ABBY
WATCHING HANK WALK away today did something to me I can’t get past. Like there was more riding on that moment than I wanted to accept and now I’ve missed my chance.
I press my hand into my stomach, hating the hollowed-out feeling when I think about the way he looked at me before he left… Disappointed. Hurt. Resigned.
Hank has looked at me like that once before and, because of the choices I made, it was more than ten years before I saw him again. I can’t lose him like that. It’s what I’ve been hoping to avoid all this time.
Why can’t we just be friends?
But I know the answer. Because friends don’t feel this way about each other.
They don’t have this kind of sway over each other.
I feel lost.
The emptiness of my apartment is oppressive. The recipe for one pinned to my fridge mocks me. It’s too early for Hank, but I keep expecting him to call. Show up in my apartment. Text. Pop up in hologram form in my bedroom. I tell myself I’m relieved he hasn’t, but just like Hank said, I’m a liar.
Only I don’t want to be.
It’s time to stop lying to myself about what’s going on with this man. About what I think I can keep and what I ought to avoid.
I need someone to talk to, and for this, it can’t be Hank.
I cross the hall and knock on Helen’s door, then jump a little when it flies open and a slightly flushed Helen ushers me quickly inside.
Her sprayed platinum blonde hair is pushed back with a terrycloth headband and she’s wearing a white long-sleeve leotard with faded red lightning-bolt stripes across her heaving bosom, a pair of snug red shorts and matching leg warmers.
“You’re working out. I can come back.”
“Don’t be silly.” She waves me deeper into her apartment. “I’ll finish while you’re here. Just my Kegels left.”
I pull up short, choking on the air I just gulped. Helen hustles back to her couch and uses the remote to pause her show. NCIS, Helen’s favorite and one I’ve watched with her enough to know that it’s Gibbs’s face filling the screen. She sighs wistfully before turning her attention back to me.
Patting the floral cushion beside her, she clucks.
“Dear, what’s got that troubled look on your face? Not your Hank, I hope. I like him so much better than those other boys you’ve dated.” She looks back to the television and withdraws a crumpled tissue from her sleeve, dabs her brow and returns it.
Oh God. She’s working up a sweat.
I shift uncomfortably, glancing at the door and wondering what excuse it would take to get a pass out of it.
Helen settles back into her cushions. “There. Finished my set.”
I nod, lips pinched together.
Helen looks like she’s about to give me another lecture about the benefits of strengthening my pelvic floor, so telling her about Hank is definitely the lesser evil.
“He hasn’t done anything wrong. Promise.”
She nods. “And that’s the problem? It would be easier if he did. So you’d have a reason to walk away?”
Maybe.
“He kissed me this afternoon.”
Her neat, penciled brows push high, crinkling her powdered forehead. “Tell me it was against the blackboard,” she demands breathlessly. “Was he all hot and bossy?”
“I think we… umm… might have ended up against the file cabinet. And it was— Helen, it was amazing. I didn’t want it to stop.”
She looks as confused as I feel. “So why did you?”
I shake my head, and she gasps, rhinestone-tipped nails covering the tight circle of her mouth.
“He stopped the kiss?”
Then she’s gathering me into her ample chest, patting my back a little less gently than I think she means to.
“He asked me to dinner again, and—I just couldn’t say yes. If he’d tried to get me into his car or even back to my apartment, I would have been the one tugging him down the hall to get there fast enough. But he wasn’t looking for sex. Or at least, it wasn’t all he wanted.”
“Abby, isn’t it time to admit that’s not all you want either?”
It’s not a question of what I want.
“You do realize you’ve been dating Hank Wagner for weeks, don’t you?”
This time it’s my brows shooting high. Helen gives me a disappointed look.
“What happened last week when we were in the middle of Magic Mike? Only seventeen minutes left. Channing was doing that sort of fluid thing with his hips and…?”
I know where she’s going with this. “I turned the movie off.”
“Because it was 8:55p.m. and you were expecting a phone call. Abigail, you were practically breathless, your cheeks pink, eyes bright.”
“But Helen,” I start, only she’s already shaking her head at me.
“And the other night, when I passed you flying down the hall so fast you nearly lost the entire bag of groceries. What were you rushing for?”
“I wanted to get home before he called.”
“He calls you on that fancy phone he gave you. You could have talked to him in the grocery store or on the ride home. But you didn’t want to, did you?”
“No,” I answer, my voice small.
“Why not?”
“Because I like to talk to him when we’re alone.” When I’m in my bed, stretched out and relaxed so I can concentrate on his voice in my ear.
“Because you have a standing date for that man to tuck you in every night.”
“No.” Then because I can’t stand the way she’s looking at me, like she’s disappointed… “Maybe. But Helen, that’s the whole problem. I’ve already let myself get in too deep with him.”
What am I going to do when he leaves again? How am I going to live with losing him?
She tsks. “Why in the world would you say that?”
“Hank’s life is… complicated. He’s always two steps ahead of the rest of the world. Always moving on to the next big thing before the rest of us have even caught up to the last. He’s always leaving. If it isn’t for some two-day trip, it’s for two months or two years so he can see development through on whatever new product he’s going all in on. And I spent too many years being the girl left waiting.” I swore to myself that I’d never do it again. “I can’t do it with him.”
“I know growing up the way you did was hard.” Helen’s eyes are sympathetic. “No one walks away from a life like that without scars. But you can’t let what happened to you as a girl keep you from having the life you deserve as a woman. You say you don’t want to wait, but Abigail, from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’ve been waiting since you told that boy goodbye.”
My mouth opens to argue, but she’s already going on. “I know. You haven’t been waiting for Hank Wagner to come back. But I think you’ve been waiting for someone who could make you feel anything close to what he did. And ten years later, here you are, still waiting… when you don’t have to. He’s back. And from the sounds of it, he’s been waiting too.”
There are tears in my eyes. I know she’s right. I’m just so scared to let go of that last flimsy defense I’ve been clinging to. I’m afraid of letting myself believe in what Hank and I could have, when the rational, experienced part of me knows better. When I remember what it was like waiting for her, holding out hope she would come through on her promise, letting myself believe… and then the hurt so big that, all these years later, it still has the power to swallow me whole.
How can I put myself in that position again?
Helen picks up her remote and, arm fully extended, aims it at Agent Gibbs and hits play. “It’s time to stop waiting, dear.”
Either that… or it’s time to let Hank go once and for all.
HANK
“I GOT YOU an early Christmas present. The least you can do is show a little gratitude.”
Jack’s kicked back on my office couch again, feet up on my coffee table, his arrogant grin going full tilt. He’s been here for an hour, flipping through magazines, throwing out just enough chitchat to keep me from getting any real work done… And it’s rubbing me the wrong fucking way.
“I don’t know what you’ve got planned, but I’m not in the mood.” For his games, his yet-to-be-revealed present. Damn it, I’m not even in the mood for my lab. What I want is to rewind the last six hours. I want Abby in my arms again. I want that breathless, hot kiss and her body melting into mine. I want to ask her to dinner, and I want her to fucking say yes.
“You’re in the mood for what I’ve got coming. It’ll turn that pissy frown upside down. Guaranteed.”
“Jack, I told you. I’ve got hours of work ahead to make up for the time I’ve been at the school. You should go home. Catch a game. Call Greg. Hell, find a girl. Something.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry. I’ll get out of your hair. Once my present gets here.”
As if on cue, Jack’s phone rings. He’s off the couch, speaking in cagey one-word answers to whomever is on the other end. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he juts his chin at me.
“Call down to security and tell them to send the woman at the desk up. I’ll meet her at the elevators.”
The woman?
Shit.
“Please, man, tell me you didn’t pick out another swimsuit model to cheer me up. I don’t have it in me to be polite.”
“Stop being such a pussy and make the call already.”
Grumbling, I make the call, and Jack tosses the US Weekly he was reading on my desk before heading out to the elevators.
I’m tempted to lock the door and black the windows, but this is Jack. He’s a guy as accustomed to getting his way as I am, and something tells me if I tried to shut him out, he’d just find his way in through an air duct.
Less than five minutes later, there’s a soft knock at my door. Definitely not Jack. I close down my file and take a slow, patient breath.
“It’s open. Look, I don’t know what Jack—”
I stall out, my mouth hanging open as I stumble back from my desk.
“Abby?” I ask, not totally believing what I’m seeing in front of me.
She’s dressed in a thin blue sweater with an open neck so wide it barely clings to her shoulders, narrow-cut dark jeans that end on a pair of black flats. Her hair is pinned back on one side and spilling around her shoulder on the other. There’s a simple pair of gold hoops in her ears and two oversized insulated totes hanging from her hands at either side.
She looks like she’s dressed for a—
“I hope you don’t mind.” She licks her lips, looks nervously around my office, and then finally manages the words I’ve been waiting weeks to hear. “I thought maybe we could have some dinner. Like a date, if you don’t mind.”
I’m rounding my desk in a flash, catching her by the waist and hauling her into this space I’ve only fantasized about her occupying. Her back meets the door behind her, and the bags she’s carrying drop to the floor as I cover her mouth with mine.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” I can’t believe that this time she came to me.
I kiss her again, harder, somehow finding the mental power to remember the lock and the windows.
“You brought us dinner,” I groan against her neck, dropping kisses beneath her ear and along her jaw. Getting drunk on the smell of her skin and hair.
Her fingers slide up the front of my shirt, her palms pressing flat against my chest… but not to push me away. “I’m sorry, Hank. I was scared.”
I kiss her again, harder. “You’re here.”
It’s the only thing that matters.
Jesus, she’s shaking as she kisses me, pulls at my shirt, and plows her fingers through my hair.
I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to stop touching her for even a second.
And then I’m lifting her off the ground and carrying her toward the couch, sitting down and pulling her into my lap. Kissing her everywhere. The corner of her mouth. The tender skin beneath her eyes. That single freckle on her neck. Lower.
“I thought you wanted me on your desk,” she laughs out as I slide her thin sweater up over her ribs, above her bra, and then over her head.
“That was Thursday. Tonight I want—”
I cut off when her nimble fingers start in on my belt and then fly.
I know what I want. It’s Abby in my bed, in my home. I want her in every space I’ve been forced to occupy without her for ten damn years. I want to keep her.
She reaches behind her back to unhook her bra and I lean in to mouth the creamy swells of her breasts, licking and tasting as I pull the sheer cups away to get to her perfect pink nipples.
We groan together when I suck and bite, using the flat of my tongue against each hard nub.
“Too many clothes,” she says, her hips rocking into mine.
I wrap my arm around her tightly, holding her against me as I lay her back on the sofa and hold myself above her. “Too many clothes.”
Fortunately for us both, problem-solving is my thing, and I’ve got my shirt and her jeans off in the next few seconds. She’s wearing a pair of sheer panties that match her bra. They let me see everything.
Everything.
I pet her gently there, groaning as her hips lift to meet my touch and her teeth sink into her bottom lip. Edging back, I drop a kiss at that spot where she’ll feel it the most, run my tongue against the fabric and draw a deep breath through my nose.
I’m about to blow from the scent of her alone.
Jesus, she’s really here.
Her fingers tangle in my hair, tugging just enough to tell me she wants my attention. “Hank… please.”
I whip off her panties and tuck them into my back pocket before I shuck my own pants and underwear. I want her so bad, it’s a miracle I remember the rubber. And then I’m poised above her, my cock notched against her opening.
Our eyes meet and hold, and I rock forward, slowly filling her body with mine.
Abby’s breath is coming in soft little pants, her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are heavy. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, the only one I’ve ever wanted, and finally, finally I have her back.
She brings a hand up to cup the side of my cheek while the other moves to the center of my chest, and it’s like she’s completed a circuit because suddenly there’s nothing but her and me and this feeling rushing through us that’s too big to be mine alone.
I swear I can see it in her eyes. I can hear it in the way she’s whispering my name.
I remember it from the very first time we were together like this.
Her lips part wider, a small breath escaping as I bottom out within her, rock gently into the resistance and feel the snug pull of her body around me.
Fuuck.
On my backstroke, I drag my cock out nearly to the head and groan as Abby’s eyes move to where we’re connected. So she can watch as I slide back home. Sink deep. Touch that spot that makes her eyes go unfocused and her breath short. And do it again and again.
She’s clenching around me.
“Yes.”
Her fingers are in my hair, urging me on.
For more.
Harder.
Deeper.
“Like that,” she says, her eyes pleading, her body slick with our sweat.
Catching her knee, I bring it higher up my hip, slip my arm beneath it so I’m holding her open to my driving thrusts.
Christ, the little noises she makes.
She’s so close, so close, so close…
I bow my head close to her ear. “Come for me.”
She cries out, clamping down around me as I pump into her over and over. She’s milking me in rhythmic waves—“Abby!”—taking me with her over that edge into oblivion.
TEN MINUTES LATER, she’s tucked into the corner of the couch wearing those insanely hot, barely-there panties and my shirt with the sleeves rolled and only two buttons doing a half-assed job of covering her up. I love it. If we could hang out in our underwear for the rest of time, I’d be seriously good with that. Nate can run the company.
I grab the bags from over by the door and bring them back to the couch, setting them on the low coffee table in front of us. One of the bags is an insulated tote and the other is a handle bag from a high-end French place I spend enough time at to know what I’m going to order before I get there. I’ve been wined and dined there, and I’ve taken dates there, and for whatever reason, I wish this second first date with Abby was ours and ours alone.
Then I shake my head, because all that matters is she’s here with me. Nothing else.
She bites her lip, looking a little shy. Which is fucking adorable after what we just did.
“I didn’t ask if you had plans or already ate… it’s okay if you—”
“No. No plans except to call you. And I’m starving.” I raise a brow. “You set this up with Jack?”
“I asked him to let me know if you went home or something. But I’m guessing he just stuck around to make sure you didn’t.”
“He’s a good friend.” One who is going to get some box seats for the Slayers game next weekend.
I pull her closer, then give in and just pull her onto my lap so I can hold her against me. Feel her skin against mine and hold her tight. We stay like that for a few minutes. Quiet. Just being together. And it’s amazing, but eventually I have to know… “What changed your mind?”
She shakes her head, searching my eyes. “I didn’t want to wait anymore.”
She looks so vulnerable when she says it. Like she’s begging me not to make her sorry. Not to hurt her.
Never. Not in a million years.
“Hank, I should have said yes to you this afternoon. I should have said it before that.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I promise. “You’re here now.”
“And I brought you food.” She kisses the base of my neck. “So it’s a real date.”
I kiss her again, sliding my fingers into that fall of dark silk, letting the strands spill through as I slide my tongue into her mouth. Once, twice. I stop myself before the third time, knowing if I hear her moan around me one more time, the caveman is going to take over and I’ll have her flipped on her back, panties ripped off and my face between her thighs in no time.
Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but right now I need her to know we’re on the same page. I need her to know how much what she’s offering matters to me.
I run my hands down her back, bring them to her face and cup her cheeks as gently as I can. I press one last kiss to her lips and it kills me when she whimpers as I pull away. Her fingers trailing down my chest as I shift her off my lap.
How long has it been since I felt like this? Since I felt like I’d won something that really mattered?
Abby twists her fingers together, looking nervous.
“Do you remember where we went that very first time?”
“Like I’d forget. Benny’s.” I didn’t want my parents to drive us, so I met her at her house and we walked down to the sandwich place on Main. “We picnicked in the park on some of the finest Italian beef in the greater Chicagoland area.”
Abby smiles down at her lap. “It was the best first date I’ve ever had.”
I nod. “Me too. And not just because Benny’s was my favorite.”
“Was?”
“Been a while since I was there.”
She’s looking at me from beneath her lashes. “Every time I went there, for years, I’d have to hold my breath a little before I walked through the door, sure when I got inside I’d see you sitting at the booth in the corner.”
I shake my head. “I haven’t been back.”
She didn’t want to see me, and so I didn’t come home. I didn’t haunt the places I knew I’d find her.
But now I wonder what would have happened if I had.
Abby clears her throat quietly and starts to fiddle with the bags holding the meal that will make our date official.
“I know this isn’t any picnic in Peace Park, but hopefully it will be almost as good.” She pauses and shoots me another nervous look I don’t quite understand. “I’m a little embarrassed now. I don’t know, I was feeling sentimental and— It’s silly. Just know that I know that.”
“Abby, you could have brought me your half-eaten sandwich from lunch yesterday and so long as it meant I got to be with you, it would be the best meal I’ve had in years.”
The smile she gives me is soft and sweet and just a little vulnerable despite my assurances.
She digs into the handle bag and withdraws a two-liter of Orange Crush.
Two tall glasses follow, plates, cloth napkins, and silverware I recognize from her apartment. A picnic.
I fucking love it.
I start putting the place settings out, and Abby unzips the insulated tote. The rich aroma of garlic, peppers, onions, and spiced beef hits me square in the stomach.
I grip the edge of the couch. “This is not French food.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up. “No. I had one of their bags at home from a dinner with my mom last year and— I didn’t mean to get your hopes up.”
My stomach rumbles. “Jesus, Abby, you don’t even know how high my hopes are right now. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
And now she’s laughing as she pulls one wrapped sandwich after another from the tote until there are six laid out in all.
I’m going to marry this girl.
“I thought it might have been a while for you, and I didn’t want you to have to make the cruel choice between the meatball, Italian beef, or parm. So I got them all and figured you can eat what you like of them now and—”
“Have leftovers too,” I manage in a gruff, deeply emotional voice. Because Benny’s leftovers are out of this damned world and I haven’t had them in over ten years.
And Abby brought them for me.
“I’m dangerously close to professing my love for you right here, right now.”
She laughs, sliding a neatly trimmed nail in deep maroon beneath the tape and unwraps the wax paper for my first sandwich. “Don’t worry. I know it would be the leftovers talking.”
Maybe. Maybe not.