Chapter 33 Coffee TeaKiss Me
Coffee Tea or Kiss Me
Greer
Why?
Why is my life like this?
Fifteen minutes ago, it was completely normal. I was going about my day, getting things done and chatting with a friend. Then Darrel has to ruin it and show up.
Now I’m practically attacking my grumpy neighbor, who’s probably going to decide that somehow this was my plan the entire time so that I could feel him up or something. If I don’t move soon, that’s exactly what’s going to happen.
But I also can’t seem to make myself move. Everything with Darrel was intense…maybe a little scary. For just a few seconds, I want to feel safe. Like everything in the world is going to be okay, and no one will ever hurt me again.
Which is foolish. Darrel couldn’t hurt me. Darrel called the maid to kill a spider when he found one in his closet.
I peek up at Havoc, and my chin rubs across the tickly hair of his chest.
The slow, wicked grin on his face makes my whole body tremble.
“You okay?”
No.
I’m absolutely not, and I might never be if you keep staring at me like that. Is this what Winnie means when she says she falls in lust with someone?
Cause between the scruff on his face, the silver on his temples, and those lips of his, I can’t think of anything else.
What would it be like to kiss a hot biker?
A long, slow kiss? Or would it be hard and fast?
Havoc likes fast bikes, but something tells me he enjoys a nice, slow kiss.
“Do you need me to carry you inside?”
Yes, please. Then you can kiss me silly. Tell me my ex-husband was a fool.
Wake up. He’s going to think you’ve lost your mind. “Yes. I mean no. I…um…I mean, I’m okay, you don’t need to carry me.”
Havoc tightens his arms around me.
We’re hugging—sort of, my arms are mostly between us—in the middle of my front yard. I pull away, putting some distance between us.
What does one say to their grumpy neighbor who just rushed out in their pajamas to save you from your ex-husband? Thank you doesn’t feel like enough.
Then again, just two days ago, I told him never to speak to me and wouldn’t listen as he apologized.
There’s no rule in a manners book that would cover this situation.
“Would you like to um, come in for a cup of tea?” Do bikers drink tea?
Probably not. “Or coffee?” It’s late in the afternoon.
“I, um, mean, you can have tea or coffee or kiss me.”
WHAT? No. I didn’t say that. “Tea or coffee or something else to drink. I have lots of things in my refrigerator.”
“Sure. I’d like to talk and do one of those things.”
WHAT?
No, you’re hallucinating again. But it sure sounded like he said he wanted to kiss you. I step to the side and walk into my house. Thankfully, all the plans are spread out in my office.
Rather than face him, I stare into the fridge like I don’t know exactly what is inside. “I have grape juice, apple cider, champagne, water, orange juice, cherry juice, and some fresh-pressed vegetable smoothie.” My nutritionist has those delivered with my food every week.
“You still have champagne left?”
“Yeah.” There’s no need to mention that Winnie forgot to bring it home with her, and it’s only going to go to waste here. “Would you like a mimosa?”
“Sure.”
At least it won’t go to waste. I grab everything I need, pour a splash of juice into the flute, and then fill it up with champagne.
“Aren’t you going to have one?”
How do I answer that? “I’m in the mood for some tea.” Or not to give my baby fetal alcohol syndrome or whatever else they get from me drinking.
Havoc sits down on one of the stools with a champagne flute in hand. Which totally looks wrong. He needs a beer or something manly. But real men don’t need a certain drink to be manly. They just are. “So you’re married?”
I snort. “Divorced.”
“He didn’t seem to know that.”
“That’s because Darrel is a self-centered idiot that forgot he was the one who handed me the divorce papers and demanded that I make it easy for him and his soon-to-be wife.”
Havoc sputters a little of the drink.
“Yeah, exactly. Turns out his intern lied about being pregnant, and now he wants me back. No, thank you.”
“Exes are the worst. Mine did a number on me as well. I’d like to blame her for my bad behavior, but that was all me.
I know you’re probably sick of hearing the words ‘I’m sorry’ from men that don’t mean it.
I don’t know why I thought those things, or even worse said them, but I regret it and understand now just how truly wrong I was. ”
That actually sounded sincere. “The one thing I can’t get past is Rothswyler…you thought I was having a passionate affair with Rothswyler.”
The corner of his lips tips up in this sardonic little grin. “Did I mention how very wrong I was?”
I can’t help but smile back at him. “My lawyer’s idea of a stimulating day is filling out the crossword puzzle in ink.”
“Creed does that every Sunday.”
“Really? That kind of doesn’t surprise me.” I grab the cake dish with the slice of chocolate cake that was left over from yesterday and two forks. “Creed could hold his own with my friends. It was impressive.” I break off a bite of cake with my fork and place it in my mouth.
Bliss.
It’s sheer and utter bliss.
“That good?”
No.
No.
No, I didn’t just do something stupid in front of this man again. “Cordelia made it. It’s worth dying for. Literally.” I slide the crystal dish over. “Oh, no. I forgot the plates. I’m sorry.”
“Relax, it’s fine. There’s no need to dirty a dish.” He breaks off a piece with his own fork. “So you’re friends with The Cake Lady.”
“Cordelia thinks it’s funny that the town calls her that. But yeah, I’ve known her since boarding school.” I wink at him.
“You aren’t ever going to let that go, are you?” He smiles.
“Me? Of course not. It’s a woman’s job to make sure a man remembers every one of his mistakes in vivid detail. Especially since you’ve seen the skeleton in my closet.”
“He looked a little plump for a skeleton.”
““Touché”
“My ex was beautiful, like one of those lipstick vipers who are so sweet and pretty looking, that you can’t believe they could ever harm a soul, but they’re really deadly.”
It seems we all have war stories. “That bad?”
He looks me dead in the eyes as he says, “Worse than you could ever imagine.”
“So that’s why you’re afraid of women?”
“Beautiful women scare me, especially ones that I’m instantly attracted to.”
What did he just say? I…um…wow. How do I respond?
“It seems I haven’t grown out of the twelve-year-old stage, but my son has.”
Creed…Talking about Creed is a safe topic. “Was he ever a twelve-year-old? Because that boy acts more mature than most grown men I know.”
“Not really. Though there was this one time on his dirt bike…”