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“Aren’t you forgetting something?” he asked.
“Thought you weren’t giving me my panties back.”
“My goodbye kiss.”
Kelli rolled her eyes as he chuckled. He reached out and gave her a hug. She went stiff for just a moment, then her arms wrapped around his waist and she hugged him back, sighing.
“This should feel so weird,” she whispered.
“But it doesn’t.” Colm gave her a platonic kiss on the top of the head. “We’ll sort it all out. Don’t worry.”
It took everything he had to let her go and take a step back, but Kelli needed time to process. He knew she—like him—would relive Halloween night over countless times between now and Sunday, but in a different light. The things that hadn’t made sense about that night did now. And they both needed time to put the memories together the right way, to let the emotions swirling around what they’d done emerge.
“See you Sunday,” he said.
She nodded, turned, and left.
Chapter Eight
Kelli lay on her couch, staring at the ceiling. Her tiny Tortoiseshell cat, Mojo, was lying on her chest, purring peacefully. She’d been in this same position since dragging her ass out of bed this morning. It was Saturday, which was typically her get-shit-done day, but so far, the day had been a total bust.
She would pay for it next week when she ran out of clean socks and undies, but she couldn’t make herself care too much about it right now.
Her mind was swimming in a sea of confused what-the-fuck-did-I-do and an ocean of I-want-more-Colm-sex.
The past two nights, she’d replayed Halloween night over and over in her mind until her body actually ached with physical need, and none of the vibrators in her extensive collection were doing a damn thing to help that situation.
Worst part was she couldn’t figure out what Colm thought about any of it. He’d said they were fine, but then he’d said they weren’t going to move on.
So…what did that mean?
Surely he didn’t intend for them to have sex again?
Shit. She sort of hoped that was his intention. She wouldn’t mind going in for another round or forty-seven, just to see if it was some sort of wine-induced fluke.
Of course, if they did sleep with each other, and it was amazing again, she’d still be fucked because it was Colm.
“I was a serial killer in a past life,” she murmured. It was the only way she could explain how shit like this kept happening to her.
She’d meet a great guy she really liked, and inevitably there was always something wrong with him—he hated cats, he chain-smoked, he was lousy in bed.
And now, the one time she’d found a guy who seriously hit every freaking hot button in her body…it was Colm Collins.
Fuck. Me.
Her cell phone started ringing, and she considered letting it go to voicemail for a second.
“Sorry, Mojo,” she said as she rolled toward the coffee table, forcing the cat to move. She picked up her cell, glancing at the caller ID. “Hey, Sunnie. What’s up?”
“Just calling to make sure we’re still on for dinner and party planning tonight.”
Kelli jerked up off the couch and glanced at the clock. She hadn’t even managed to shower or get dressed. It was nearly five o’clock, and she was still sporting bedhead and pajamas. “Shit. I forgot.”
“Well, shake a leg, girlfriend. We’ve got work to do and margaritas to drink.”
“I’m not drinking.”
“We’re going to a Mexican restaurant, Kell. Margaritas are nonnegotiable.”
