The First Taste(102)

I pull back, curling one corner of my mouth into an easy smile. “Hell? They’ve been the best years of my life.”

Her eyebrow lowers as she opens her mouth. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Then don’t,” I say. “Really, don’t believe it. Go back to thinking children are demons.”

“I don’t think they’re demons. Just because I wanted something different doesn’t make me a villain.” She waits for me to agree with her. It might be true, but I’m not ready to concede anything yet. “You and I had some good times,” she says. “They got me through a lot of lonely nights.”

“Being with Bell is better than all of it. That little girl is everything to me.”

She bites her bottom lip, shaking her head in disbelief. “I want to feel that way too,” she says. “I do. I didn’t want to be a mom then, but as my family gets further away, and I get older . . . I need to feel grounded again.”

“A phone call now and then would’ve been nice,” I say. “Just to let us know you were okay.”

“My mom—”

“I spoke to her right after you left. She said you were safe. Honestly, after I heard that, I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. It meant there was nothing wrong, no reason for you to leave. Just me and Bell.”

“It wasn’t what I expected,” she says carefully. “Motherhood. I didn’t want it, but it was even worse than I thought. My options were to stay and torture all of us or leave. What would you have done?”

“I can’t put myself in that position,” I say. “I always wanted it. It’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She purses her lips, looking affronted. Of course she would take my devotion to Bell personally. “I was young.”

“Too young. Too young for me, too young to know what you wanted.”

“I’m older now. I’m not going anywhere.”

“What makes you think I’d put my daughter—or myself—through that again?”

“Because I’m her mother,” she says. “And you love me. Or, you did. Didn’t you?”

I glance down at the bottle. “Yes.”

“Do you still?”

I don’t want to look at her, but I do. I have to know if she can still transfix me. That sparkle is back in my life, that neat curve of her mouth. At twenty-seven, she looks even better than she did four years ago, having grown into her features and shed some of the roundness of her face. If I look closely, I can see cover-up under her eyes, but she doesn’t need it. If she has dark shadows, they don’t show.

“Let’s get out of here,” she says under her breath, tracing her fingers along my hairline, behind my ear. “You and me again. I’ve spent a lot of nights thinking about you. It doesn’t get any better than us, does it? You know it doesn’t. Did Denise even come close?”

“No,” I admit but I’m not thinking of Denise. Amelia is the one Shana should be worried about. Shana and I had great sex, but Amelia and I connect on another level. I understand, with her, what it is to make love. The realization that I’ve lost the only real connection I’ve had in years, maybe ever, aside from Bell, saddens me.

“Come on, then.”

I look at Shana. “Where are you staying?”

“A motel a few miles from here.”

“A motel?” I ask.

“I was hoping . . . I mean, not now. Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow. But I’d like to come home at some point.”

Home. My home. “I don’t live at the apartment anymore.”

“I figured,” she says. “I drove by, but someone else was there. Where are you now?”

Even though she may already know—even though she could ask ten different mutual friends and find out—I can’t help keeping home close to my chest. It’s my safe place. It’s Bell’s safe place. “A house not far from here,” I say, intentionally vague.

“What’s it like?”

I shrug. “It’s a home.”

“Sounds wonderful.” She leans in closer to touch my jaw, her fingers confident, as if checking for stubble. When I don’t pull away, she kisses the corner of my mouth. “I’d love to see it.”

She’s hesitant but assured; it’s a half-kiss, like she’s testing me. It doesn’t have the potent effect I’m used to. It makes me think of Amelia and my first tomato-sauce taste of her. I jerk back. “No.”

The vehemence with which I say it surprises me, and from the look on her face, it surprises her too. Because the twinkle in her eyes is still there. The mischief in her smile. The ass and tits. She hasn’t changed. No matter how mad I’ve been in the past, those things always worked on me. But right now, I’m not falling for it.

“No?” she asks.

“No,” I repeat, my confidence building. “This isn’t going to happen. Not tonight. Not ever.”

She sighs, pouting slightly. “Are you seeing someone? Tell me this isn’t because of Denise.”

“It’s not Denise,” I say, and like home, I can’t bring myself to say Amelia’s name. Not to Shana, who could shred a football team with one look. Amelia may or may not be mine, but just her name gives me back some of the strength Shana’s trying to suck out of me.