Page 61 of Whiskey Throttle
“Ouch.”
Massimo chuckles, hollow and painful. Still hurting somewhere deep within. Love brushed against his soul and scarred it forever.
“You want to know what I learned?”
His tone turns serious again.
“Yeah, the whole reason I’m calling.”
“If it’s real, say something. Don’t be a dumbass like me. Say what you feel. Maybe she bails. Or maybe she stays. Either way, you did your part.”
I nod slowly, staring at the blank theater screen.
“Thanks, Massi.”
“Worst case, you join us. Never given a girl a three dick dinner, but it’d be fun trying.”
As much porn as I’ve watched, this included, it’s never appealed to me. Nor am I eager to cross swords with my buddies.
“I’ll pass.”
“Offer’s always open. I got to jet, Em’s trying to perform open-worm surgery on himself with a cocktail fork.”
“MAS, I’M BLEEDING! THE WORM . . . IT’S EATING MY INSIDES!”
He clicks off.
I sit in the dark, except for the blue glow from my phone, shaking my head at Em’s idiocy. Massimo could be right. I already cleared the air with her once yesterday. I’m not sure I want to do it again. Nah, today is going to be fun.
With a clearer head and plans to confess my budding feelings deferred, I walk out of the theater and down the hall to my room. My hand hits the handle, opening the door, when a crack of thunder claps overhead.
My gaze falls to Babs. Her hair is falling around her shoulders. Her soft skin itching for my kisses and her toned body wrapped in my bedsheets. She sits up, gazing toward the windows where I left the drapes open as I stared at the moon and thought.
“It’s raining.”
Her voice is light, surprised, and vulnerable. The years of wearing a tight mask are softened by this place. A world away from her worries and only with me. It stirs something in my chest. Doing that rearranging thing again.
“Sounds like it.”
Her fingers rise to her throat, searching for her pearls and coming up empty. Only my necklace. My worn leather is now twisting between her thumb and index finger. I close the door behind me, hit the lock, and walk to the window to have a look.
“What are we going to do?”
Her deep brown eyes turn to me, uncertainty in them. I can think of a hundred things I want to do to her. All involved the bed she’s planted in, but we’re still too far away. A gap formed last night that no amount of wine and cheese could bridge.
“What do you feel like doing?”
Testing to see if she’ll initiate. Second pass. Silence grows. Until unspoken words die off. I move away from the window and sit on the bed beside her. She immediately moves over, making too much room for me to be close.
Her guard is up. Closed off again. I know one thing that brings it down.
“Get dressed. The more casual the better.”
Unwilling to answer any question. Wait for any protests. I’m off the bed and crossing the room to my closet. She’s at her best when caught off guard. When she doesn’t know what to expect and what comes next. That’s my strategy with her for the rest of the day.
When I hear shuffling coming from the bedroom, I smile. Tugging on a shirt and fixing my hair in the mirror to give her a bit more time. Just as I’m slipping on my shoes, she appears in the doorway, wearing a sundress and matching high-heeled sandals.
“This is as casual as I packed.”
