Melt (12 page)

She laughed and reached over to ruffle his messy hair. He
gripped her forearm and ran his lips down the inside of her wrist. “Sorry,” she
said, already breathless. He had that effect on her. “I’m kind of on a night
owl’s schedule.”

“All those late nights at the bar.”

His lips were still moving, making teasing sweeps down her
arm. Suddenly stringing together words had gotten a lot harder. “Nights that
you often stay with me.”

“I don’t stay until closing.”

“Close enough sometimes. And I know you have school early in
the morning. Besides, it’s not your job.” She didn’t know why she tacked the
flippant remark on to the end, because she liked that he stayed late with her
so often. His presence during her shift always made the night go by faster, and
the idea of him not being there to tease her or shout out game plays with her
was beyond depressing.

“Enjoying myself with you isn’t my job?” He lifted an
eyebrow, his lips still warming her skin. “Thanks for letting me know, Fish.”

She grinned at the rare use of the nickname he’d branded her
with in college. “You haven’t used that in—” She broke off, remembering his
song. “The man bailing out water from the boat, even knowing it wasn’t going to
make it, that he was wasting his time.”

“Yeah.”

“It was a fishing boat.”

“Full of the catch of the day, but he wouldn’t get to eat it
that night. Or any other.” Justin’s smile was bittersweet. “Gotta love my
cheery creations.”

Much as she hated to pull her arm away, his mouth was too
distracting. “That song isn’t about me, is it? The fish thing, the leaky boat…”
She shook her head and clamped her lips together. “Never mind.”

He looked at her for a long moment and laced his fingers in
his lap. “Sometimes a fish is just a fish, Kylie.”

“Yeah.” She blew out a breath. “Sorry. Mind’s working
overtime, and I haven’t even woken up fully yet. I didn’t know you played
guitar,” she added, rushing ahead to fill the silence. He was watching her too
closely, and she felt exposed under his stare. For all she knew, he was
thinking about her broken sex life again and maybe even wondering if she was
broken too. Sometimes she wasn’t sure that was a wrong assessment. “Or wrote
songs.”

“It’s just a hobby. For fun. You know, to unwind.”

“You write songs about drowning fishermen to unwind?”

He laughed. “How do you know he drowned? Just because the
ship didn’t make it to shore doesn’t mean he didn’t.”

“Huh.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Did he live?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t write that far.”

“What? How can you just leave it like that? Don’t you have
to know what happens?”

“No.” He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her forehead.
“Hungry?”

She gaped at him. “How come you don’t have to know? Aren’t
you curious?”

“There are hundreds of roads in Taunton’s surrounding towns.
Some I’ve never driven down. Some I’ve never even heard of. And I’m okay with
that. I drive the ones I need to, and when I come to the end of one road, I
turn onto the next.” He shrugged. “I took Pete through as much of his story as
he wanted to tell me. The rest’s up to him.”

“Wow. You’re so Zen.”

Laughing, he tapped her nose. “You didn’t answer my
question.”

Right on cue, her stomach growled. “I guess that’s a yes.”

“Good. I was starting to wonder where that big appetite of
yours had gone.” He laid his lips fully on hers before drawing back and getting
to his feet. “Why don’t you take a shower, then come downstairs? I’ll throw
something together.”

She rolled her eyes as she scrambled off the bed, trying not
to think about exactly how domestic the whole scene between them seemed. It
also wasn’t as…urgent as the previous morning. Lust hummed, but it didn’t
override quiet conversation and affection.

And God, wasn’t that scary? She wanted his friendship, she
definitely wanted to be his lover…but more seemed like a slide down into an icy
pond she wasn’t sure would hold her weight.

“Don’t think,” he said from the doorway, making her look up
as guiltily as if he’d caught her pilfering his wallet. “Just relax and let
whatever happens happen. Can you do that for me?”

“I don’t have much choice.”

“There’s always a choice. Right now I want to be yours. Like
you’re mine.”

She wasn’t sure what he meant by that statement. That he had
chosen her and wished she would choose him? Or that he wanted to be hers, as in
her guy?

He was right about one thing—she couldn’t think even if she
wanted to when his intent blue gaze was riveted on hers. “Today’s a day to be
grateful,” she murmured, voice thick. “And I’m very grateful you opened your
house to me when I needed you.”

He’d given her much more than just that. A cozy bed,
friendship, blistering hot sex. Arms around her, holding her tight in the
darkest part of night.

A shadow crossed his features. After a moment he smiled as
warmly as the rays of sun that were now creeping along the eastern horizon. “We
need each other,” he said, continuing out the door before she could question
him further.

What was she supposed to say to that? Her knee-jerk reaction
was to agree, but her brain wasn’t nearly as committed. It urged her to slam on
the brakes and take some time for herself. She’d been looking for a fling and a
way to forget, not to start something new and potentially even more dangerous
to her heart than the relationship she’d just left.

She sighed and adjusted her ankle bandage. He was right. She
needed to take each day as it came. To just not think.

By the time she made it downstairs, more bread was
baking—dark rye this time—and he’d whipped up some chocolate-chip-and-cherry
pancakes. The smell of them nearly sent her to her knees as she crossed the
threshold of the kitchen, but she made herself keep going toward where he stood
at the stove, spatula in hand. He wore an apron over his bare chest, and he’d
yet to put on socks or shoes. His jeans cleaved to his taut ass, and she wanted
to lean over and bite each full cheek, just leave the imprint of her teeth
right through the worn denim.

Instead she linked her arms around his waist and nipped the
side of his neck. “Happy Thanksgiving, Justin Crocker. Betty had nothing on
you.”

His chuckle brought a grin to her mouth. “Happy
Thanksgiving, Fisher Twice.”

“What’s the Twice for?”

“Twice is how many times I’m going to make you come before
breakfast.” He waggled his brows, and she laughed, evading his grasp.

“Uh-uh. I need food before you plunder me again.”

“The bread’s for later, by the way. Don’t want you
overloading on carbs first thing.”

“How about second thing?”

Right on cue the bread maker dinged, and she went over to take
it out of the machine. She noticed how long the timer had been set for, and her
chest twanged at the thought of him slipping out of bed to start the bread
before coming back upstairs to serenade her out of sleep.

It was so different than the life she’d shared with Rob. Not
only had they not hugged much anymore, they’d rarely cuddled in bed or spent
lazy mornings just puttering. The bed had become merely a site for sex.
Mornings together meant joint isolation—her with the newspaper and last night’s
sports scores, him with a run on the treadmill in front of the TV. Even when
they were in the same room, they weren’t ever connected. Not like how she felt
with Justin.

“It’s just because it’s new,” she muttered.

“Talking to yourself?” he asked as he plated a stack of
pancakes and handed them to her, along with a jug of real New York maple syrup.
“I’ll cut the bread for later. You eat.”

“I want to help.”

“You are helping.” He pulled out a chair at the table and
lightly pushed her into it. “You’re brightening the whole place up just with
your smile. Now sit.”

She sat and sniffed as if she hadn’t nearly purred with one
glimpse of the chunks of cherry smeared with chocolate in the golden batter.
“You know, Julia Child was bossy too. Is that a necessary personality trait of
good cooks?”

“Good?” One brow winged up. “I’m excellent.”

“You sure are.” A smile curved her mouth as she picked up
her fork.

“Now it’s up to Kylie Thrice, by the way.” He shifted back
to the bread machine. “You’ll be coming thrice
after
breakfast, since you’re such a hungry thing.”

She couldn’t argue with that.

Breakfast lasted more than an hour. They fed each other just
as they had the morning before. As much maple syrup ended up on their clothes
as in their mouths, but even that was fun too.

No one made her laugh like Justin did. No one listened to
her ramble about her parents and her brother and the friends she’d drifted away
from in recent months as they’d all gotten coupled up and her coupledom had
grown to feel more like a straitjacket. And no one reached across the small
table to stroke her hair out of her face with fingers so gentle they barely
whispered across her skin. With a touch, a look, he caressed her inside and
out.

Together they cleaned up the kitchen while drinking cups of
rich, strong coffee and exchanging kisses that ranged from teasing to intense.
She’d never known there were so many varieties before, but that day he offered
them to her. He taught her about light kisses that scarcely warmed her lips,
about deep, soul-stirring ones that knotted her up inside and made her lift on
her tiptoes to hold on to his mouth.

She couldn’t get enough of him, and he knew it from the
sparkling glint in his eyes as he held her at arm’s length all afternoon. As
affectionate as he was, he didn’t take things further than kisses and
occasional touches as they sat on the couch and scrolled through his list of
TiVoed
games. Luckily one of them included Duke’s latest
matchup, and since she wasn’t a fan, she expended a lot of her excess energy
screaming at the TV. He just laughed at her, the lines of tension she’d seen
fanning out from his eyes the day before seeming to disappear before her eyes.

Maybe she could be as good for him as he was for her.

“So I’m curious,” he said once they’d turned off the TV and
curled up on the sofa. “How’d you end up bartending? You went to school for
journalism, didn’t you?”

She sighed and fingered the thin gold chain under the collar
of his sweatshirt. “Yeah, and I worked in the field for a while, covering city
council meetings and the usual political scandals. I thought I wanted to work
on the crime beat, but detailing all the horrible things people do to each
other on a daily basis wasn’t for me. Guess I wasn’t cut out to be a
hard-hitting journalist.” She shrugged. “So basically my degree gathers dust
while I figure out new and inventive ways to get my customers drunk. It’s a
good life.”

He chuckled and curled her hair around his finger. “You’re
as much of a counselor to them as I am to my kids. You just counsel them about
their love lives versus whether they should take AP English or Shakespeare
201.”

“Maybe someday I’ll think about writing again. I do miss it
sometimes. Some of the stories I covered on the crime beat…” She shuddered.
“There’s gotta be a book in there, either fiction or nonfiction.”

“You could write a book to help people. The bartending
psychologist.”

She chuckled. “Right. I’m so in the place to counsel other
people, considering my life. I couldn’t even make a clean break from my ex
until his behavior smacked me in the face.”

“So you write down for others what you’re learning
yourself.” He tugged lightly on her hair. “You’d be surprised how helping
someone else can help you.”

She cocked her head. Justin definitely had his demons, and
she wanted to be there for him. Together they could try to heal each other.
With sex, laughter, and friendship…and maybe even love, if she could relax long
enough to let it happen.

Not that she’d convinced herself it was a good idea,
considering their pasts and the shitty timing. She was just so tired of
fighting with everything—including herself. Perhaps she was overanalyzing.

That made her grin as she snuggled into his side.
Perhaps?
Yeah, right.

They fell asleep in a tangle on the couch midafternoon.
Neither of them had mentioned scrounging up a Thanksgiving feast, and since it
was still snowing out, the idea of trying to dig the Jeep from its
snowbank
held little appeal. But sleeping in the middle of
the day encircling each other like kittens? Pure freaking heaven. Even the lingering
soreness in her bruised body couldn’t compete with the sheer comfort he
provided.

If she hadn’t gotten hungry again, the perfection of the day
wouldn’t have been tainted. Leave it to her ravenous appetites to screw shit
up.

“There she is,” he murmured sleepily, stretching his hand
over her belly. “That monster I’m so driven to feed.”

She giggled and stretched, hating to have to disturb the
comforting warmth they’d created. “Why do you think I do so much Pilates?”

“I think it’s cute. Much preferred to those chicks who only
poke at lettuce leaves and claim they can’t eat another bite.” Speaking of
biting, he was currently nibbling on her shoulder. Not that her eager pussy
knew the difference. She’d gone as hot and damp as if that ball stud in his
tongue was zeroing in on her clit. “What should our Thanksgiving feast consist
of?”

“Pizza?”

“If only any place delivered on Thanksgiving.”

“We could make one. You have most of the stuff. I poked
around earlier.” She wrinkled her nose. “Though seriously, stock pepperoni for
me. What am I supposed to nosh on when I get late-night cravings?” She heard
herself belatedly and bit her lip. “I mean—”

“If stocking pepperoni will get you to come over late at
night, consider me your processed-meat pusher.” He kissed the tip of her nose,
his eyes twinkling. “Pizza for Thanksgiving, huh?”