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His tongue in my mouth is still novelty enough to send a burst of tingles straight to my aching dick. He tries to pull me closer, but I’m already as close as I can be. My fingernails bite into his neck, sprouting several points of slippery wetness. He flinches, but the violence encourages him, and he mauls my mouth with a string of kisses. I let one hand fist his shirt, and we inhale in sync before finally breaking apart.
What the … what the hell was that?
I scan the busy street. No one’s pulling out their phones—for once—but there are plenty of people in the area. That must be why he went all extra. He’s not making a big deal about it, so I won’t either.
“Sorry, I think I, uh …” I show him the little drop of blood, staining my middle finger.
He lifts his right wrist, the one with my teeth marks forever etched there. “I know what I’m dealing with … scorpions bite.”
He can handle me.
“See you tomorrow, Lo.”
Chapter11
Emergency at The Coffee Shoppe
Rhett
Itext Jack with Logan still wet on my lips.
Emergency meeting at The Coffee Shoppe. Can you make it?
I stare at the phone, willing the little dots to appear, and they do.
Yeah, Rhett, but if it has to be now then you’ll have to deal with me bringing Stanley. Merc’s working on Mrs. Morrison’s Cadillac.
* * *
Jack bustles in through the door of the coffee shop with a diaper bag slung over his shoulder and baby in tow. He’s wearing his almost-dead lucky hat with the rim spun backward and his scruffy hockey hair curling out of the sides. His white T-shirt is V-neck and oversized and he’s in a pair of baggy gray sweats, his flip-flops snapping away as he rushes over to the table I grabbed for us.
“I got you your favorite,” I say, gesturing to the Americano misto that’s probably cold by now.
“Thanks, Rhett. Appreciate that. Didja put honey in it?”
“Honey? Since when do you put honey in your coffee?”
“Since always. I mean, sometimes I drink it black if I’m in a rush—as you know—but if I’m doing this, I like honey.” He sets the baby bag down.
How did I miss that? We lived together during hockey season. “You get settled and I’ll get you some honey.”
“Thanks!”
Jack is a ray of sunshine as usual, even though he looks a tad rough, probably from lack of sleep. I bring him the honey, studying him. He’s Jack, but not. A little different from the one I remember. Not in a bad way, but there are new pieces of him that I don’t know and apparently old ones too.
I return with the honey, and that’s all the time it took for him to expertly wrap the baby against him and spread out, taking up all the space he can in his chair. I file through my memories of him and can’t find one where he was ever this relaxed.
“Fatherhood looks good on you, Jack,” I say, taking my seat. My chest aches. This is supposed to be us and our baby.
He kisses Stanley’s head. “I appreciate that, Rhett. It came a little sooner than I’d planned, but God do I love this kid.”
Jack emits a friendly vibe and in combination with that baby on his chest, he’s got a host of admirers smiling and waving at him. I wasn’t as famous when we were dating. I hadn’t become an NHL star yet, and Father had only become Vancouver’s Mayor the year before our breakup.
“Anyway, I won’t keep you long, but I had to speak with you immediately. I’m worried about Logan.”
Jack’s green eyes sparkle with mischief. “Worried, eh?”
“Not like you’re thinking. I’m responsible for him. You know what I’m like when I feel responsible for someone.” The last thing I need is for Jack to think I’m falling for Logan. It’s hard to explain this thing with Logan. Sure, I’m attracted to him, and I like kissing him—fuck can we ever kiss—but it’s nothing like what I feel for Jack.
