I laugh. “God forbid I suffer the wrath of Tanny.”
“Just so long as you know,” she says with a grin before she waves me out the door. “Now, you go on. Have a safe trip. And have fun.”
I don’t tell her how much fun I plan to have. I only smile as I pull the door shut behind me.
CHAPTER TEN - Kennedy
I shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to pack. I guess I was hoping for a sign that I’m doing the right thing. But I didn’t get one, so I’ve been left to muddle through the decision-making process the best that I can. In the end, I go with my gut. All my other gauges lie in direct contradiction to one another. My head says I’m strong and I can do this. My heart says I’m crazy to risk being around Reese again. Those two still haven’t reached an agreement, so that’s why I had to consult another faculty—my gut. And it says that I can do this, that I need to go for the dream. This could be my only chance to chase it with any hope of catching it.
But my gut can’t tell me what to pack. I mean, Reese has told me virtually nothing about this cruise. I throw a variety of clothes into my suitcase, along with my toiletries and a couple of swimsuits just in case. I stand staring at it for at least five minutes as I rack my brain for other things I might need. Giving up when I can think of nothing but the way it felt to have Reese touch my face again, I decide it might be prudent to just ask. But rather than calling, I take the coward’s way out and I text Reese instead.
Me: What do I need to pack? I don’t know where we’re going or what I’ll need, work-wise.
As I’m waiting for his response, Bozey, my calico-colored Maine Coon cat, weaves a warm figure eight around my legs as if to remind me not to forget about making arrangements for him. I reach down to scoop him up and he drapes bonelessly over my arm.
“I could never forget about you, Bozey.” I nuzzle his nose with mine. He twitches his ears, letting me know that I’m pushing the personal space boundaries, but otherwise he tolerates it pretty well. He’s a very good cat and I already feel guilty about leaving him. “Clive will take good care of you,” I tell him, referring to my elderly neighbor who loves Bozey almost as much as I do. Bozey loves him, too.
I give Bozey an extra nuzzle for good measure just as the bleep of my phone alerts me to an incoming text. It’s Reese. His response is not terribly surprising.
For a man.
A ladies’ man.
Reese: As far as I’m concerned you don’t have to pack any clothes. Consider clothing optional any time you’re in my company.
I can easily picture his gorgeous grin and the devilish light in his aqua eyes, and some small part of me melts a little. Just a little.
I steel myself against it, against him. As I will continue to do for the next several weeks until I can put Reese behind me. Again. Maybe for good this time.
Me: Warm weather? Cold weather? Do I need to bring clothes to dance in? And will you have uniforms for the service staff?
I’m trying to keep it professional, whether that’s the way he wants it or not. Tough shit.
Reese: Warm weather. Bring what you want to wear. Your work clothing is taken care of.
In my head, my response is brusque, yet professional.
Me: That’s what I wanted to know. Thank you.
Even when his is not.
Reese: Of course. I’m happy to answer all your questions and take care of ALL your needs.
I debate for a moment whether I should respond, but then I do, unable to resist another opportunity to set him straight on where this is and is not going.
Me: You won’t be getting anywhere near my needs.
When I read his reply, I can almost hear the sexy dripping from his tone.
Reese: Then I suppose I’ll just have to bring your needs to me.
Ignoring the little chill that spreads down my arms, I decide the prudent thing, at this point, would be to quit while I’m ahead. Telling Reese is obviously not enough. I’ll have to trust that showing him will be.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Reese
As I walk to the door of unit seven in the small, brick townhouse complex, I notice the curtain flutter in the window of the adjacent unit. When I glance to my right, I see an older man’s face staring back at me from one corner of the glass. I nod politely. He nods in return. He watches me until I reach the stoop in front of Kennedy’s door, a step that effectively removes me from his line of sight.
Another man bewitched by Kennedy, I think with a wry smile. She’s probably got more than her fair share of admirers. And I can’t blame a single one of them.
I knock on the door and step back to lean against one of the thick white columns that holds up her porch. I hear some bumping and thumping before the door flies open to reveal an out-of-breath Kennedy.
“I thought you were sending a car or something?” she pants, blowing a few strands of silky hair out of one eye.
I turn to look back at my sleek black car parked in one of the two spots directly in front of her unit. “Last time I checked, that’s what I arrived in.”
“But I thought…I mean, it sounded like… Oh, never mind,” she stammers, waving a hand dismissively as she reaches just inside the door for an enormous suitcase. With a grunt, she hefts it over the threshold and lets it drop like a cement block onto the stoop. “I’m almost ready. Hang on.”
With that, she disappears inside again. The door is still open, so I can see her as she darts around her living room, straightening the pillows on the olive green couch and picking up a speck of something from the red rug beneath it. She stops and looks around, likely going over some kind of mental checklist. When she’s satisfied, she tosses whatever was in her hand into the trash can, bends to scratch her cat behind his ears and tells him he’s a good boy, and that she’ll miss him.
I can’t help but notice the way her jeans show off her long, slender legs and cup her round ass to perfection. I know what that ass looks like. The glimpse I got of it the night she danced is permanently etched onto my brain.
I feel a groan build somewhere deep in my gut.
When she comes toward the door, I don’t move. I stay leaning against the column as she locks the knob and the deadbolt, jiggles the handle and then backs up to wave at her neighbor, the guy I saw peeking through the curtains.
Finally she turns back to face me. “Ready?”
Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes are bright and there’s a breathless quality to her voice that’s making it very hard for me to keep my hands off her.
“Oh, I’m very ready,” I tell her as I straighten, reaching out to remove a strand of hair that has strayed into her lip gloss. “The question is: Are you?”