Still Not Over You(77)

“Good. Because it's gonna be your background track from now on.” I brush my lips to hers, tasting the sweat of us on her lips.

Fuck, do I love it. Just tasting us together. Another sign we’re inseparable.

I sigh, gathering her closer. “I’ve known we were connected since the moment I met you, Reb. Call it fate. Like the gravity in the stars. I was lost then. Spent so long looking for the constellations to guide me home...when I always should've known they were here, right in front of me.”

“You've found your way. Home,” she whispers, while I brush a lock of sex-kinked hair away from her eyes.

No word on her lips has ever tasted sweeter or truer than that last one. Home.

And I'm still thinking about the kind of eternal home we'll make for ourselves when I silence her with another hungry kiss.





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Thanks for reading Still Not Over You! Look for Skylar's book coming soon.

Want to see what happens to Landon and Kenna three years later?





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I: Walking Masterpiece (Izzy)





I have to bite my lip at how the silence excites me.

This is exactly what I’ve dreamed about for years. A room full of talent. Bright eyes and young souls eager to impress, bleeding creativity.

Every student deep in concentration, glancing towards the drawing on the easel next to my desk only long enough to confirm the next swoosh of their pencil. I hadn’t known what to expect when I accepted this position, other than it would bring me one step closer to my goal. Plus a little more money.

Oh, and it's the perfect escape from the weekly family dinners. Losing those gossip-fests is worth more than the income boost any job brings.

Working with this room full of remarkable young artists is way more fun than listening to mom's tongue-in-cheek 'encouragement.'

Or entertaining cousin Clara's dire warnings about how I'm destined to wind up with a house full of cats and die in my eighties, still a virgin.

That’s my future. Isabella Derby. AKA crazy cat lady.

The fact that my family believes that’s the path I’m on and insists on reminding me so often never fails to piss me off. No matter how many times I hear it.

This is the twenty-first century. Supposedly. I don’t even own a cat, and I’m twenty-three.

Twenty. Three.

Not fifty-three, and pining about what might have been. I have years before I need to worry about getting married. I have ambitions. Always have.

If only everyone else in my life would see that and leave me the hell alone.

If only they'd notice accomplishments besides landing men and wracking up babies.

“Ms. Derby?”

I rise from my chair and walk around my desk, happy to have something else to focus on besides my sad, nosy relatives.

Stopping next to her, I look down at the girl and smile. “Yes, Natalie?”

She’s what some would call a child prodigy. Only ten, she has the talent of some people five times her age. Not just in fine arts either.

Her enrollment papers says she’s in eighth grade. Most kids her age are still fourth graders. I kneel next to her. “What's up?”

She gestures to my drawing at the front of the room. “Um, I just noticed...the dog you drew doesn’t have any eyelashes.” Her shy voice comes out in a whisper. “Is it all right if I add some on mine?”

“Of course! Your personal muse is always welcome in this class.” I look at the drawing on her easel, picturing exaggerated Minnie Mouse eyelashes.

Wrong idea.

My breath literally stalls in my lungs at the detail in her creation. This little girl wouldn't be caught dead making anything unrealistic. The collie she’s drawn looks like it's ready to leap into the room. Just like everything she does.

It's more like a black and white photo than a drawing. Especially one done by a child.

Every feathery line she's sketched brings the dog to life in ways I can’t even describe.

Hell, it's almost better than mine. And it took me a Master's degree and years practicing to get where I am.

I glance between her dog and mine. Forget almost.

Hers is far better. A masterpiece.

I choke up as I watch the eyes on her dog come to life as she carefully pencils in a few soft lashes. “Keep going. You’re doing a great job!”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

The way she’s biting the tip of her tongue demonstrates how fully she’s concentrating. I smile again, then stand, making a round of the whole room.

Only six students here this evening. The others are all high school kids. Natalie’s dad had to pull some strings to get her into this class, meant for kids at least in their freshmen year.

That’s what I was told. Since this is my first year with the district, I’m as unfamiliar with the students and their families as I am with the staff. That'll change in time, I'm sure. We’re only three weeks into the school year.