Page 60 of It's Only Love

“What do you mean? He was hooking up with some woman the night I came back to town. I saw them the next morning leaving one of the cabins.” Justine shook her head.

“No sweetie, he takes the women there so he can get to know them without the whole town listening in. Everyone knows he only talks to them, the poor man is practically celibate. He’s looking for something serious so he can settle down and start a family. He uses the cabin because he doesn’t want to take anyone but the right woman back to his house,” Justine finished, turning back to the sink and filling it with water. Christy felt shocked, did she even know him at all? He took her to his house, had been intimate with her there, multiple times.

“How long has he been…saving himself?” Christy croaked out.

“Not sure, quite a while though,” Justine dried her hands and turned to face Christy. “I take it he’s not anymore though?” Christy shook her head.

“No, he took me to his place last night and we, well, you know…” she trailed off, dropping her head into her hands and groaning. “Taylor.”

“Did she say something?”

“She tried to warn me. She’s going to kill me.”

“No, she won’t, she just doesn’t want either of you getting hurt. She loves you both so much,” Justine paused, “and so do I.” Something about the way Justine said the last part made Christy lift her head and look at her, she swallowed thickly.

“I know you do, I love you too. You know I’m sorry, don’t you? I feel sick when I think about the fact that I didn’t say goodbye to you.” Christy felt tears well in her eyes. Justine was studying her nails intently, sniffing occasionally.

"I know you do, and I’ve forgiven you, I really have. I just remember it every now and then and it hurts.” Christy went over to Justine and put her arms around her.

“I know, it hurts me too. Especially as I know I can’t undo what I did. But I’ll never leave like that again without saying goodbye, I swear it,” she said emphatically. Justine pulled away and held up her hand, pinkie finger extended.

“Promise?” she asked, Christy laughed and linked their pinkies.

“I promise.”

They hugged again and the tension eased. Justine played with Christy’s curls.

“Of course, if you keep seeing Dean you might not want to leave again,” she teased.

“I told you it was a one-time thing, no matter how amazing it was.” Christy sighed.

Justine smirked at her. “Well, I was there, the night you danced remember? Your eyes were burning into each other so intently you damn near set the bar on fire. I nearly forgot the lyrics! Whatever it is between you, it’s not a one and done, trust me mamacita,” she patted Christy’s hair and turned back to the dishes, leaving Christy to her thoughts.

That night she lay in bed tossing and turning, frustrated at not being able to write, frustrated at herself for her hurtful actions all those years ago. But most of all she was frustrated that Dean wasn’t in bed with her. She missed his heat, his scent, his voice. His groans in her ear, his touch. The sheets tangled around her and she wondered what he was doing, was he thinking of her? Probably not, he made it clear that he wanted to get back to being friends, she valued their friendship so much already she didn’t want to lose it either. She wasn’t interested in having a relationship, so she would have to put aside her desire for him and continue to be friends. She finally drifted off to sleep, her brain obviously not getting the message because all she dreamt about was being back in his arms.

She was a bundle of nerves the next morning, both excited and nervous to see Dean again. She knew it was crazy, but she couldn’t wait to be around him. He made her feel happy and shiny, brand new, and so full of life, he lifted her up. She watched for him out the living room window, peeking from behind the curtains like the desperate stalker she was.

When his truck pulled up, a smile split her face and her heart began to pound. She tore herself away from the window and ran into the kitchen, pretending she hadn’t been waiting for him because she was far too busy scrubbing the phantom dirt off the kitchen tiles. When he came into the kitchen she looked up, fake surprised he was here. He had two coffees in one hand and a bag of treats from the diner in the other.

“Morning, Tiger,” he said, and flinched. “Sorry, that sounded better in my head.” He set the bag on the counter and held out a coffee to her. She practically snatched the cup from him and took a long sip.

“Mmm…” She tipped her head back, moaning at the glorious taste. When she looked at him again, she noticed his coffee cup had stalled halfway to his mouth, his eyes locked on her. She looked away, embarrassed. Note to self, stop making sex noises around men.

“Nutritious breakfast?” she joked, poking in the bag on the counter, he took a sip of his coffee.

“Of course, it is the most important meal of the day, it needs to be done right.”

She looked him over, white t-shirt, faded denim jeans, and blond stubble dusting his chiseled jaw. James Dean eat your heart out!

“Unfortunately, although that looks delicious, I’ll have to stick to fruit. I need to keep an eye on my figure,” she replied, patting her rounded stomach.

“It looked pretty good to me,” he said softly, his eyes trained on her intently. “Felt pretty good too,” he added, and heat flared between them, tension crackling. Her hands twitched, desperate to reach for him. His jaw clenched as his eyes traveled over her body, slowly. Then he turned away abruptly, breaking the spell and shoved his hand into the bag, snagging a donut.

“More for me then,” he said, taking a bite before moving past her and heading out onto the back porch to assess what needed doing there. She swallowed thickly against the desire pulsing through her and went into the living room to continue painting, making a note to google any convents she could join when she went back to NYC.

As she painted, her mind drifted back to her brief conversation yesterday with Hilda. Seeing Dean this morning had eased the knot of tension in her chest. She had felt inspired in his house, was this her body’s way of telling her where she needed to write? She tried to dismiss the thought but couldn’t, she needed to at least test the theory, her writing career could depend on it. But she couldn’t get into his house without him knowing, that was kind of illegal, right? She needed to think about it.

They chatted on and off throughout the day but kept their distance from one another physically. She couldn’t look at him without picturing him gloriously naked like the dirty girl she was and wondered if he did the same. Picturing her obviously, not himself. That was when the idea came to her and she knew how to get into his house.

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