Chapter 27
Loch
“Fuck,” I grit through my teeth.
Closing the peephole, I debate what to do. If I open the door, I can end it, tell her I’m a goner for another woman. If I don’t open it, she’ll start calling. Fuck.
“Loch?” Christine calls from the other side of the door and knocks again. “Open up.”
“Loch?” Tuesday says from the bathroom. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I jog to the corner of the living room and yell down the hall. “Coming.” I’m so not coming until Christine is long gone.
Rushing back to the door, I know I need to end this and not let it drag on.
I learned the hard way with Judge Judy. Lesson learned.
I open the door, but her hand is on it, and she pushes in.
“Why’d you keep me waiting so long?” she asks, dragging her fingertips across my bare chest. “Oooh, I see you’re ready for me. ” Shit.
I fast-walk backward, trying to barricade the apartment from her breaching the living room. “What are you doing here?”
Instead of walking back to the door, she stands her ground. “The last text you sent asked for a rain check. I’m cashing in.” She glances at the door. “Do you mind grabbing my suitcase?”
“You never returned that text to claim the offer, and unfortunately, I need you to leave.” I try my best not to sound callous, but there’s no time for niceties. I need her gone before Tuesday gets wind of this visitor.
“What do you mean, Loch? I’m here now. Anyway, I just traveled from the airport in a snowstorm.” She sidles up to me with that look she used to give that meant I wouldn’t get any sleep. “Plus, everything’s closed.”
“I am too.”
She straightens, eyeing me with half-mast lids. “What does that mean?”
Walking around her, I open the door and wave her toward the upright suitcase still in the hall. “A lot has changed since I sent that text. I have a girl—”
“Loch?”
Fuck me . . .
I turn back to see Tuesday wrapped in a towel, standing at the end of the hallway.
She’s twisted her hair up on her head with wet strands stuck to her neck.
She tightens the towel at her chest, staring at us—no smile or comfort in her expression.
Not even anger creeps up her neck. Her gaze volleys between us before she takes a deep breath and plants her hand on her hip. “Who’s this?”
Christine might get her way on her transatlantic business class routes where she calls the shots as a flight attendant, but in her personal life, she’s not one for competition. She crosses her arms over her chest and cocks an eyebrow at Tuesday. “Who are you?”
Tuesday glances at me first, then replies, “I’m his girlfriend.”
Fuck me . . .
How do I make this nightmare stop?
“Is that true, Loch?” The tapping of Christine’s foot punctuates each word from her mouth, especially my name.
Here we go. This is definitely not what she’ll want to hear. I owe her nothing, but I owe Tuesday everything. “This is my girlfriend, Tuesday.”
The statement catches her off guard, causing her neck to jerk.
She looks over my shoulder to the woman I know is still standing there, probably like a deer in headlights, and then back to me.
“I . . .” She steals one more look at Tuesday, and then the strangest thing happens.
She smiles. It’s not like the killer one she gave me the night she pursued me at a charity event in Brooklyn. No, it’s almost . . . happy.
She angles toward Tuesday and says, “So you’re the woman who caught the uncatchable.” Looking at me, she adds, “She’s very pretty.”
Tuesday says, “What’s happening?”
I can’t answer that, so instead, I say, “Christine was in town and stopped by.” I move to where Christine stands and hold the door open with my back, so there’s no misunderstanding about what should be happening next—her leaving.
And then Christine adds, “Have we met before?”
I see it, the moment hope fills Tuesday’s eyes, and I hear the little gasp. “Have we?”
Like a pin to a balloon, Christine says, “Never mind. I wouldn’t be able to place a face if I tried.” She laughs at what I guess was supposed to be a joke. We don’t. “So I stopped trying years ago.”
I say, “I’ll call you a cab.”
Tuesday steps closer, her bare feet leaving the lightest trail of water. “There’s a snowstorm outside?”
Unsure of the question she’s asking, I look toward the windows that span the length of the living room. Snow has begun to collect in the corners, falling so heavily that it looks like a sheet of white floating outside the glass. Fuck.
I run my hand through my hair and look at Tuesday. Silently, our eyes speak to each other. Her nod is so minute, but the shake of my head isn’t. Is she really telling me to do this? What the fuck is happening?
Turning back to Christine, I begrudgingly ask, “Would you like to wait here until we can find you other accommodations?”
Her mouth opens and then closes again while the forehead that’s usually frozen cinches her brows together. “Really?”
With a loud sigh, Tuesday comes closer. “The weather’s awful, so you’re welcome to stay.”
To stay? That’s not the fucking offer I had on the table.
What universe did I teleport to?
How is the woman I’m in love with asking my former regular fuck to stay the night?
What madness is this?
I take Tuesday’s hand and turn to Christine. “Excuse us. We need to talk in private.”
Closing the bedroom behind me, I lead her into the bathroom just in case our voices carry. As soon as the door closes, I turn on the shower for soundproofing and then turn back, and she pops me in the bicep. “It’s a friggin’ snowstorm out there, Loch. We can’t just send her packing.”
I’m still lost on her train of thought. She crosses her arms over her chest. “Loch, you know I’m right.”
“Okay. Okay. I know you’re right, but what? We’re supposed to be roomies with her for the next three days?”
Her head tilts, her gaze lengthening toward the window.
Even though the shade is drawn, the shadow of bad weather still haunts us.
When she turns back, she says, “I hear what you’re saying.
I’m not looking to feel uncomfortable in my home for days.
It’s late, and the worst of the weather is expected tonight.
She’ll stay the night, but then we’ll find her a hotel tomorrow. ”
“So what do we do in the meantime? Play Monopoly?” I ask sarcastically.
I get poked in the chest. “I’m the one missing out, mister. You got yours, and now mine seems to be on permanent pause.”
“Loch?” Christine calls. “I need you.”
We freeze, and then both of us look at the door at the same time. Tuesday’s eyes bulge, and she mouths, “What the hell?” and then whispers, “Is she in our bedroom?”
I say, “Be right out,” loud enough for Christine to hear.
Tuesday wraps around me as if her life depends on it. “I made a mistake, babe. I don’t want her here. You need to take care of it.”
Okay, I shouldn’t laugh, but she’s fucking adorable. I rub her back and kiss her head. “I’ll take care of it.” I release her to leave the bathroom, cut through my bedroom, and head straight for Christine. “We need to . . .”
“I have another friend in the city who thought he’d be out of town. Turns out,” she says, grinning like she won the grand prize. “His flight was cancelled, too.” Grabbing her suitcase by the handle, she heads for the door. And I don’t stop her.
“That’s some luck.”
“Yeah.” She pulls open the door like piranhas nip at her heels.
I hold it open as she wheels her luggage through and starts for the elevator. “He’s sending his car.”
Standing in the doorway, I reply, “Fantastic.”
Then she stops and looks back. “I’ll miss you, Loch, but I’m also happy for you. She seems like a great girl. And so familiar.”
Oh shit. I’d almost forgotten she’d said that.
“You recognized Tuesday?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know if we’ve met. She kind of has a generic face.”
And just like that, I realize I’d made a mistake with her. I always claimed it was about sex, but even that wasn’t that good. Seconds pass, and she gets my disdain because even though I haven’t said another word, she starts to back away. “Have a good life. Maybe our paths will cross again one day.”
I hope not. I don’t bother replying for her. I’m already done. I return to my apartment without looking back and shut the door, realizing this moment represents more than closing a chapter with Christine.
Tuesday is there with her beautiful smile and bright eyes that light up when she sees me. I go to her, scooping her into my arms and carrying her back to bed to have my wicked way with this angel. Tuesday isn’t just another chapter. She’s the whole damn book.
Like a present I wished for, I unwrap the towel from her body and spread her knees apart. She falls back under the weight of seduction, her breaths coming heavy in her chest and her eyes closing as she takes me in.
I kiss her inner thigh, then go lower, ready to devour her sweet little p—knock. Knock. Knock.
I bolt up and start getting out of bed. “What the fuck?”
Lifting on her elbows, Tuesday says, “Tell me about it.”
Now that makes me laugh. When she falls on the mattress with her arms spread wide, I say, “I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Swear?”
“Swear on my life.” I give her a wink and grab a towel from the floor again.
Just before I leave the room, she says, “It better not be another ex-girlfriend.”
“No worries then because I didn’t have girlfriends until you.”
“You’re not charming your way out of this, sir.”
Fuuuuuccckkk . . .
I’m about to turn around, but another rap on my door has me answering it. I look through the peephole—relieved that it’s not Christine again but also wondering who this guy thinks he is. “Who is it?”
“Delivery for Mr. Westcott from Private Eyes of New York.”
My heart drops into the pit of my stomach.
Is this the moment I lose the woman I love?
Before she has a chance to surprise me again, I open the door. The guy says, “Sign here.”
I sign on the electronic pad. Then he hands me an envelope. The printed label reads Westcott Case: Tuesday.
“Thanks.”
I close the door, sickness contaminating the happiness I felt not two minutes prior. There might not be anything in this file. It’s only been a few weeks. Logically though, I know that the PI wouldn’t have an envelope delivered in the middle of a snowstorm if he had nothing to report.
“Who is it?” she asks, her voice the sound of angels to my ears. Her eyes dip to the large envelope. “Wow, someone delivered that during the storm?”
“Yes, it’s important.” I run my hand through my hair and avert my eyes so she can’t see the lie I’m about to tell her. “Work stuff.”
“Oh. Okay. Do you need to work tonight?”
I walk down the hall, fully aware I’m an asshole for what I’m about to do. “No. Just putting this in my office.” I look back, and the trusting smile that sits so pretty on her face just about does me in. “I’ll meet you in the bedroom.”
She nods, and when she passes me, her gaze locks on mine.
In that exchange, I know she sees right through me.
I still close the door behind me and go straight to the closet.
I shift an old box of yearbooks and photos to the floor and open a container filled with mementos my mom brought for me last year.
Tucking the envelope inside, I put the lid on, then add the other box back to the pile.
My legs feel filled with concrete, making every step harder to take. I can’t lose her. I won’t. I just need a little more time to think before our world crashes down.
Just before I enter the bedroom, I put on a face of indifference. She sees me, and asks, “Everything all right?”
Diving onto the bed, I pull her into my arms under her fits of giggles and memorize the sound. I kiss her until her lips are swollen and her body begs for more. I want to make her feel so good. Make love to her. Create more love with her. Please her until she collapses from the pleasure.
That envelope ticks like a fucking time bomb in my head.
I love her too much. And I can’t lose her. Not ever.