Page 31 of Misadventures in Blue
I gently remove it, giving him a small smile. “I agree.”
“I like you,” he continues, although he stares at his own hand with a furrowed brow, as if confused about what just happened. “I know our last foray into romance was interrupted by my move to St. Louis, but I’m here to stay now, Cat. And I want to make a new life here. Find a partner to share that with. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I do understand. He’s thinking exactly what I’ve thought before: the two of us make sense on paper. We’re the logical and inevitable pairing of upbringing and profession. Two rich kids who caught a case of conscience and went into the field of justice instead of finance or medicine or literally anything else more lucrative? That’s us. We’d be able to kvetch about judges and defense attorneys while we shopped for antiques and took winery tours.
But in the last few weeks, I’ve discovered I don’t want that…if I ever did.
“I understand, Kenneth, and three years ago I might have wanted to be that partner,” I say. “But that’s not why I came here tonight.”
A hard anger passes over his features so quickly that someone less perceptive might have missed it. But I catch it.
I catch it, and I’m suddenly beyond grateful that I’m not going to entwine my life with his. Not when his first response to rejection is anger. Not when all my cop senses are currently on high alert at the prospect of a man so much larger than me suffering from the side effects of a fragile ego.
Fortunately, that ego appears to value public perception over personal slights, because he doesn’t seem inclined to make a scene. Instead, he takes a deep pull from his wineglass and leans back in his seat. “Is there someone else?”
“There is.”
He looks off into the middle distance and then looks back to me after a long, pensive moment. “Why did you come to dinner tonight, Cat?”
“I came because I respect you and I thought this conversation deserved care and attention.”
He sighs, rubbing his forehead, and then gives me a rueful kind of smile. “That’s how you know we’re old, by the way. Seven years younger and you would’ve just DMed me on Twitter. Seven years younger than that, and it would’ve been a passive-aggressive Snapchat story.”
I laugh a little and so does he, and my tension slowly ratchets down.
He’s taking it okay. It’s going to be okay.
“I am sorry,” I say. “I truly enjoyed the time we spent together before you moved. But then I met”—I stumble, almost saying Jace’s name and only barely catching myself in time—“someone, and I’d like to see where things go.”
Kenneth shakes his head, seeming sad. “I should’ve reached out earlier. It’s my loss, Cat. I hope he makes you happy.”
I don’t miss the bitter edge in his tone, and my cop senses prickle again. Outwardly, he seems like he’s adjusting well, but there’s something emanating from him that makes me uneasy. I never ignore these instincts, and I feel abruptly grateful that I drove here on my own and don’t have to rely on him for a ride home.
“Thank you,” I say. “He does make me happy.”
There must have been too much truth in my tone, because there’s more irritation in Kenneth’s expression now. Luckily the waiter comes by with the check. Kenneth and I politely argue about who will take the bill—a pointless argument because the money isn’t significant to either of us. We agree to split it, and then we pay and make to leave.
Kenneth catches my hand a last time after we stand up, and he kisses the back of it. “I hope we stay friends.”
“Of course,” I say, but I doubt it.
In fact, I’ll probably make sure to put some distance between us…at least until his bitterness fades and I sense he’s safe again.
I get in my car and text Jace.
I really need you tonight.
And I mean sex—always that—but I think I might also mean more. I need his chest to bury my face in and his hands petting my hair. I need to tell him everything about Kenneth and apologize for not telling him sooner.
I need him to know that I only want him.
And I think I need to know that he only wants me. I think I need to be spanked, mounted, and fucked. I think I need all Jace’s intensity centered on marking my body as his. I think I need my choices anchored in this raw connection Jace and I can’t seem to shake.
I’m pondering all this as I drive home, chewing over the dinner and my uncomfortably big feelings for Jace, and I’m so wrapped up in my own thoughts that I don’t notice anything different when I park my car in the garage and walk inside my kitchen.
“Have a good time?” says a low voice from behind me.
Chapter Ten
