Down With Cupid Shorts Bundle (14 page)

His hand went straight to it. “Not too cheesy?”

A laugh finally broke through the melancholy. “Everything in this aisle is too cheesy.”
Including me.

*****

Alan tried not to let his glance slide back to Morgan, but lately keeping his eyes off her was becoming troublesome.

The leather upholstery squeaked when he shifted again to curb the urge to look his fill of her. He knew without having to look something was off.

If he only had one guess, Alan would pick the moment in Lucky’s Superstore. God, he shouldn’t have touched her. When would he learn touching Morgan only made the need to do so worse?

He had come close, twice, in one day to kissing her. If Morgan had been anyone other woman he’d have close the distance, placed his mouth over hers and tasted her. By now he’d know the contours of her plumps lips. He’d have nipped and sucked them swollen. But she wasn’t any woman.

Alan needed to be rid of these feelings for Morgan or he’d do something dumb and ruin a friendship.

She was smart, witty, and incredibly sensual. Over the years they’d argued, made up with a joke or smile, but most people couldn’t go from lovers to friends. That and many other reasons is what stopped him every time.

Just see what happens, his mother’s voice lodge in his head. More often those words pushed him closer to forgetting his reasons for keeping things on a platonic level.

The silence on the other side of the car continued. Alan gave up and glanced at her—big mistake, because his eyes strayed to her lips, thick and kissable. Lips that had comforted, chastised, and encouraged him when he needed it.

Damn, damn, damn.
He was in deep this time. He had to get her out of the car, now, because Alan was sure, he was going to do something dumb. He slowed to park in her driveway. He kept the car running. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

She made a noncommittal noise and opened the door. The leather seat seemed to hug her wide hips as she slide down from the SUV. Finally the seat let her go and she turned those dark brown eyes on him. Something was definitely off.

“I think we need some time from each other,” she said and uncertainty furrowed her brows.

Those had been the last words he’d expected her to say, so it took him a moment to get his brain wrapped around them. His hands gripped the steering wheel. He saw what she was going to do in her eyes. He’d known her too long to assume what had happened in Lucky’s didn’t already change things between them.

Even knowing the answer, Alan still said, “Can I ask why?”

“I just need some time. Away from you. We’re twenty-eight. We’re unattached. Most men I date don’t understand our relationship.”

She scoffed. “Hell, most of them offer a three-way, thinking we’ve already been there and done that.”

She shook head as if to say that’s not my point. “The comment you said back at the store got me thinking. I’ve never had a Valentine. Not that I really wanted one, but still…” She stopped, unable to meet his gaze.

Whether or not he’d acted on the urges, the intent in his actions had consequences. Had he not considered this same type of break? This would be good for them. He wouldn’t lose her and that was the last thing he ever wanted. Alan couldn’t imagine his life without Morgan in it.

He took in her expression. Nerves. Uncertainty. And…something he didn’t want to see, because he felt it too.

And this is why men shouldn’t talk, Alan conceded, at least why he shouldn’t talk. But this separation would be a good thing for them. He never really looked at any other woman as a possible girlfriend, much less as a wife.

When Alan did he compared them to Morgan. None of them ever passed muster when he did. Maybe it was time to let their friendship die. They could stay in touch by phone. He gaze went back to those chocolate irises. His stomach clenched harder. He wouldn’t be able to admire how her soft features belied the sarcastic temperament underneath. He wouldn’t be able to drown in her eyes, secretly, and not want an anchor when the undertow of the woman dragged him under. She sunk her teeth in her bottom lip, her nervous tell, and the thought hit him. I’ve lost her already.

It was for the best.

Okay, think brotherly. Think non-sexual, non-lust, sans kissing or making love…His lips started to pull into smile. Morgan made a disgruntled noise and slammed the car door.

Moments passed by in silence. Finally, he banged his head back on the headrest and then reached for the door handle. He couldn’t bring himself to open it. Ages ago he should have made the first move. It’s not like there weren’t moments where he could have taken the opportunity. His mind went back to the first and only time they kissed back in the 8th grade.

“I’m going to be dead before a boy kisses me,” Morgan had said. They’d been sitting on the bleachers outside the cafeteria. She’d been doing math homework, and he was waiting to copy the answers. Without thought but plenty of gumption, he leaned forward and gave her a closed mouth kiss. Her eyes had widened, but then surprised turned to pleasure.

A punch of lust, so foreign to him then, and so rare to him now, had hit him. A simple brush of their lips had kept him up many nights since. He hadn’t known, truly, what he’d been doing. She’d been inexperienced too. What would a kiss be like now?

Alan shook the thought of his head. They’d never talked about the kiss or how it felt. Now that Alan considered about the situation, he’d made a joke afterward and they moved on like they always did.

But there were other times: summers spent half naked and swimming in Dead Man’s Lake dancing together at prom, drunken college nights spent in their dorm. A few million opportunities, all wasted because he’d been too chicken shit to take a chance.

He scowled at the home Morgan disappeared into. One level, but plenty of yard to make up for the house’s lack of size. A home she’d made for herself and no prospect of a family because she had to be waiting for him.

No, he hadn’t been too chicken shit, only scared that any relationship they’d have would crash and burn like all his relationships. She was the staple in his life, for better or worse. Their lives we so intertwined and Alan tried to think of a time when Morgan wasn’t there. Fear pumped into his veins.

He couldn’t walk up her to her door and knock. He definitely couldn’t wrap his arms around her the moment she opened the door and kiss her. He couldn’t tell her all the number of ways his heart pounded in his chest at the sight of her or even when they touched. She’d probably throw back her head and laugh, a flippant quip on the lips he wanted to kiss.

Alan loosened his grip on the door handle, stared at her house for a few more moments, and then threw the car into reverse. No, he was definitely a chicken shit.

*****

Morgan stared down the phone on her kitchen counter then said, “I swore on a stack of Holy Bibles I wasn’t going to call.”

She didn’t turn to her mother’s sigh, a few feet away, at the kitchen table near the bay window. “Dear, either you call him or stop calling me.”

Morgan whirled around, not surprised at her mother’s reply. “What kind of mother are you? You are supposed to be my moral support. You are supposed to be the one who says, ‘It’s all right, let me kiss your hurt.’ Not, ‘don’t call me.’ Ugh.”

“I would be if you hadn’t called me for seven days straight, asking me if you did the right thing. Every day I’ve come over here to watch you mope around the house for hours. In between the moping I’ve watched you break your neck every time the phone rings. So, that circles me back to call him.”

Her mother lifted the Chardonnay bottle. The five carat diamond wedding ring shone in the false light. “Looks like you need a refill, Honey.”

No wonder Morgan was so screwed up. Not that having June Cleaver as a mom seemed like a better choice out of the two extremes, but she wanted…Morgan wasn’t sure what she wanted.

On a whim she’d spoken words she wished to take back. She thought her life would be simpler without pining over Alan. Apparently life completely without him didn’t lessen the pining.

She wanted him here, anywhere near here, just to be there with her. Apparently, he still wasn’t out of her system. Realizing how pathetic she appeared, Morgan marched away from the phone and took the glass her mother offered.

“If I call, he wins.” And my heart will keep breaking every time he doesn’t touch me.

Stacey rolled her eyes. “And what if he doesn’t call? Weren’t you the one to tell him you needed time away? I mean really, dear, sometimes I don’t know how you became so contrary.” Her mother took a liberal sip of wine.

“I have a mother that says contrary and celebrates every holiday on a calendar year.” Morgan rubbed the condensation from the glass. The liquid beaded on her fingertip. “But I think my contrariness has screwed things up.”

“What’s to come is inevitable. Think about it, dear, for sixteen years you guys have ignored this elephant in the room. Also, in sixteen years this is the first time you guys haven’t talked.”

Her mother took a sip from her glass and then said, “There is going to be an implosion. I just hope I’m not in the way when it happens.”

Morgan glanced down into her drink. “No, I’ve definitely screwed this up.”

Before she could take a sip from her glass the phone rang. She skidded across the floor, snatched it up from the counter and answered it half-way through the first ring. “Hello?”

She didn’t hear the reply over the ringing of the doorbell.

Still couldn’t pin-point the voice when her mother yelled, “I’ll get it.” And the swigging door to the kitchen swished behind Stacey.

“I’m sorry can you repeat that.” She said.

An automated voice said, “If you don’t have renter’s insurance here’s your opportunity to.”

Morgan slammed the phone down. The swinging door creaked open behind her. “It wasn’t.” She glanced up and stopped mid-sentence.

Alan wasn’t calling her, because he was standing in her kitchen. Wrinkles clung to the bottom of the denims he wore. His collared shirt was half tucked into his pants and half out. She backed up into the wood counter, not sure if it was his appearance leaving her at a lost for words or that he was standing in her kitchen.

“Stacey said she had to go and something about an implosion,” Alan said. She said you’d know what it meant.”

There was an implosion alright. Was it wrong that she wanted to run to him and wrap her arms around his steady frame? Maybe, but seven long days had changed her outlook a little. It was time to stop lying to herself.

She loved Alan, and she’d been in love with him for sixteen years. Morgan told her rational brain to shut up and took a step forward.

“I’m sorry,” Alan said, and a multitude of emotions colored the words. “I—it’s been hard.”

Morgan stopped moving at his words. “What do you mean?”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I thought I would go out on dates. When that didn’t work, I grabbed the nearest sibling and went on a drinking binge.”

“You drank? Hard liquor?” Morgan narrowed her eyes.

He grimaced. “Sure as hell wasn’t a Fuzzy Navel.”

She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Why?”

Morgan asked, though she already knew the answer.

“Because I was trying to live my life without you in it.” He moved toward her. “It’s damn hard.” He took another step until he stood in front of her. “Frankly, I don’t want to.”

Damn the consequences. Morgan closed the distance between the, until they were chest to chest. Her breasts were pressed against the hard wall of muscle. It felt right.

She licked her lips, filled with nerves and who-gives-a-damn and said, “Kiss me.”

His wide palms, the ones she’d fantasized about cradled her face. Heat spread from her temples down, down farther, until she moaned against his mouth. The kiss was everything she dreamt it would be, but it didn’t scratch the itch.

“I love you.” He murmured.

Oh, that was close, but not quite there. “Beary much?”

He pulled back and his dimple deepened as he chuckled. “Forever.”

That hit the spot. “I love you, too.” She paused, her hand on his zipper. “But first I’ve got an itch only you can scratch.”

End of The Sixteen Year Itch

Bio

Melissa Blue’s writing career started on a typewriter one month after her son was born. This would have been an idyllic situation for a writer if it had been 1985, not 2004. Eventually she upgraded to a computer. She’s still typing away on the same computer, making imaginary people fall in love.

Where to find me online or places to sign up for my newsletter to get the latest news:

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Other Titles by Melissa Blue

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