29. Chapter 29
It’s been over an hour since I texted Lizzie about stopping by with dog food, and she hasn’t responded, but here I am anyway. It’s weird; I still have a key, and technically this is still my place, too, but I’m not sure if I should just go in.
However, the twenty-pound bag of Kibble I’ve got resting on my shoulder is telling me to enter.
I unlock the door and trip over Kennedy as I step inside. He’s barking and jumping all over me, and it causes me to smile. At least someone still loves me.
After depositing the dog food on the counter, I fall to both knees and Kennedy pounces on me, almost knocking me over. “Good boy! I missed you, too,” I say as I scratch his head with both hands and run them down his back and scratch his haunches, all the while he has his paws on my shoulders and is licking my face.
“Hey, buddy. How are you doing these days, huh? You looking after Lizzie? How’s she doing?”
I see his food dish is only half full, so I stand up, look under the sink, and see an already opened bag of food, so I scoop some from there into his dish, and Kennedy digs in.
Something on the refrigerator gets my attention. It’s a napkin affixed to the door with a ROC Record magnet. I slide the magnet to the side so I can pull the scrap away and read it.
Scribbled on it is a phone number.
“The fuck?!” I spit out loud, as Kennedy scratches the floor at the bottom of the fridge.
“Buddy, what the fuck is this?” I ask the dog. “Has some other guy been coming around? Huh? What’s he look like?” I know it could be anything. A work contact. A neighbor. But I can’t stop the jealously from bubbling up.
Kennedy keeps scratching at the floor and swiping his paw under the refrigerator like he’s trying to actually crawl under there. “Yeah, you go hide! Some watchdog you are. You’re supposed to rip the balls off any guy who comes here who’s not me!”
Lava. Scorching hot magma is burning its way up my esophagus and throat as I try to battle the raging jealousy I feel in this moment. Is she seeing someone? Holy shit, that’s definitely not something I saw being thrown into the mix. Has he been here? I stalk around to see if I can find any indication a gentleman caller has been around, but I don’t see any other toothbrush in the bathroom, any other shoes or jacket in the closet, or different beer in the fridge.
My time is running out. My time to make this right is slipping away. And then it hits me—this is only a fraction of what Lizzie must have felt when she found out about me and Jenny. And here she thinks I still see Jenny on a daily basis. I need to clear the air. I need to—
My thoughts are scattered by the sound of a key in the door, then a “What the hell?” as the door opens, but Lizzie doesn’t enter. “I will kill whomever motherfucker is in here right now, I swear to God. I have had a day and I’m not taking any prisoners.”
I stuff the napkin in my hoodie pocket and head toward the door, hands up. “Don’t shoot!” I mock as I step into her line of sight.
“Knox?” She pulls her brows together, then sighs in—I think—relief. “Jesus,” she says with a hand over her heart. “The door was unlocked, and I thought the apartment was broken into again.”
“Yeah, well, for what it’s worth, if I were an intruder, I would be shaking in my boots at the amount of crazy emanating from you right about now.”
Lizzie shuts the door behind her as she comes into the apartment and starts taking her coat off. “Sorry, I’ve had a weird night.”
It’s late, but I don’t know if this was one of Lizzie’s nights to cover the newsroom, so maybe she was just working late.
Or maybe she was on a date with napkin guy.
“You worked late, huh?” I ask
She looks at me as she kicks off her shoes and tosses her coat onto the back of a stool at the kitchen island, and it slides off and lands on the floor. “Actually. I got out early.”
“Oh,” I say, pacing toward the window overlooking the parking lot. “So, if you got out early, how come you weren’t home early.” I look back at her and she is just staring at me. “What?” I ask.
“What’s going on?” She answers my question with a question.
“Huh?”
“You’re acting weird.”
“Weird? Me. No, I’m just …” I turn and look out the window to hide my pathetic face so it doesn’t show my pathetic feelings, and I notice Lizzie’s car isn’t in the lot. “Where’s your car?”
Lizzie lets out a heavy breath, but before she can answer, questions are leaving my lips. “Were you dropped off?”
She tilts her head at me.
“Were you … I mean … Did someone drop you off? Like, were you with someone?” Please, baby, please don’t let that be the case. I just need a little more time …
She frowns, then turns and pulls a mug out of the cabinet, then a tea bag from the drawer. After she puts water in the kettle and turns on a burner, she bends down to greet Kennedy. “Hey, bud, how were you today, huh? Sorry I was gone so long today. Apparently I’m home very—” she turns and gives me a pointed stare “—very late tonight.”
Kennedy greets her with a few licks to the face, then turns back to scratching under the fridge.
She stands back up, placing her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, and my eyes stay fixed on her ass. Are those new jeans? Are they date jeans? Is she wearing them because she wants her butt to look good for someone?
It’s quiet for a minute, and then I look up to see Lizzie caught me staring at her backside.
“Sorry,” I say as I turn away from her grinning face. But then I whip back toward her. “Actually, I’m not sorry. Your ass looks fantastic in those jeans! Are they new? Are they date jeans?”
Lizzie eyes bulge and her lip quirks up like Elvis. “Date jeans?” she says quietly, like she’s trying the words out on her tongue.
“Yeah,” I cross my arms over my chest. “As in, are you wearing jeans that make your butt look good for a date? That you were on today? Tonight? Ergo, date jeans.”
I watch realization dawn across Lizzie’s face before it softens. “Are you jealous, Knox? Is that what this is? You think I just came back from a date?” I don’t have to answer, she knows she’s right. And with that revelation, she throws her head back and laughs.
“Yeah, eat it up,” I say as I run a hand through my hair and grip the back of my neck. “You still didn’t answer the question.”
She slows her laughter, then it stops altogether, and she pierces me with a glare that goes straight through my eyes, into my brain, down my torso, my arms, my legs and to all my nerve endings throughout my whole body. “How does it feel?” she asks. And she doesn’t have to elaborate, because I know exactly what she’s asking.
I freeze for just a moment, trying to decide which way to take this, then figure, fuck it.
In three long strides I’m in her face backing her up against the kitchen counter without even touching her, and she’s wide-eyed and breathing heavily in my face. I place my hands on the counter on either side of her as I dip down so we are eye level. I can see the burning fire in her eyes. Hatred, for sure. But there’s something else there. Something I can’t quite put my finger on, but something familiar. So I’ll take that and run with it for as far as it’ll take me.
“How does it feel?” I repeat her words. “It fucking sucks, Lizzie. It feels like …” I tuck my lips between my teeth and squint my eyes as I try to come up with the words. Then I spit them out. “It feels like I’m standing buck naked on the surface of the sun while this mutt over here has my balls clenched between his teeth, and the whole world is watching as I am stripped and scorched and baring every insecurity for all to see. And I don’t even care about clothes or water or anything else as long as you tell me right now that there’s nobody else. That there hasn’t been anyone since me. That there will never be anyone but me.”
Lizzie is panting in front of me, her eyes cast down at the floor.
Softer, I ask, “Has there, Lizzie? Been anyone else?” I look at her mouth, but she doesn’t answer. “Has anyone else’s lips been here?” I reach up and trace a thumb over the outline of her lips. “Hmm?”
I trail that thumb down to her chin and tilt it up, so she’s forced to look at me. “These are mine, baby,” and I tug her bottom lip down with the same thumb. “And I know you’re not ready, yet, but I’m going to claim them back some day. I just need you to not go sharing them with anyone else while we work our shit out, OK?”
I slide my hand up her jaw and cup the side of her face. I want to kiss her so badly it hurts, but I can tell from the look on her face that she can’t. She can’t kiss me, yet. So I won’t push it.
Instead, I back up and give her space, which I know she wants. And maybe it’s still what she needs. My ass hits the island, and I let out a sigh. We stare at each other for a long minute before Lizzie finally breaks the silence. “You should probably go.”
I nod. “Yeah. You’re right.” Pushing off against the countertop, I make my way toward the door. “So, uh, how are you going to get to work tomorrow, since your car is … missing?”
Lizzie is behind me as I open the door. “I’ll call Dee and see if she can take me to the shop in the morning.”
“The shop?” I stop just after crossing the threshold to the hallway and turn to look at her. “Did it break down?”
She looks at me while gathering her hair in her hands and pulling it all to one side. “A flat.”
“And you called AAA? Why didn’t they just put the spare on for you?”
She’s looking at her feet while playing with her hair, then she brings her mane in front of her mouth as she mumbles something.
“Huh?” I ask, putting a hand behind my ear.
Lizzie sighs, then concedes. “I don’t have a spare.”
“What? Why not? You said you’d stop and get a new one the last time you had a flat.”
“Yeah, well, I guess I forgot!” She throws her hands up in the air. “You know, I’ve had a lot going on up in here, lately,” and she spins her pointer finger around her temple. “So I’m sorry if I’ve been a little, oh, I don’t know … distracted!”
And that’s my cue. Throwing my own hands up in the air I turn and head toward the stairs. “I know—my fault,” I say dryly. “Just another thing that’s my fault.”
“Oh, great. You’re a martyr now,” I hear her call down behind me.
“Yep, that’s me!” I reply, then turn when I get to the bottom of the stairwell and look up at her standing at the top, arms crossed over her chest, hip checked to the side. “Seriously, I can come give you a ride. What time do you work tomorrow?”
She pauses for dramatic effect, then makes a show out of looking at her naked wrist and tapping a finger to an imaginary watch, then replies, “I have to be there about a quarter after go-fuck-yourself-o-clock!”
There she is.
I can’t help it. I smile. Because despite the cold goodbye, I saw that familiar warmth in her eyes again. I just need a little more time.