Desperately Seeking Epic(64)

I smacked his arm as he laughed at me. “We’re not all blessed in the art of attracting the opposite sex like some people, Paul. You just give a sideways glance to women and they fawn over you.”

“No they don’t,” he argued, playing his hand at modesty, but failing miserably.

“Shut up. You know you’re good-looking.”

“Am I now?” He grinned, scooting closer to me, and smooshing our sides together. “Tell me how good-looking I am.”

My cheeks heated as I laughed and tried to keep him from knocking me over. “I meant other women think you’re hot, not me,” I falsely clarified.

He settled down and sipped his wine, still grinning the entire time. “I mean it. I was not saying you’re attractive.” At least that wasn’t what I meant to say. But it was true. Paul was handsome, in the most classic sense of the word. However, I did not want to admit that to him.

“Whatever you say,” he chuckled.

I sipped my wine. “So why haven’t you found a woman to settle down with, Paul?” I asked as nonchalantly as I could. I didn’t want him to think I was asking because I was interested in him.

He twisted his mouth in thought before saying, “I don’t do happily ever after. I don’t do babies and white picket fences.”

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. His answer annoyed me. Those were two things that I happened to want desperately. “Why not?”

He shrugged. “It’s just not who I am. I’m not the kind of guy to settle down.”

“Maybe you’ll change your mind one day when the right woman comes along,” I mused.

He snorted. “Doubtful.”

We finished our wine and Paul took the glasses inside to the kitchen. When he returned, we stood awkwardly, neither of us knowing what to say, which meant it was time to say good-bye. I patted his shoulder . . . so weird . . . and said, “Thanks for dinner.”

His mouth was tight as if he was trying not to laugh as he patted my shoulder back. “No problem.”

“See you . . . tomorrow?” I questioned as I slid my hands in the back pockets of my shorts.

“See you then.” He made his way down my stairs and toward his truck. When he opened his door, I spun around to go inside for the night.

“Clara,” he called, causing me to turn back. He was at the bottom of the steps, climbing them, and before I could respond with, what? he picked me up by my legs and pushed me against the front door. My mouth dropped open. I was stunned. What was he doing? The muscles in his jaw and neck ticked as his dark eyes burned into mine.

Then he kissed me.

I didn’t move for a second or two, my brain unable to catch up with my body. Then he swept his tongue between my lips and my blood pumped harder as my mouth moved against his.

It was a hard kiss, but it was gentle, too. His lips were soft and his tongue tasted like red wine. His hips held me pressed against the door while my legs were wrapped around him, his hands holding my ass, squeezing gently. It had been so long since I’d felt something so . . . erotic. I felt like one of those inflatable Christmas decorations that people put outside—they lay limp all day, but at night the lights come on and the air starts pumping and they come to life.

That kiss breathed life into me.

Paul James’ kiss made me feel alive.

When he pulled his mouth from mine, he took a little nip at my bottom lip that made me gasp. We were both breathing hard, our chests heaving up and down. I clutched his muscular shoulders as he slowly lowered me to the ground, holding me for a moment to make sure I got my footing, which took a minute because my legs felt like jelly.

I swallowed hard as I looked up and met his gaze.

“You don’t have to think so hard about that first kiss now.” With a small, mischievous smile, he added, “I’m lucky I got to be the first man to kiss the woman starting a new life.”

Moments later, I was still plastered to the door when he drove away.



Ashley is leaning forward in her chair, her eyes, painted in thick, black eyeliner, fixed on me. “So it was a good kiss?” She’s practically drooling.

A smile creeps across my lips. “It was the best kiss of my life,” I admit.

Ashley nods as she watches me, seemingly pleased with my answer. Then she collects herself. “Same time next week, Clara?”

“Sounds good.”





Two days later, I’m about to knock on Neena’s bedroom door when I hear her talking from the other side. I listen for a moment, wondering if she’s talking to herself, but quickly realize she’s on her phone.

“I’ll bring it today and give it to you,” she says.

Pause.

“Hey, you wanna grab some food this afternoon?” she asks, her tone hopeful.

Another pause.

“Oh . . . okay.”

Pause, again.

“Yeah, I understand.”

Pause.

“Okay. See you later. Bye.” After a few seconds, she hangs up.

I listen for another minute or two. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. Who was she talking to? The only friend I’ve heard mentioned is Mills, and that was by Paul. Was it Mills? Did he just reject her? Shit. That’s all she needs right now. I know it’s a crush, but she could use a friend closer to her age. Even if it’s a high school kid. She’s barely wanted to get out of bed the last two days, and now this. Finally, I open her door. She’s standing in front of her full-length mirror, shoving tissues in her bra. As I enter, she rushes to her bed and grabs her pillow, covering herself. “Can’t you knock, Mom?” she snaps, her voice quivering with anger.