Page 55 of The Jilted Lovers Club
She moves closer still, her face inches from mine. “Not all that different.”
But we are. She’s in my arms now, but soon she’ll be on a plane, heading thousands of miles away.
“In two weeks, you leave for New York, and I’ll still be here in Lahoma Springs.”
She takes a deep breath, her smile faltering for a moment, then she looks back up at me. Her eyes are so beautiful, a deep, dark brown I could get lost in. I want to smother myself in her, to consume and be consumed. I feel complete, and I also feel like I can’t get close enough.
“I can’t keep stuffing these feelings,” she admits, and it makes me take a quick breath. Because I can’t either, and the relief of this moment is almost overwhelming. I have her. But the ache in my heart can’t stop telling me that I’m going to lose her.
“What do we do?” I ask.
Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, but she smiles through them. I brush a thumb over her lashes, catching them before they fall. She closes her eyes briefly, leaning into my hand. When she looks at me again, it’s with renewed determination.
“We make the most of our time,” she whispers, then presses her lips to mine.
Petunia
Jordy
Ashton leaves to feed the animals soon after, letting Lottie stay with me at my insistence. All I’m doing today is coordinating the deliveries coming in at the end of the week, and they can be scheduled from my laptop while she plays … in her playpen, that is. My newly clean Vans are on my feet, and I’m not willing to sacrifice any of my other shoes to the porcelain god.
More than ever, I feel the limits of my time here. That kiss … I pause from my work to touch my lips, feeling breathless as I recall the way he tasted, how his soft, full lips felt against mine.
I don’t want to think about what happens when it’s time to go home. I want to savor every moment, every experience before I leave Lahoma. That means spending as much time with Ashton as possible. I don’t want to get too deep into whatever this is between us … but I know it’s too late for that. Kissing him made it way harder to think about leaving.
I have no regrets.
Ashton is gone for just over an hour. When he returns, he’s sweaty, his dusty t-shirt clinging to his bronze skin in ways that leave me breathless. Only, this time I don’t have to hide noticing. He catches my stare, flexing slightly with a chuckle. I groan.
“You’re killing me, Oregon.” Now that we’ve lowered our walls, I want more. I want all of him.
But Lottie wants her daddy, which she makes known with a loud whine, arms outstretched in her playpen.
“All right, princess,” he says with a laugh, winking at me before crossing the room to reach her. She brushes her springy hair out of her face once she’s in his arms, and he leans back to get a good look at her. “Let’s get that ’do under control, what do you say?” He looks at me. “Could you wet her hair while I get the supplies?”
I nod, feeling a little apprehensive. Lottie’s hair is so thick and textured, it’s hard to know what to do. Even though I’d figured it out before, I worry I’ll do it wrong.
Amazingly, Lottie sits still while I work at her hair. I spray it, then work a comb through it carefully. Even when I yank, she doesn’t seem to mind.
“You’ll be at it for hours at that pace.” Ashton grins, bumping my hip so I scoot to the side, then he takes over. It’s like a dance.I watch his fingers move deftly as he uses oil to work her hair into little braids at the crown of her head, securing it so that the rest of her hair is natural. When he’s done, she looks like a little queen, her red hair fanning out in back like a royal flush.
“I never learned how to braid,” I muse, running my hand over Lottie’s gorgeous hair.
“I think that’s so sad,” he says, laughing as he dodges the rubber band I fling at him. “How did you wear your hair when you were younger?”
I shrug. “Just long or in ponytails. In buns when I went to dance class. But my mom didn’t know how to braid, so I never learned.”
Ducking my head, I feel shy all of a sudden. But the question hovers at the surface until it finally bursts from my mouth.
“Would you teach me?”
Ashton grins, then motions for us to move to the living room. He places Lottie back in the playpen, then has me sit in front of the chair. He sits behind me, his legs on each side of my shoulders, and he tilts my head back.
“I’ll try to be gentle,” he says, and then he starts.
Holy hell, I’m not prepared. His fingers run through my hair, stroking my scalp as he combs out any tangles with his fingers. I moan slightly, and he stills.
“Jesus,” he breathes, then gives a low chuckle. “If this is how you sound when I touch your hair…” he trails off.
