mine?
When was the last time someone looked at me like I wasit—not a mess, not a project, not a one-night fix—butit?
Never. That’s when.
My phone feels like it weighs a thousand pounds in my pocket. I pull it out again, staring at Lee’s name.
This time, I just type.
Kya
Are you free tonight?
Before I can second-guess myself, I hit send.
The response comes back almost immediately.
Lee
For you? Always.
My heart does some kind of complicated flip—part relief, part terror, part excitement I’m not ready to examine too closely.
Kya
Good. We need to talk.
Lee
Devil’s?
Kya
My place. If that’s okay?
Lee
