The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue #2) - Jessica Hawkins Page 0,131

you last week. She randomly showed up at Bell’s gymnastics practice.”

My heart drops. The day Bell had gymnastics was the same day I left Andrew at the flea market. I’d thought he was calling to talk about how abruptly I’d run off, and I’d had no excuse, so I hadn’t answered. But it was to tell me about Shana. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” he says. “I am too.” He checks his watch. “We’ll talk more at the house. I really need to get home to Bell.”

“The house . . .?”

“I’m not leaving you alone tonight.”

“Oh.” I pull back a little. “You don’t have to do that. Reggie won’t be back. I’ve wounded his pride in more ways than one, and from now on, I have a feeling his lawyers will be the ones trying to corner me.”

“You’re coming to my place,” Andrew says, ignoring me. “Tomorrow, I can bring you back here, or . . .” He tucks some of my hair behind my ear and smiles a little—I’m sure he’s thinking about messing up my hair to boost his ego. “Or you can stay.”

I blink up at him. “What about Bell?”

“Her birthday party’s tomorrow, and the house will be crazy, chaos really—there’ll be kids and horny moms and toys everywhere, but . . .”

“But?” I ask, not hiding the hopefulness in my tone.

“I’d like you there in the middle of it.”

I have to keep from screaming “Yes!” My life has changed drastically in the last hour, and what Andrew’s offering feels . . . safe. Stable. But it isn’t my home. “I can’t just show up and stay the night,” I say. “It’ll confuse Bell.”

“I have a guest room. She should be in bed by now, but she won’t be, and she loves company—especially women. If she has questions, we’ll answer them.” He nods toward my bedroom. “Go get some things. I mean it. I’m not leaving without you.”

I open my mouth to protest, but I don’t know what to say. The truth is, I want to go. I’d like to watch Bell turn seven, and maybe some wholesome chaos would even be good for me. It’ll distract me from the reality that I’ve just given up the one thing that has consumed my life for the last few years.

The only thing I gave any real value.

Avec might be gone.

For good.

THIRTY-TWO

As if I haven’t endured enough shock tonight, when I follow Andrew out of my apartment building, he leads me directly to a motorcycle.

“Um.” I make a face. “Andrew?”

He turns back to me. “Yeah, babe?”

“You didn’t mention this . . .”

“Oh. This is Pico’s. Believe me, mine’s a thousand fucking times better than this hunk of scrap metal. But I was in a hurry to get to you. No time for traffic.”

“That’s sweet,” I say. “But it’s a motorcycle.”

“And?”

I think of my poor, fine hair, which was not made for hats, a shame because I’ve been coveting one from the Marc Jacobs fall line. If I’m not willing to give up a good hairdo for Marc, I’m certainly not going to do it for this. I show him my duffel. “I’ve got my overnight bag, so maybe I should get a cab—”

“To Jersey?” He comes over and chucks me under the chin. “Aw. Don’t be nervous. I got this. You don’t have to do anything.”

He thinks I’m afraid. I play along. “What if I fall off?”

“I take that back. You do have to do one thing: hold on.”

He climbs on the massive thing, handling it like it isn’t hundreds of pounds of metal and leather. Once his helmet’s in place, he starts the bike, his biceps stretching his t-shirt as he grips the handles. With each rumble, the sidewalk trembles, vibrating up between my legs.

My stomach drops. He says something about my bag, but I’m not listening. I get a glimpse of the kind of teenager he must’ve been—reckless, sexy, brooding. I’ve never been much for bikers, what with their grizzly beards, greasy hands, and head-to-toe leather. But with Andrew’s bad boy showing, I’m swooning. I wonder if he’s ever had sex on the bike. If it’s even possible.

He holds out a helmet. “You coming?”

I bite my bottom lip. “Nearly.”

He arches a quizzical eyebrow at me. Is it possible he rides a bike because he loves it, and not because he knows how sexy it makes him? I take the helmet, all notions of wrecked hair vanishing, and cross the duffel over one shoulder. I stick it behind us, get