So I went up to the front door and rang the bell like a maniac. Jab-jab-jab, jab-jab-jab. I could hear it ringing obnoxiously through the house.
When that didn’t work, I went around the house, knocking on every window I could reach. Loudly.
Then a terrible thought occurred to me.
What if he wasn’t even home?
And where the hell would he be if he wasn’t here?
And what if he’d gone to Bliss to fuck some rich lady who liked to be tied up and spanked and shit?
I mean, he could’ve tied me up and spanked me if that was what he was into.
Maybe I needed to tell him that?
Maybe I would. Once I finished giving him shit.
He’d called me up out of nowhere to ask me to come to this book interview with him—and that was grand. But seriously, were we leaving it at that? Were we not going to deal with us at all?
He’d left me hanging for months.
And then he called me up to invite me to escort him to an interview? To be his emotional support?
I could do that. I would do that.
But what about me and my emotions, and the total mess they’d been in ever since he booted me out the door?
Not cool, Cary Clarke. Not cool.
But hey, he was socially challenged. I knew that.
And that was why I was here right now. To school him on how a man should treat a woman. Because you don’t tell a woman you love her and then the next day tell her to get lost. And then call her up months later to ask her for something, without even addressing the royal hike you’d told her to take, like it never happened.
Which was basically what he’d done to me.
I knocked on each window again, all the way back around the house. Then Freddy appeared, wandering up the driveway and sitting down on his butt to watch me.
“Hey, Freddy.” I strode past him on my way to the front door. “What’s up?”
Freddy didn’t answer, because he was a cat.
I rounded the garage and stopped just short of climbing the front steps again. The front door was wide open, the lights on inside the foyer.
Cary was standing there, staring at me.
It was surreal. It felt just like the first time we’d ever laid eyes on each other. Except he wasn’t a stranger anymore.
He was… Cary.
“What’s going on?” he said, looking me over. “Are you okay?” And I realized I’d scared him.
“I’m fine,” I said. Then I marched up the steps and stood in front of him. “I came to give you shit.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. And this is a long time coming, buddy, so I hope you’re ready for it because it’s gonna be bad. You’ve been very, very mean, and it’s not okay. And I have a thing or two to say about it, so…”
I trailed off. His warm, honey-colored eyes, like a melting sunset, were holding mine. And they looked so… warm. “So…?”
“So…” I drifted closer to him. “I… I came here to tell you, Cary Clarke…”
His gaze dropped to my lips. Oh, fuck.
“I… I’m gonna…”
I jumped on him. Like threw myself at him and latched on like a drunken koala, slamming my mouth to his. He caught me, a low, guttural groan in his throat as I plunged my tongue into his hot mouth. We made out like two starving alley cats fighting over a saucer of milk.
Then I wrenched myself away from him, panting.
“You… you promised me you’d talk to me when the album was done,” I accused, my voice shaking as my whole body quivered from that frantic mouth-to-mouth. “And it’s done, fucker.”
“Come inside.” He grabbed my wrist and tugged me through the door, but I resisted. A little.
When he kissed me again, I only kissed him back, but I didn’t moan or rub up on him. I shook with the effort of holding back as his hands slid up and down my back and his tongue swept against mine. He sucked on my bottom lip, left a trail of delicious kisses across my mouth, and a little moan slipped out.
“I’m mad at you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He pressed kisses all over my face, and I let him. “Why is your leg scratched like that?”
“Oh. Uh… I scaled your fence.”
He looked at me, searching for signs of damage. “Are you really okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m a commando.”
“What?”
“Also… like a half dozen of your friends are out in your neighbor’s bushes, drunk.” I felt obligated to tell him, in case