was why he was better off being alone until he’d sorted out all this emotional crap.
But Lucy’s full lips quivered as if she was trying to figure out what to say to him. For a split second, all he wanted to do was lean in and kiss her so they didn’t have to talk anymore. He wanted to lose himself in the taste of her, bury his face in her silky brown hair and keep going until he forgot about everything else that was going on in his life.
He cursed under his breath and balled up the soggy napkins he’d been using to blot the spilled drink a few moments ago. He tossed it aside before pushing to his feet and walking over to the window, where he could give himself some space to get his head on straight and stuff this damn sentimentality back into the box where it belonged.
“Are you okay?” she asked from behind him. His awareness of her had his body responding.
He didn’t turn around. “Yeah, I—”
He needed to forget he’d ever wanted to do the things he was thinking about to Lucy. What the hell was wrong with him? “I need some space, Lucy. I think it might be best if you left.”
Because putting physical space between them—moving away from her—wasn’t helping him shake it off. No matter how far away he moved, he couldn’t unsee those lips or the way she was looking at him with those eyes... Worst of all, he couldn’t unfeel the way his body was reacting to her.
As he stood at the window, he listened to the DVD playing in the background, but it was just noise because he hadn’t been paying attention to it before now. He tried to think of anything else besides Lucy: his job, the part he needed to buy for his truck, baseball.
Strike one had been the thought of his mom never getting to celebrate that elusive special occasion that would’ve allowed her to use those f-ing fancy glasses. Strike two was the realization that the first ping of the damn crystal was marking her passing. Strike three was even though the first two strikes hadn’t made him lose it, the way Lucy was looking at him was going to finish the job. Or make him do something he knew they’d both regret later.
He was a mess.
And it wasn’t her fault. That was why she needed to just leave him alone.
“Zane?”
A violent clap of thunder had the sullen clouds bursting open and spilling rain in angry splats.
“Lucy, you shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
Why? He couldn’t answer her, because if he did, he knew she would see right through him.
Thunder sounded again, this time it was like a fist pounding something hard.
“Surely you’re not going to send me out in this weather,” she said. “Not after all that bourbon.”
He turned to face her. She was standing so close to him now, much too close, and he could feel the heat of her—of them—radiating in waves. “You’re right. I’ll go.”
“No.” She put a flat hand on his shoulder as if to stop him, and their gazes locked. “It’s okay, Zane.”
He wanted to ask her how she could think this was okay. Nothing about this was okay. He turned back to the window. The rain was falling harder now, punishing everything it touched.
“I’m sorry Dorothy didn’t get to use the glasses,” she said.
Her words hung in the air between them. He didn’t have words of his own.
“Life is too short to wait for special occasions, or until the time is right—” She paused as a shard of lightning ripped through the sky. It was punctuated by another explosive clap of thunder.
“Life is too short to put off doing the things you want to do,” she continued. “Don’t you think so, Zane?”
Yes.
No!
Ah, hell.
She gently caressed his shoulders. He knew he should stop her, but instead he sank into it, his body needing her touch. She slid her hands down his arms, past the sleeves of his T-shirt. Goose flesh prickled in the wake of her touch, at the feel of skin on skin—her hands on his bare skin.
As she slid her hands around his waist and pressed her body to his, he closed his eyes and leaned his head back, letting her warmth soothe him, allowing it to melt his better judgment.
He wasn’t drunk, though he might have been lightly lubricated. He knew what he was doing by letting her touch him like this. But did she?
“Lucy—”
“Shhhh.” She leaned in and the heat of her sweet breath on his neck made him forget what he was going to say.
“Zane, we can’t wait for someday. All those things we’ve always wanted to do...” Those lips were kissing his neck now and every inch of his body was responding. “We need to do them. Right now.”
Somehow, she’d smoothly maneuvered so that she was standing in front of him, her back to the window, her arms around his waist. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but her eyes looked as clear and alert as they had when she’d first arrived. She’d had only one shot of bourbon and had spilled most of the second one he’d poured for her.
“Zane, I won’t break if you touch me.”
When he hesitated, she whispered, “I want you to touch me.”
He put his arms around her and she slid her hands down to his butt, pulling him in so that his body aligned with hers. There was no way she wasn’t feeling how much he wanted her.
His lips were a fraction of an inch from hers. He rested his forehead on hers.
“Lucy, I don’t want you to regret this. I don’t want you to think I got you drunk and took advantage of you.”
“You didn’t. I know exactly what I’m doing, exactly what we’re about to do. I’ve wanted this for so long. I think you want me, too, Zane. Don’t you?”
If you only knew.
His mouth found hers and he showed her exactly how much he wanted her.
Six weeks later
Peeing on a stick was not supposed to be this complicated, but Lucy had found nothing easy about the task—especially when it kept giving her the result she did not want to see.
Her hand shook as she tossed aside the seventh stick that showed a positive result.
No! No! No! This was not happening. This couldn’t be right. She could not be pregnant. But a little voice inside her told her that the odds of seven wrong results were slim to none. Her hands shook even more as she pressed the pump on the top of the liquid soap and turned on the warm water to wash up.
She
