Page 70 of A Ticking Time Boss

I bend my face to the warm skin of his neck. He smells like soap and man and the leather seats of his town car.

“Audrey?” he says.

The truth is embarrassing. “A little over a year and a half.” Even then, it had been a weekend thing with a guy I’d known in college. He’d been back in town and we’d met up. Before that… seven months, I think. At least.

Carter’s eyes are serious on mine. “A year and a half,” he repeats.

“Yes.”

He doesn’t mock me for it, he doesn’t smile, he doesn’t laugh. He just kisses me again, and it’s softer this time. It sends butterflies careening through my stomach, colliding and multiplying. “Spitfire,” he murmurs, a hand sliding over my hair, “we’re not rushing this, then.”

I don’t know what comes over me. If it’s the clear need in his voice, the way his fingers grip me, but everything about him makes me feel wanted. Powerful. So I slide my hand down to where he’s hard and run my fingers over the length.

He groans and leans forward, forehead against my shoulder. “Audrey,” he mutters.

I move my hand away and smile into his hair. Whatever this is, whatever we’re doing, isn’t just a one-time thing, then. It’s a bad idea for all sorts of reasons, but none of them come close to how happy I feel in this moment.

“Until next time,” I say.

Carter nods, but his hand slides up to graze the underside of my breast. It’s brief, and he groans, and then he locks his hands safely around my waist. “Next time,” he says, and his voice is a promise.

FIFTEEN

“Are you sure you don't need anything else?” I ask.

Mom shakes her head. She’s leaning against the kitchen counter, vivid against the yellow cabinets. I remember her painting them over a decade ago, singing to the radio, during one of my father’s many absences.

“No, no, I'm perfectly all right,” she says.

I cross my arms. “The new construction down the street will go on for years,” I say. “But you’re absolutely sure?”

She laughs, the wrinkles by her eyes fanning out. She's always been quick to smile. “I can handle a bit of construction noise.”

“Sure. But at least look at the brochure I sent you. Please.”

They’re opening a state-of-the-art apartment building right next to mine in the Village, and she'd have access to a pool and a gym.

“I looked at it,” Mom says. “It looks like a lovely place, although they need more greenery.”

“You could add that,” I say. “Be in charge of the condo plants.”

She gives me an appeasing smile. “That would be nice, sweetie.”

“You just won’t leave this place, will you?”

“It’s my home,” she says. “It’s where I raised you. Do you really want me to sell your childhood home?”

“You know I do. I can't believe you don’t.” The apartment is hers, yes, but it had been bought by my father. The man we both washed our hands of years ago.

“It’s filled with good memories, too, Carter,” she says. “You grew up inside these walls. Besides, it’s close to work. I can walk to the school and I can make sure the students behave when I see them in the grocery store.”

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll drop the subject.”

“Thank you. Although you won’t like the subject I have to bring up,” she says. She reaches up and rearranges her auburn hair. It’s pinned up in a braid, silver hinting at the temples.

I sink down onto the kitchen chair. “You’re moving to an apartment in a worse neighborhood.”

She smiles at my bad joke. “I’d never. No, sweetie, I got a call from your father yesterday.”

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