Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 31

But then my brain reminded me that this was the last time, even though my date didn’t know it—so I took a deep breath and then willed my muscles to move so I could straddle him.  All I had to do was kiss him before sliding his cock into my pussy, and then I began rocking gently, determined to bring him to ecstasy on the slow path.  My fingers circled his nipples and enjoyed the feel of his hard pecs underneath the palms of my hands as I gazed upon his handsome boyish face, trying to emblazon every feature in my mind.

Because this was our last time, I wanted it to mean something.

Sliding my hands into his so that our fingers intertwined, I hoped I looked sexy instead of sad.  At that moment, as if he could read my thoughts, Justin opened his eyes.  “Fuck.”  Almost instantly, he closed them again as he came and he squeezed my hands, making the rings I wore dig into my fingers.

I tried to be happy, tried to relish this time together, made an attempt to be present, enjoying our time together while I still could.  But afterward, I nestled my head against his chest as he drifted off to sleep, praying he couldn’t feel the warm tear that dropped off my nose onto his skin.

* * *

The next morning, my head thudding, I hunched on the carpet on my hands and knees in the living room with my dress from last night back on, looking under the couch for my other shoe—but it wasn’t there.  Justin came in, wearing nothing but jeans.  “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

Holding up the black pump, I said, “My other shoe.”

Justin glanced around the room and pointed.  “There—on the end table.”

I sat up, butt resting on my heels.  “The end table?”

“Yeah.”  Leaning over, Justin picked it up and held it out to me.  “You’re a wild woman, Rascal.  I’m surprised it wasn’t actually in the lampshade.”  With a grin, he started walking toward the kitchen.  “Want some coffee?”

“I’d love some.  Thanks.”  I set both shoes at the front door.  Until it was time to leave, I didn’t want to put them on.  Then I started trying to find my purse.  After looking all over the living room and peeking in the bedroom, I couldn’t find it anywhere.  Searching the living room again, I asked, “Do you happen to know where my purse is?  In the refrigerator maybe?”

“I don’t think you brought it in with you.  I think it’s in the truck.  Want me to go check?”

“No.  I can.” I started making my way back toward the front door.

“Hold on.  Truck’s locked.  Let me get you the keys.”

“Oh.  If it’s locked, don’t worry about it.  I’ll just get it when we go.”  I started walking back toward the kitchen, ready to sit down.  All this activity had made my head throb.  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Justin grinned.  “No, babe, I think I can make coffee all by my lonesome.  Been doin’ it by myself since I was sixteen.”  For an asshole, he was awfully cute.  I stuck my tongue out at him.  “Oh, no, darlin’.  You wore me out last night.  None of that for a little while anyway.”  He turned around, opening a cabinet door.

As Justin set mismatched cups on the counter, I looked on the wall, trying to find a clock.  “What time is it anyway?”

Turning around, he glanced behind me, squinting.  “It is…almost eleven-thirty.”

“What?”  As I twisted in my chair, I looked at the microwave clock.  Eleven twenty-two precisely.  “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“I’ve got to pick up the kids from my parents’ house around one.”

“You got time for a cup of coffee, right?”

“A quick one.”

As he poured two cups, he said, “I can’t remember.  You don’t like it black, do you?”

“White and sweet, please.”

“Just like you.”  Grinning, he opened a cabinet door, pointing at two jars holding sugar and creamer.  “Right there.”  Then he picked up his cup and left the kitchen.  “If you gotta leave soon, I need to get my contacts in.  Be right back.”

I gazed at his back as he walked away, once again admiring the swirly black tattoo I’d memorized long ago.  Then I got up and doctored my coffee, hoping Justin wouldn’t take long—because, now that our night of fun was over, the pressure was on again.

Thinking of pressure led me to thinking about my addiction, and cigarettes and coffee paired well.  That was all it took for me to remember that I’d had a cigarette last night here in the kitchen—which meant my purse couldn’t possibly be in his truck.

So where the fuck had I put it?

It had to be in here, in the kitchen, so I got up and looked around, only to find it on the floor by the trashcan.  Shit.  I’d had way too much to drink.  By the time Justin got back, I was halfway done with my coffee, and I was ready for a smoke.

“You can bring your cup with you if you want.”

“Nah, but thanks.”  Even though it was still too warm, I guzzled it just the same, and I could feel the hot liquid making its way into my belly.  I put the cup next to the sink and followed him toward the door, picking up my shoes before walking outside.

When we stepped outside, the light was bright and I squinted, so as soon as we were in his truck, I found my cheapie sunglasses tucked in my purse.  Then I asked, “Mind if I smoke?”

“How many times you gonna ask me that?”

“Fine.”  I lit a cigarette as he started up the truck, and then I found a stick of cinnamon gum in my purse, which was going to be my substitute for teeth brushing until I got home.  “Want some?” I asked.

“No, thanks.  Just brushed my teeth.”

“I didn’t have that luxury.”  But the cigarette was helping soothe my fraught nerves, so I focused my attention there for