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Nolan takes advantage of my shock, pushing his tongue into my mouth and pulling my hair. Silently answering all my questions. He does want me. He has to want me.Right?
I’ve imagined the way this man’s lips would feel on mine hundreds of times over the years, and holy hell, my imagination never quite did him justice. No kiss has ever been this good.
He tastes like tequila and dark promises and lust. There’s so much longing in his kiss, so much anguish, so much desperation.
It’s not enough. I throw my arms around his neck, wanting him closer still.
Just when I’m ready to climb up his body like a horny spider monkey, Nolan abruptly pulls away, stepping back and taking his perfect lips with him.
I whimper.
“Fuck. Sorry,” he blurts out.
“W-what…?” I mumble, dazed.
He gives me a searing look that takes my breath away. Without another word, he storms off, disappearing down the hall.
Chest heaving and breaths ragged, I draw my fingers over my swollen lips. Holy shit. Those kissing rumors were absolute bullshit. Bearded toilet plunger, my ass.
Nolan Brighton kisses like a passionate, love-starved bad boy.
And now, I’m crumpled against his kitchen counter, hungry for another taste.
11
NOLAN
The next morning, I wake with a dull headache. One of those headaches that hits you right behind the eyes. One of those headaches you get after a night spent ruminating on dumb decisions you made in a drunken haze.
Fuck.
It takes me several long moments trying to remember what day it is. Saturday. Today is Saturday, which means Stella has piano lessons and French tutoring.
I groan, pulling myself out of bed only to realize that I’m already late to pick my daughter up and get her ready for the day. I can’t be late. Stella can’t be late. Her piano recital is only a few weeks away.
On mornings like this, I’d kill for an extra hour of sleep. To be fair, Genevieve has offered to take Stella to her piano lessons on more than one occasion. But my little girl needs her quality time with me. I don’t want to let her down.
So as I drag myself to the bathroom, yawning my ass off, I remind myself that sleep can wait another decade or so. In the blink of an eye, Stella will be all grown up and she won’t need me in these ways anymore.
In a tired fog, I pull on some sweatpants. I walk across the yard to get Stella, bring her home, and help her get dressed for the day. She picks out her favorite cereal, and then I sit with her as she eats her breakfast.
As for me, one cup of coffee isn’t going to cut it this morning. I gulp down my first cup pretty quickly and get up from the table to pour myself a second. My eyes wander to the half-empty tequila bottle and the two shot glasses still sitting on the kitchen counter near the coffee machine. Immediately, I look away.
I don’t want to be reminded of last night. How I went shot for shot with Inez. How the sound of her laughter sent tingles straight to my cock. How I couldn’t get enough of her soft curves crushed against me. How I couldn’t get enough of her warm, full, tequila-flavored lips touching mine.
Fuck. Last night, I was not on my A-game. I made at least one or two bad choices. But there’s no excuse. I was weak.
I force my attention back to Stella. Only Stella. This time, I refuse to let my thoughts wander. Not to the gorgeous woman I kissed against my kitchen counter mere hours ago.
Between each spoonful, my little girl talks my ear off, telling me all about the TV show she and her grandma watched last night. How she beat Gen at Scrabble. And how they did a new tarot card reading together that said she’s going to be a famous musician some day.
I chuckle along to each story. Yet still, at the back of my mind, I’m a smidge worried that Stella will take after her mother’s and her grandmother’s hippie ways, that some day she’ll follow in her mom’s shoes and run off on me. But even if it hurts, I could never keep my baby girl from following whatever she’s passionate about.I’d never force her to stay.
Just like I couldn’t force Lilian to stay.
It sucks but the truth is, I wasn’t enough to make Lilian slow down or shift her priorities. Even after I gave up my hockey dreams to focus on our life together. Even after I settled for a future running the bar when I wanted to pursue my athletic career instead. Even after I gave the ‘happy family’ thing my very best shot. It still wasn’t enough to make my ex-wife stay. So why would I expect anyone else to choose me over their dreams? Inez included?
I stare across the table at my daughter with milk dribbling down her chin and twinkling excitement in her eyes as she speaks. Does it make me a shithead that I hope she grows up to be a little less like her mother?
