Grit And Grind (Dirty South Book 1)

by Kat Addams

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, testing the waters.

  “What do you think it means?”

  “I don’t know; that’s why I’m asking. You don’t feel the same way?”

  “No, I don’t,” Klara sighed.

  Chris could feel his heart plummet into his stomach. What the fuck is going on? He stopped what he was doing and waited for her to explain.

  “Chris, I don’t limerence you. I love you. Is that not obvious? Do you feel this between us? Do you know what that is? That’s not limerence. Sure, we are infatuated, and that shit doesn’t last … but this? The support for each other, the trials with this long-distance craziness, all that. That is love—or at least, that needs love to make it work. It’s a choice. Love is a choice. And that’s how I feel. Not this bullshit limerence. I feel love. I am choosing love. I am choosing you.”

  Klara had had enough beating around the bush while he was beating around her bush. She was tired of the unknown, the tiptoeing, avoiding the uncomfortable conversations. The emotions of the last week coupled with their transcendental lovemaking session and, now, having to let him go—it was all too much for her. She knew she should have kept her mouth shut, but she just couldn’t. She had known this could cause a fight or that she would come off as some clingy, crazy cat lady. Even though she didn’t have cats. All the hair in her condo was from … well, who the fuck knew? But that was beside the point. She wasn’t crazy. She was in love. And damn it if she was sick of not shouting it to him from the rooftops.

  Chris lay back on the bed, rubbing his hands along his face, closing his eyes into a deep squint. Hoping that he would just blend in with the bed and disappear. “Klara … I don’t think that’s how you feel.”

  “Are you trying to tell me my own feelings? Are you saying I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel?”

  Shit, Chris thought. He was. He didn’t know what to say or what to do. He just knew he was in an insane amount of discomfort right now.

  “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to say, I don’t know if I’m there. I care about you so damn much. I just don’t want to hurt you or get hurt myself, I guess. I’ve not been in love. If that is what I am feeling, so be it. But I can’t tell you that unless I know it’s true, and I don’t even know how to tell if it’s true. How do I know a feeling I’ve not experienced?”

  “You just know. And, if you don’t just know, then you just don’t. Look, I wasn’t expecting you to say it back. I understand you have a fear of the L-word. Your parents didn’t exactly model what a loving relationship was to you, so—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a minute now. You’re bringing up my childhood? Are we fighting?”

  “No!” Klara’s face was flushed, her hands on her hips, her lips pursed. She looked ready to attack.

  He should have never brought up the limerence thing. Things had been going too well. He hadn’t expected to set her off. He didn’t want to. It was hard enough, leaving, but now, it would be even worse.

  “I’m really sorry, Klara. I have strong feelings for you. Can you trust me? I’m trying here. I might not be in the same place as you. I don’t know why. Yeah, it’s probably some of my parents’ fault but also mine. I haven’t ever been available. Day in and day out, I’ve been working. You know how it is. This type of relationship. It’s new to me. I’ve never had this type of feelings for anyone. I just don’t know what to say.”

  “You can start by not saying limerence. Women want to know they are more than an object for your fascination.”

  “That’s not what you are to me at all!” Chris said defensively.

  Does she really feel this way? After all I’ve done to try to show her how I feel? Even if I can’t say that four-letter word?

  Klara knew she was getting out of hand. Maybe she was doing it on purpose. It would be a lot easier to let him go if she was pissed off at him. That was how it usually worked with her. They’d made her mad, and she had let them go. Except Chris wasn’t making her mad really. It wasn’t his fault. Not all of it anyway. So, he couldn’t commit. Wait, he didn’t say he couldn’t commit. He said he didn’t know how he felt. She was getting flustered and confused.

  “Are you able to commit to a relationship with me?” she asked, determined to find out where she stood.

  “Yes! That’s what I’ve been saying. I want to give this a try. Me and you! Have you been listening? We were just talking about the plan. Communication is key and all?” Chris was flustered, pacing back and forth, unsure if he wanted to run away now or grab Klara and show her with his body how he truly felt.

  Why are words so hard for me? I’m a writer, for goodness’ sake! It’s not the words; it’s the emotions, he reminded himself.

  “Okay.”

  “Just okay.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry I spazzed out,” she whispered, barely audible.

  Her hands were covering her eyes, so he couldn’t see her shame.

  Chris laughed. “Come here, you,” he said as he pulled her onto his lap. Crisis averted? “I might not be able to give you what you want yet, but if you just give me some time, I’ll do my best. I’ll try to be more open with you, too, so you know what’s going on in this head of mine. I can make this work, Klara. Promise.”

  “Promise?”

  “Pinkie swear.” Chris stuck his pinkie out and grabbed hers. Intertwining it with his own and giving it a kiss. “Come on, my little spaz kitten. I’ve got to get to the airport. Walk me out?”

  Not trusting her voice to waver, she just nodded and followed his lead. She didn’t want to open her mouth anymore. She clasped her lips shut tightly, hoping that she wouldn’t cry. He couldn’t see her like that. He’d already seen her spaz out. She was surprised he wasn’t running away and not looking back. At least she knew now for sure how he felt.

  Klara could see through the glass doors that Chris’s driver was already outside and waiting on him. Her palms started to sweat, and she wasn’t sure her knees could make it to the door. Thankfully, Chris held on to her tight, slowly leading the way. The driver tipped his hat at Klara, greeting her with a smile. She nodded, still unable to talk.

  “Klara”—Chris gently cupped her face with his hands, bringing her gaze to his—“thank you for telling me how you feel. Thank you for being transparent and honest with me. You’re not a spaz. You’re just not dead inside like me.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

  The familiar sadness enveloped them both. She could see it in his eyes, too.

  “Thank you for the lessons, Chris. And for the memories,” she muttered into his mouth as he kissed her, gentle but rough. Wanting, needing.

  “There is a lot more where that came from. Until next time?” His eyes searched hers, his fake smile beaming. He didn’t want to leave on a sad note. Even though he ached as if he was leaving his heart back in his hotel. With her. His Memphis queen.

  “Until next time.” Her voice trailed off.

  She averted his eyes and stepped back, letting him turn to go. He ducked his head into the car and shut the door. Rolling the window down to give her a wave as the driver sped off.

  It was done. Over. She could go home now.

  Home, she thought. He is home.

  When Chris was gone, life was very different for Klara. Her return to reality, she knew, would never be the same. Although he had made good on his promises. So far. They communicated daily through texts, video chats, phone sex, and he even sent her limerence letters though the mail. Within a week, her mood was lifted but only a tiny bit. She still missed him terribly. Her days and nights were no longer spent in his arms but back in her condo and in front of her laptop. She had typed the last sentence of her first novel yesterday and proudly sent Chris a text.

  It’s done.

  What’s done?

  My novel. First draft is finished!

  Holy shit! That’s amazeballs, Klara! Got an editor in mind? Because, if you don’t, I know a guy. Just sayin’.

  Thanks, Chris. I�
�ll keep that in mind!

  Klara could use his resources, but she knew then this big accomplishment she had wanted her whole life wouldn’t exactly be hers. She needed to do this for herself. Without help. Partly because her pride and stubbornness, partly because she was a badass boss babe.

  Over the next few weeks, she kept herself busy with writing, writing, and more writing. She started running again and taking on extra shifts at work. Anything and everything to keep her mind off Chris. She ached for him. Literally. It was as if a hole had been left in her chest. She thought about filling it with wine and credit card debt, but she knew that wouldn’t leave her satisfied very long either. Only Chris left her satisfied these days. Very, very, satisfied. So satisfied that she contemplated buying him a clone-a-willy kit, so she could always have him around.

  Klara decided she needed to do something drastic to get her mind off her love life. Something life-changing. Something to keep her even busier. A baby? Hell no. Not yet anyway. Not unless it’s Chris’s babies. You know … we had that one slipup on date night and didn’t even bother with condoms. She wouldn’t be shocked if she had fallen pregnant from that night. That was some beautiful baby-making sex they’d had! Stupid of her to get lost in the moment and not use protection. But, no, thankfully, her period had been in full swing after that. Exactly after that actually. Four days early. She liked to think it was her uterus crying out for missed opportunities. Vengeful little shit.

  Klara mused, What to do? What to do? A tattoo? No. A skydiving trip? No. Cut my hair? No. Dye it? No. Adopt a cat? One step forward into crazy-cat-lady land? Maybe. She would be well on her way into old-lady territory in no time. Klara wondered if she needed to also buy pearls and pantyhose. She was feeling more than her age these days with her late-night writing and early morning running anyway. She spent too much time in the morning gazing in the mirror and pulling her face this way and that. Maybe, if she could have a lift here, a tuck there. Is that a wrinkle? Already? Fed up, she would slather on her sunscreen and head out for a run to clear her mind.

  Klara had missed too many running sessions while Chris was in town. Her stamina had quickly tanked after he left. Especially since she had eaten her feelings the week after he left. Cupcakes, ice cream, fried pickles, French fries dipped in milkshakes, wine, and maybe a tequila shot here and there. Typical breakup food. Except they weren’t breaking up, so she really had no excuse. She couldn’t fill that hole with food either. Damn, she wished Chris were there to fill her hole.

  She thought about reaching out to old friends she’d lost touch with, but that was just too creepy, too. They would probably think she was trying to sell them on a pyramid scheme if she suddenly popped back up in her life after years of silence.

  Here, try this blow job–proof lipstick or these sticker-nail-polish kits, which aren’t trashy at all, right? Ever heard of this drink? It makes you ten pounds lighter by blowing out your asshole. No, really, that last part isn’t true. Wink, wink. Beauty is pain. Embrace it.

  No, Klara couldn’t reach out to any old friends. They had their lives, their families, their careers. She didn’t want to be a third wheel. The loneliness she’d had before Chris she could handle, but now that he was gone, she had to reach out to someone. A therapist would be a good choice, but Klara didn’t always make the best choices. Instead, she joined a running group. Exercise could be therapy. It certainly would give her that endorphin high that she missed getting from Chris.

  Klara bent down to double-knot her laces when she saw him making his way toward her. She saw his abs first, of course, and then his smile. Farmer John. Of course he was part of this running group! How could she have doubted that? Her luck and his body?

  “Hey! Not flying solo anymore, I take it? Is this your first time?” He smiled down at Klara, sticking out his hand to greet her. “I’m John, by the way. I know we’ve met before, and I still feel terrible about that morning. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

  Klara almost fell over. His name really is John. Farmer. Fucking. John. Oh boy.

  “Not at all. That was partly my fault, too. I wasn’t paying attention. It’s fine. You’re fine.” You’re fine? Shit … Klara’s mind was doing it again. Zapped. She couldn’t contain herself when she caught a glimpse of a hot body. Even though she wasn’t calculating how fast he could get her panties off anymore or dreaming about how he looked on bended knee with a fat rock in his hand, ready to make her his. No, she wanted Chris like that. But Farmer John was nice eye candy, so she let herself relax.

  “It’s my first time in a group, yes. How about you? I usually see you flying solo, too.”

  “I joined a few weeks ago. Best decision I ever made. Well, not the best, but a damn good one.” He shrugged.

  “Well, now, I’m curious. What’s the best?”

  “My farm. Making the decision to do what I love instead of what society thinks I’m supposed to do.”

  “I thought I’d seen you at the farmers market before. You’re the one with the homemade pastas, right?”

  “I am.” John smiled. “All organic, all fresh. Have you tried any yet?”

  “Not yet. I’m not the best chef. I’m afraid my pasta skills are as fancy as ramen, and that’s it.”

  “You literally just drop my pasta in boiling water, too. I’ll show you. I’ll be at my stand Saturday morning if you want to drop by.”

  His eyes searched Klara’s. She didn’t know how to respond. Was he hitting on her or just being friendly? Was she cheating on Chris if she said yes? She wasn’t into Farmer John anymore. All she wanted was Chris. What could be the harm?

  “Deal. I could use some healthier foods around my place.”

  “Perfect! Good luck on your run. It’s a great group. All experts, so no crashing into each other.” He winked.

  He winked. He winked. He freaking winked.

  Klara steadied herself. What the heck have I gotten myself into this time?

  The farmers market was within walking distance of Klara’s house. She usually stopped by after an early morning run, picking up a few essentials. Sometimes, she would pick up a few extra goodies to drop by Ms. May’s house. Anything to make Ms. May’s life easier since her hospital incident. Even though she was an old windbag, Klara couldn’t bear to lose the old lady. She had been more of an ear than even her own mom these last few years.

  The smell of flowers lingered in the air as she made her way past the florist’s stalls, making a mental note to keep pressuring her boss to open their own stall. She was looking for a way to get the older residents, like Ms. May, out and about. She thought, if they could sit and work a stall, they would be happy. Not only would they be in fresh air and moving their old bodies around for exercise, but they would also be earning a little extra spending money.

  Klara smiled to herself, proud of her ideas. She had been full of them lately. She’d sent her novel off to the editor a few days ago, and so far, she had received really positive feedback. She had even been put in touch with an agent and told to get started on her next story, which she had and was quickly powering through. She needed a pat on the back. A gold star. A bottle of expensive champagne. A night on the town. A celebration. A … kitten?

  “Hey there,” John called out to her from behind his stall. His hands were full with not one, but two squirming kittens.

  “Hey! Wow, you have your hands full! Who are these little cuties?” Klara asked, reaching out to hold one.

  A hot man holding kittens? Just shoot me now.

  She was dead. D-E-A-D.

  “These are my new furry friends. Someone dropped them off at my farm, I guess. Found them all in a cage. We’re keeping one, but we couldn’t keep all of them. These are the last two that need homes. Sweet little things though. Need a cat?”

  Klara noticed he’d said we, and that was when she noticed another farmer hottie behind John, unloading a truck. She could tell through his tight shirt that he was just as blessed as John. His eyes the same blue, his five o’clock shadow lo
oking like it would feel amazing, scraping against her freshly shaved thighs. Who was he? A brother? A coworker? A friend?

  “Actually … ” Klara’s attention went back to the squirming rascal in her hands. “You know what? I do. I really do.”

  “Really? Are you sure? That was pretty easy.”

  “I’ve been toying around with the idea of becoming a crazy cat lady, so yes. I think it’s a sign you have some available. I guess it means I’m ready to become a fur mom after all.”

  “Ha! You are far too chic to be a crazy cat lady! Fur mom, yes. Crazy cat lady? Doubtful.”

  The man unloading the truck made his way to the table and started to unpack boxes and boxes of pasta and sauces. Klara got a faint whiff of basil, and her stomach started to growl.

  Oh no, don’t do this again, she thought, sending the message down to her stomach.

  “Oh, hmm … I didn’t know kittens growled. That’s odd,” John said as he inspected the kitten.

  Klara laughed it off as if she had no idea what he was talking about.

  “They don’t growl! They purr. Don’t ya, you wittle wascal?” the farmer friend said to the kitten in John’s arms.

  “This one is a rascal for sure,” John said as he put the squirming kitten back in the cage. “Klara, this is my partner, Grayson. Grayson, this is Klara. She’s a part of the running group, and she has graciously decided to take one of these fur babies off our hands.”

  Partner? Like a farming partner?

  “Nice to meet you, Klara. And thank you! I like you already. I’m a cat lover for sure, but I swallowed a cat hair in my smoothie today, and no, ma’am, not again! One is enough. John wanted to keep them all, but someone has to be the voice of reason,” he said, winking at John.

  Oh …

  “I’ve got to get these boxes down to the recycle bin. Have fun with the new addition, Klara,” Grayson continued, kissing John on the forehead and scurrying off.