Untimely You (10 page)

“Yeah, yeah,” he says with a groan. “What’s with the website mention?”

My humor dies and I sit up. “Just something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

“Like a hobby?”

“For now.”

“Damien could probably build you a website if you want. The kid is a fucking genius when it comes to computers.” The pride in his voice while talking about his son warms me.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

His voice is fierce. “No,
thank you
.”

The line goes silent again and things feel weird.

“I need to hop in the shower,” I lie in attempt to ward off the awkwardness. Everything about Adrian has been bizarre and strange. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” I assure him but then laugh to lighten the mood. “You know…when you check in a million times.”

He chuckles. “You don’t hold anything back, do you Neesy?”

“Nope.”

“Well okay then. In that case, goodnight, Crazy.”

“Night, Wacko.”

“C
ongratulations on closing the Kensington acquisition,” Eric says with a big-ass grin. This multimillion dollar deal put this company in the position it needed to be in order to ensure future exponential growth.

“Now maybe we can take a fucking break for a while.” Christmas is closing in on us, and I’m eager for Damien to come home for break. It’ll be nice spending more time with Chrissy too.

“I’m having some friends over tonight for drinks to celebrate finalizing that deal. I know you don’t like doing stuff like this, but I thought you might want to come since Neesy will be there.”

I stop striding along the parking lot at breakneck speed toward my car and turn to look at him. “Why will she be there?”

It’s been a couple of months since I agreed to her terms. She takes her job seriously and entertains Chrissy while I’m at work. I’ve made good on my promise to her and have only corresponded with her via phone calls to check on my wife. Once the awkward moment of my infidelity was out of the way, things went back to normal. I actually look forward to my daily chats with her where she starts off telling me about Chrissy and ends up rambling about nonsense. Neesy is easily distracted, and I find myself not hearing what she’s saying but how she’s saying it.

Her throaty laughs.

Her yelps when she runs into shit.

Her incessant babbling that seems to turn my day around no matter how it started.

The way she teases me.

“Adrian,” Eric says in a low, gruff tone. “She’s my friend. We’ve gone to the movies a couple of times and have hung out on occasion. And—”

“Wait. What?” I’ve gone from smiling to scowling. “You hang out with her?”

He shakes his head. “Not going to do this with you, man. Whatever’s going on inside that head of yours needs to stop.”

For some odd reason, I’m pissed. Of all the times I’ve spoken to her and seen Eric every fucking day, neither has mentioned this. “What the fuck, Eric? Why were you two hiding this shit from me?”

“Because. This is why.”

I frown. “Are you…have you…”

He raises a brow at me. “Have I what?”

“Did you fuck her?”

He rolls his eyes and stalks away from me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. My house at seven. Be there or don’t. But if you do come, check the attitude at the door. You may employ her and may have almost slept with her, but you don’t own her, Adrian. She’s funny and cute. I like her and want her to come.”

He tosses his briefcase into his car and climbs in without another glance my direction.

She’s funny and cute.

My blood boils and it has no right to. Eric is a divorced man and has every right to date someone like Neesy. So why in the hell do I hate the idea?

Deep down I know why, but I can’t voice it or even think about it. Twelve years ago, I made the decision to get behind the wheel on a snowy night with my family in tow. Twelve years ago, I made a decision to not honor my wife’s written wishes not to be kept artificially alive and instead kept her for my own selfish reasons. For twelve years, I’ve had to lie in this bed I’ve made.

And I’m going to have to accept that.

I’m sipping on a gin and tonic on a barstool at Eric’s house eyeing the front door. A few people to Eric means a shitload of people. They’re all chitchatting. Having a grand fucking time. I, being on the antisocial side, prefer to sit alone. However, tonight my reasons for sitting alone are different. I want to see her when she arrives, which is exactly why I’ve chosen this spot. A direct view to the door.

Every time the door opens, revealing another friend of his, I get more and more wound up. I’m practically on edge an hour later when she still hasn’t arrived. A chick named Lynnette keeps bringing me refilled drinks and attempts to flirt, but I ignore her each time and barely get out a grunted thanks.

The door opens again, and I hold my breath. Everything seems to slow around me as I focus on her. Tonight, she’s wearing a chocolate-colored sweater dress that fits her curvy frame and cream leggings. Brown boots hit her knees, and her dark hair hangs down in messy waves over her shoulders. She’s taken time with her makeup, and it reminds me of the first time she showed up at my house. My cock twitches with the reminder of how beautiful she was that day.

I lift my glass and drain it simply to give myself something to do other than obsessively watch her. Her hazel eyes search the growing crowd of people and she chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip. It’s doing crazy things to my head. I almost jump up and storm from the room to collect myself when her eyes land on mine.

Her mouth draws up into a shy smile and her cheeks turn rosy. My head, which I thought I had control over for the past two months, suddenly scrambles until I can’t think straight. With each thump of my heart, I wonder what the fuck is wrong with me. What is it about this woman that drives me insane? She bounces toward me, her eyes flickering with excitement. As she nears, my chest tightens with anxiety.

I haven’t seen her since that day in Eric’s office despite her coming to see Chrissy each day. Her evidence is all over my house, and that only adds to the madness in my head. Her floral scent lingers in the air. I find abandoned sweaters and books littered all over the house. She even digs around for shit, which should drive me crazy, but it doesn’t. I’ll find different family pictures relocated to Chrissy’s bedside and it makes me smile each time I see one.

Jesus.

I can’t get her out of my head.

“You look like shit.” Her pointed tone shocks me out of my inner nosedive down a dark rabbit hole.

“You look crazy.”

She beams at me, and it only serves to jumpstart my heart into overdrive. “I
am
crazy. Didn’t we already establish that?”

“Neesy,” Eric’s voice booms from behind her. “I’ve been waiting for you to get here.”

His arm snakes around her waist and he hugs her to him. She flicks her gaze over to mine to gauge my reaction. I won’t let it show but I crave to pluck his fingers from her.

“I got held up on a phone call with an author.”

He doesn’t release her and my hackles rise. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose just to piss me off.

“No big deal, babe. Want a drink?” He flashes her a crooked smile and squeezes her to him. My best friend is getting pretty toasted which means he’ll be all over her soon. I know that look. You’re not friends with someone for over twenty years and not know when they’re about to hit on a chick. And tonight, he’s hoping to hit that chick.

“Sure. Thanks.”

He eyes me, flicking a warning glance my way, and I nod as if I’m okay with his nonverbal claiming. I’m not okay. In fact, I don’t want anyone to claim her.

Except me.

And that can’t fucking happen.

She sidles onto the barstool beside me and shoots me an apologetic glance. I’m not sure why she’s apologizing, but it only makes me want to protect her more. I inhale her sweet scent before speaking.

“You never took me up on my offer to have Damien do your website. Did you get it all sorted?”

She nods. “I did. For now, I just used one of those canned sites online for ten bucks. Once I go live, I’ll figure something better out.”

“Is the author going to sign with you?”

She picks at her nail and shrugs. “I told her about what Noble House was all about. Told her we were starting small at first but would grow. We chatted about my business plan. She’s an indie author but she’s been selling well lately. I’d love to snatch her up and help her really expand her readership. There’s only so much I can do until the bank gives me a loan. Authors aren’t going to want to sign with me if I can only offer things that they can do themselves. I need to be able to get them into bookstores—to have the means to market them properly. I’ve been speaking to a representative at both Target and Barnes and Noble. Both people are great and have sort of detailed out what it is they expect from a publisher. I have a long way to go but I’m determined. Sorry, I’m rambling again.”

I
hear
her. Not just the way her voice rises as she speaks with passion or as it speeds up with every word. I listen to
what
she’s saying.

“You’re passionate about this. I had no idea you were so serious and involved in the process of building this up.”

Being a business owner myself, I’m impressed with her enthusiasm. She’s definitely been doing her homework and has been putting in the time.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted. Now, it seems within reach.”

I’m about to launch into more questions when Eric arrives with a glass in hand. “Made you something special,” he says with a wink.

She takes it and sips it. “Wow, it tastes like shit. What’d you do? Pour gasoline in here?”

His laughter booms as he walks away. “Just drink. Have fun. Keep my friend company until I come back.”

She turns to look at me with a snarled lip. “This is the most disgusting thing on the planet.”

I chuckle. “Want something else?”

“Nah, I think this is exactly what I need to relax. I’m a little wound up.”

“From the phone call with that author?”

She glances at me before chugging the abomination. “Sure.”

The night progresses and I realize I enjoy her presence. Truly enjoy it. As she gets a few drinks into her, she becomes fucking hilarious. Eric, ever the good host, finds time to pop over and talk to us every so often. I try not to bristle when he hugs her or his hand brushes against hers. The guy is my best friend, not my enemy, and I need to remember that.

Someone turns up the music and continuing our conversation becomes impossible, which pisses me off. She frowns, seemingly disappointed as well. With a crook of her finger, she urges me toward her. Leaning in, I attempt to keep my cock in check when her mouth finds my ear.

“Want to dance?”

Dancing seems like the worst possible idea. Touching her. Breathing her in. I’m not sure I can do that without losing control again. I’d only want more. More of what I can’t have.

I turn and slide my hands into her hair to hold her still. My mouth brushes against her hair near her ear. “I can’t dance with you.”

Her hand clutches my thigh through my slacks, and everything darkens from the pleasure of the sensation. This is exactly why I can’t dance with her.