Wherever It Leads(108)

“Jules?” I ask again, watching her warily. I normally don’t press, just drop off what I have and dash. Today, though, she seems more beaten down. I know she’s probably missing him this week even more than usual, because I am, too. That makes me want to go get a drink, but I can’t leave her without making sure she’s all right. I owe her that much. “You okay?”

I see her set the spoon down and bow her head, and I brace myself for the unknown.

“Peachy.”

Her voice is so low that I can almost not even hear her. She grasps onto the counter on either side of the stove and doesn’t move.

I chew on my lip and watch her, wait on her to give me some indication as to what she’s thinking. She gives me nothing to go on. “Need anything?”

“No, Crew,” she said, whirling around on her heel, “I don’t.” Her eyes are on fire, blazing with some emotion I can’t pinpoint. “And I didn’t need my tires changed this morning either.”

“What are ya talkin’ about?” I ask, feigning ignorance. I know she’s gonna bust my balls, but it’s not like I had a choice. I couldn’t take the chance of her driving Everleigh around on the roads with bald tires.

“So you didn’t send Will to my office this morning to get my car? Nice of him to ask for my keys in front of half the department. Well played. How was I supposed to argue with him without causing a damn scene?”

I shrug.

“Stop doing this. Please. I can take care of myself.”

We have a standoff, our gazes having the conversation neither of us wants to have. She’s telling me she’s not the little girl I once knew. But it’s not like I don’t know that. She might’ve grown up, but the woman she’s turned into has a helluva lot to do with the decisions I’ve made.

There are so many mother f*cking things I’d change if I could figure out how.

But I can’t.

“How is she?” I ask with a nod to the living room, trying to change the topic.

Julia sighs, exhaustion flashing across her face. “She’s okay. She wasn’t feeling good this morning, so she stayed with Mrs. Bennett.”

“Olivia? The neighbor lady?”

“Yes. She seems better tonight, though.” She gives me a hint of a smile before her gaze drops to the floor. “Ever loves when you come by, so I’m sure she’ll be happy tonight. She likes you.”

The insinuation smacks me hard in the chest.

“She’s been missing him a lot lately.”

Our conversations don’t normally make it to discussing Gage unless we’re already arguing. The fact that she just brought it up shocks me and I’m not comfortable with it. I don’t know how to take it. I feel my jaw pulse with frustration and scramble to change the subject again. “Why is it so chilly in here?”

Julia’s smile disappears and she tugs her sweatshirt nervously. “I didn’t know it was.”

“How can you possibly not know?” I start to the thermostat across the room when she clears her throat.

“The heater isn’t working right. I asked my landlord to come by and look at it earlier this week.”

“And he hasn’t been here yet?” I shoot her a look and she shakes her head. “He’ll be here tonight.” I dig my cell out of my pocket.

“Crew, don’t. Please. The last time you called my landlord he was a complete jerk to me for a couple of months. I just got on good terms with him again.”

I scroll through my contacts list, looking for his name.

“Crew . . .” I know her doe-eyes are pleading with me. I also know if I look up at her, I’ll be somewhat inclined to give in.

So I don’t.





LAST CALL by STACI HART





MEOW


Rose

MY BREATH CAME IN BURSTS, heart pounding as Patrick’s long body pressed me into the bed. There wasn’t an inch between us—we were a tangle of arms and legs, lips and hands, and any will I had to stop him was long gone. I didn’t care that I should. I didn’t care about anything, not with his fingers stroking my skin like a match, trailing heat in their wake.

He was even better than I remembered.

I opened my heavy lids when he backed away to pull off his shirt, taking a quick second to catch my breath as I skimmed my fingers down his tattooed chest, my eyes roaming over the art that covered every inch of his skin as he watched. It was his soul laid bare—the good and the bad, the happy and sad, all chronicled in black ink so he could remember. As if he could ever forget.

It was a sight I’d missed more than I’d ever confess.

He bent to kiss me, breathing until his breath was mine and mine was his. It was fevered, frantic—my hand against the sharp angle of his jaw, his lips hard, my eyes pinned shut—erasing everything that had happened between us. As if it had never happened.

Patrick broke away to kiss my neck just as a black cat jumped on the bed, and I glanced over with bleary eyes to meet the cat’s. He meowed, teeth like tiny white needles against the jet black of his fur.

Patrick didn’t stop or seem to notice. His hands slipped up my thighs, tongue brushing my skin, wet lips closing, and my lids fluttered, a sigh slipping out of me as I twisted my fingers in his black hair.