Don't Need You - Lilian Monroe Page 0,25

know hardship like he did. Walking uphill to school both ways.”

“Something like that.” Robbie grins, jerking his head toward the door.

We head downstairs, and my eyes are immediately drawn to Kit. He’s got a kid sitting on his lap and one of my sisters beside him, with an uncle on the other side practically yelling into his other ear. He looks completely overwhelmed—and if I’m honest, it’s kind of cute. They like him.

My family has absorbed him, like they do any strays who stumble in for a meal. Our eyes meet, and he gives me a gentle smile. My heart warms, his delicious heat thawing my fear. I feel something coursing through me stronger than it has in a long, long time.

It takes me a second to understand the feeling, but once I do, it sings clear and bright in my veins.

Hope.

The rest of the weekend is busy. Between the multitude of family dinners, I spend my days at my apartment packing everything up. Robbie and Kit help me move boxes and furniture to my storage locker and pretty soon, my apartment is nearly empty. I hadn’t planned on leaving for over six more weeks, but it feels good to be going now.

In the evenings, Robbie, Kit, and I usually have a drink as we sit around Robbie’s kitchen table. Those last three days in Connecticut feel like a final goodbye, even though I know I’ll be back. It’s my first time leaving for more than a vacation, and it feels significant.

On Sunday evening, the day before our flight across the country, I swirl my glass of wine and steal a glance at Kit.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me staying with you?”

“She’ll probably be burning incense and sticking crystals under your bed.” Robbie grins. “Fair warning.”

I kick my brother under the table. He yelps, laughing, and Kit chuckles.

“I’m never there, anyway. It’ll be fine. One of the other pilots at Woodvale Skydive has a sister who teaches at the elementary school. I can introduce you.”

I smile, nodding. “That would be nice. Meeting a future coworker will make it easier on my first day.”

My heart feels easy. I haven’t thought about Angelo all day, and I know I’ll barely sleep tonight from sheer excitement. In the morning, I’ll be gone. I won’t have to look over my shoulder or worry about what people are saying behind my back. I won’t have to endure comments from my family about marriage, or kids, or what a great fucking guy Angelo Berretti is.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll be free.

When we finish our wine and get ready for bed, I catch myself staring at the couch. Is it wrong that I want to invite Kit into the spare bedroom with me?

I mean, yes. Obviously. Wrong on many levels.

But I don’t have totally impure intentions. Part of me feels bad that he’s had a sore back all weekend because I took the bed. Part of me wants to feel his arms around me and nuzzle into the safety of his embrace.

Does part of me want to feel his skin under my palms and explore the solid hardness of his body? Do I want to drag his underwear off with my teeth and see what kind of cock he’s been hiding?

Yes, and not a small part. Heat has buzzed inside me all weekend, sending happy thrills to every corner of my body.

Kit’s got the raw strength that makes my lady brain quiver, but a gentleness—and gentlemanliness—I’ve never experienced before. He doesn’t look at me like he wants to own me. He looks at me like he wants to know me.

Yesterday, when we sat around the kitchen table having our evening drink, he asked me about teaching. He asked what my favorite grade to teach was and what subjects I preferred. He listened and nodded and asked follow-up questions.

I repeat: follow-up questions. About my job. My interests.

He cared.

I can tell you the exact number of times Angelo asked me about teaching in the ten years we were together. Zero. Not once. Never in our entire relationship did he take an interest in my career, my likes, my dislikes. When I think about it now, I wonder if he just simply didn’t even realize that I might actually have an opinion. He never thought highly enough of me to even consider the fact that I might have something to say.

When Kit asked me those questions, I got flustered. I felt embarrassed and I almost squirmed under his gaze.

But it was