Hunger.
It wouldn’t work. It hadn’t for a long time. My nights were getting worse. Bar fights getting meaner. My pursuit of women more frustrated and impersonal. The hollow in me kept growing until I felt like I should have my own gravitational pull. A black hole swallowing up everything around me.
I took the stairs toward Tara’s front door two at a time.
No matter how many times I knocked on her door, she was surprised to see me. Blue eyes wide, blonde hair still matted and soft from sleep.
I knew I was a selfish asshole. We both did. For some reason, she kept opening that door for me.
“You’re late,” she said, leaning in the doorway with her usual cup of coffee in hand. There was ugly flounder artwork on the side of the mug, reminding me of our morning on the jetty yesterday.
I still hadn’t figured out why I brought her there. Tara was not the outdoorsy type. She would hate my life. Hate the bayou, and the mosquitos, and the trips out on the boat that Elimademe take at least once a month.
But she came anyway.
Stayed all afternoon, wrinkling her nose every time I put fresh bait on her hook.
“Late night?” she asked, the subtle curve of her smile fading as she studied the dark rings under my eyes.
It was only fair for her to think so low of me. To imagine the first thing I did after dropping her off that afternoon without so much as a kiss at the door was find the nearest bar and look for company. That was all that used to matter when the workday was over.
I couldn’t explain to her that it was a tactic for survival. That throwing myself at the most willing woman was the only wayto keep me from crawling out of my own skin, emerging as the product of nightmares.
I shifted on my feet. “More like rough night.”
Tara took a long, slow sip from her mug. She didn’t look at me when she said, “She was that bad, huh? Or maybe thatgood.”
“If by she you mean the couch in my office, then yes.” I pushed past her, dismissing her distasteful tone and heading for the kitchen.
The coffee maker was full, and there was already a second mug sitting on the counter. Shewasexpecting me, and it wasn’t just for sex.
At least, notonlyfor sex.
I took my time with my coffee, stirring sugar in gentle circles. Tara chewed the inside of her cheek, watching me silently.
Finally, she asked, “Why were you sleeping in your office?”
Because I can’t stand to go home.
Because I didn’t trust the beast on the bayou.
Because it made me feel like my skin was on fire the last time I tried to leave town.
“Had to catch up on work. Speaking of, get dressed.”
“What am I dressing for today?”
“Work. Wear whatever you want.” I reached out for her before she made it to the bedroom, unable to stop myself from lifting a strand of her hair to my face to inhale. “Pick sensible shoes.”
“Sensible shoes?” She was watching my fingers glide through her hair, only half listening to my words.
“No heels.”
“So, we’re not having any fun, then,” she muttered, walking away from me and leaving the bedroom door ajar.
She was daring me to follow her. She was also trying to keep it simple. Quick. Disposable.
My lungs were filled for the first time since yesterday. I stayed where I was, breathing deeply.