Page 69 of Unstable

“Hell no!” I hold up my hands. “Don’t touch me. Thank you, though,” I tack on the polite mumble. “I’m kinda proud of myself too.”

“You should be,” his voice is subdued, so I look at him. Big mistake. Huge. A painful splinter cracking through the middle of my heart when I see his face—devastated, like I’ve never seen it before.

“Keaton—”

“No, don’t. Not yet. ‘Bout to fix that shit real fucking soon and then, I’m gonna do a helluva lot more than hug you. And you’re gonna let me. Over and over.” It’s a gritted promise that tingles up my spine in a scandalous mixture of fear and anticipation.

“Anyone else know how much money you made at the sale?”

It takes me a second to catch up to his sudden gear shift. “Just Gatlin. And the man who wrote me the check.”

“No one else, you sure? I assume you haven’t done anything with the check since the bank’s not open?”

“I’m positive and no, it’s in my purse. Why?”

He stands, gathering our dishes. “We’re done pretending to care about this cold food, right?”

“Um, yeah.” I rise to help. “I guess. Keaton, remember before when I joked about being checked for A.D.D.? No longer joking, you need checked. My temples are literally pulsing trying to keep up with you this morning. You’d tell me if you had an amphetamine habit you needed help kicking, wouldn’t you?”

Sadly, I’m only half joking. He’s all over the map: scattered, to skittish, then scary in the span of minute to minute.

So he’s either snorting coke…or he’s hiding something big.

“Funny, babe. You don’t know how bad I wish it was as simple as me being a junkie,” he sighs, putting the plates in the sink.

“It’s worse than if you had a drug problem? Jesus, Keaton, spit it out! No wait, don’t. You did sleep with Addison? Is that it? If it is, don’t say it, just leave.” Now we’re both talking in crazy circles…fabulous. “I mean it. I said it didn’t matter but it does. Damnit, it does! I can’t hear it.”

He takes a firm hold of my shoulders and stares directly into my eyes. “I did not touch Addison. It was not a date. I. Only. Want. You. Do you believe me or not, Henley? Yes or fucking no? Last time I’m gonna say it, and last time I’m gonna ask.”

I close my eyes and breathe, focusing in on what my gut, intuition…and heart are telling me. I hear them, agree, and open my eyes.

“Yes. I believe you, Keaton.”

He dips his head, skimming his nose along mine, cupping both my cheeks. “There she is,” he whispers. “My Henny.”

“Keaton?”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, caressing his face on mine.

“I haven’t wanted to hurt your feelings, but it’s gotta be said. You are the absolute, hands down, worst storyteller in the history of the human race.”

He starts laughing, his hot breath bringing forth goose bumps on every inch of my flesh. And throwing my earlier opposition and adamancy out the window, I could stay like this forever. Body to body, his face grazing mine, taking his time coveting me gently.

But there’s still a big ass elephant in the room, sitting on my chest.

“Keaton, your huge secret, worse than a crack habit? Can we please get back to that? My stomach actually hurts with worry.”

“I guess,” he pouts, pulling away, “if we must. And we must. Let’s go sit on the couch though. More comfortable, and this is gonna take a while.”

Oh yeah…that made my stomach feel so much better.

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