Page 91 of Mourner for Hire
“I am,” I admit. “But I think I need to head back to the cottage. It was an early morning for me.”
“Let me walk you.”
“No need.” I offer a smile to lessen the blow and toss a finger over my shoulder toward the boardwalk that leads to the cottage. “Well, I’m this way. Thank you for the ride.”
“My pleasure, Vada,” he says, pausing for effect.
I like Connor. He’s very handsome. And kind.
Then, it happens fast and slow at the same time. Connor leansdown and sinks his mouth against mine. His lips are plump and soft, and his stubble just barely scratches my nose. It is neither moving nor terrible, landing somewhere along the lines ofnice.
I pull back, realizing I am not the target audience for Connor.
Making it clear I don’t want the kiss to be anything else, I simply say goodnight, adding, “And thank you for being so nice to me. You have no idea how much that means to me.”
He gives me a sheepish nod. “If Ms. Annabelle wants you here, then that means you’re good people.”
His smile cuts through his tanned face, and for a flash, I can see him as a young boy. It makes me wonder if I knew him once and that somehow unlocked the memory for me.
“Well, goodnight,” I say again and turn to head back to the cottage.
And as I do, I see Dominic, staring at me with a brown paper bag in his arms.
He strides toward me. I freeze—his gaze holding me in place. I should still be mad about the condoms and the vibrator, but for some inexplicable reason, seeing him is a relief.
“Hi.” My voice is barely above a whisper.
“I don’t like it.” He stares down at me.
I know what he is referring to.
“So do something about it,” I dare. He keeps his gaze fixed on me—his honey-colored eyes ablaze. When he doesn’t speak, I play dumb. “Me and Connor sitting on a horsie. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
“Stop.” His jaw pulses, and a low laugh tumbles out of me. Then softer, “Vada.”
The command of my name in an almost whimper shuts me up, and I hate myself for it.
“You didn’t mention you were going out with him.”
“Did I need to?”
His eyes search my face. “No, but if I knew, I would?—”
“You’d what? Be nice to me? Because you’ve had every opportunity to be kind, and you continually demonize me.”
I watch him swallow, a nervous flush creeping up his neck. Similar to the one that climbed up his throat before he kissed me.
“I just don’t like it.”
“Fine,” I say, turning to walk away as if his words don’t unsteady me.
But in truth, the ache on the back end of the words he says is a prickling reminder of how he still wants me. And if I’m honest, I still want him.
THIRTY-ONE
DOMINIC
Connor walksinto the bar on the next evening smug as hell. I plan to ignore him, but it’s impossible when he beelines for the bar and takes the only open seat, smiling conceitedly at me. He looks like he just got laid and is feeling rather proud of himself.
