So I threw myself into work, focusing on pitching edgy, raw articles about military families and their place in society. I got picked up by a couple of local, weekly magazines, and ended up getting some quotes featured in a thinkpiece about the subject that came out in the Chicago Daily Tribune a couple of months later. I slowly built up another group of friends—less artsy, more focused, like me—and found myself looking out over my twenty-seventh year, my second without him, with more optimism than I’d had for a long time.
My love life was beginning to take some wobbly steps towards well, something, recently, and I’d managed to rid myself of almost all the trappings of my old life with Jake. I got a new apartment in the centre of the city, I adopted a gorgeous kitten, Scoop, and I felt like I had been lucky-lucky enough that I could start over. I still missed him and thought about him every day, but he wouldn’t have wanted me to sit at home grieving for him for the rest of my life. These were topics we’d touched on during the longer, colder nights apart, and he’d made it clear that he wouldn’t want me losing the rest of my like to someone who couldn’t give anything back in return.
So, I started again. The only person left over from that part of my life, in fact, was Tate. Initially, it had been too tough to even think about spending time with him, considering his closeness and his ties with Jake. But we’d been sure to keep in touch, sharing the emotions we were going through as we grieved the loss of the same man. It sometimes helped just to talk to someone who understood my jokes about the tics in Jake’s speech, or the way his voice cracked when he got excited. He had been given an honourable discharge after what had happened to the rest of his regiment, and he’d found it difficult adjusting back to the city, too.
Tate was a reformed bad boy, or so I’d heard from Jake. He’d been caught up in a lot of trouble in high school, and his parents had all but strongarmed him into the Navy. He was resistant to it a first, but he starting bonding with his regiment, and they became like a family to him. By the time he came back from his first deployment, he still had all his swagger, but it was punctuated by moments of surprising vulnerability and maturity. He’d worked a bunch of low-paid jobs since he’d come back from the Middle East, but he’d quit to focus on doing something good for the veteran community. He’d revealed more and more of himself to me every time we met, till I felt like I understood him from the ground up. He was precociously smart, had a quick but rare temper, and wanted more than anything to try and get his life going. At the time we came together, we were at the same place in our lives, and I think that’s what really bonded us to each other at first.
He hadn’t really dated much before he’d gone in to the Navy, and he would occasionally text me looking for frantic “women advice,” as he titled it. He didn’t know many women in the city, and we’d been able to talk pretty openly before, so I was happy to lend him an ear when he needed it. Honestly, I was surprised at his apparent ineptitude with women. Despite his imposing six-foot frame, he was actually a very sweet guy with a warm, fuzzy sense of humour that caught you off-guard.
I guessed it was just because he was uncomfortable around them, too uncomfortable to show his real self off, but I did sometimes wonder what it would be like out on a date with Tate. Would he be sweet? Shy? Charming? Sleazy? I had no idea. I had only ever seen him as a friend.
This particular night, Tate and me were spending a couple of hours together over a bottle of wine for a catch-up. I was looking forward to it; deadlines had been shifted around for my freelancing work, and Tate had just started training as a counsellor to help other veterans. We both had a lot to talk about, but never enough time to say it in. I heard a knock on my door, and sprang to my feet- there he was!
Throwing open the latch, I opened the door and welcomed him with a big smile. “Tate! I can’t believe it’s been so long.”
“Me neither, Erica. What, has it been a month, a month and a half?”
“Something like that.” I pulled a face. “Anyway, come in, we have wine, and lots of stuff to catch up on.
“We do!” He beamed, pulling out a bottle of cheap red from his bag. “Shall I get the glasses?”
I nodded, gesturing to the kitchen. “Help yourself. I have the bottle opener through here, though.”
“Always have it close to hand, eh?”
“Precisely.”
He walked back into the room, brandishing a couple of wine glasses. Reaching for the bottle opener, he plonked himself down on the seat next to me and uncorked the wine, pouring two full-to-brimming glasses. He held his up to mine.
“Cheers?”
“Cheers,” I replied, clinking my bottle against his. “So, tell me, how’s the training for the counselling going?”
He took a little sip of his wine, and then replied. “Well. Tougher than I thought, but I think it’s going to be worth it, and it’ll help me work through some of my own issues. You know me. If I’m not actively helping someone else I feel like I’m doing nothing at all.”
I rolled my eyes. “Of course I know that. Do you remember when I moved in here, and you carried boxes from the street to my flat all day because you were worried my arms might crumple under, I don’t know, a box of cardigans?”
“Hey, I still have my own questions about that. Namely, how does someone like you own enough cardigans to fill a box?” he pointed out.
“Someone like me? What on earth do you mean by that?” I realized that I had tilted my body to face his, so that our knees were nearly brushing against each other. I re-adjusted my position immediately. Huh. That felt…weird.
“You know. Just one of those fast-living women who doesn’t see the need to own lots of cardigans, because she’s either going full trenchcoat in summer or tiny t-shirts in winter.” He shrugged.
“Come on, you know I had to do those pictures for a fashion journalism thing. You know, for that blog I worked for last year?” I exclaimed.
“I remember, but it doesn’t make it any less weird. Who’s going to be shopping for big jackets in the summer?”
I sighed, resigned. “I’m not going to debate fashion with you, again. Not when you have so little of it yourself.”
He laughed, a strong, deep sound that filled me with instant joy. “I’m not going to argue with you on that one, okay? Speaking of your writing, what have you been doing recently? Any interesting stories I should know about?”
“I’m following up at a couple of sites to do that 30-day beauty challenge thing, but I don’t think they’re interested. I’ll probably need to borrow your photography skills for that one if I do get it, though.”
Tate had photographed my articles for the last six months or so, ever since he revealed some of his old photography from high school. He got a handful of cash from the magazine I was publishing in, and we got to hang out and mess around while I messed with my hair and wore silly outfits. It also meant that Tate was the first person to know about whatever my new work was, which made him feel as much as a colleague as he was a friend. It was a good mix. I probably couldn’t invite many of my other colleagues over to drink wine and talk smack on a Friday night.
So the night wore on, and we put away all of his wine plus a bottle I’d had kicking around the back of my cupboards for a suspiciously long time. I was beginning to allow that warm, fuzzy feeling of tipsiness pass over me, letting it sink down into my bones and relax my spine. I leaned into the couch, my hand locked in an iron grip around my glass, turning to face him again. I consciously pulled my legs up to my chest, making sure that we weren’t touching. It wasn’t that the thought repulsed me. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The thought made my brain do strange and serious things, and I didn’t want to focus on those feelings right now.
Okay, full disclosure: I hadn’t had sex with anyone since Jake at that point. I’d been on a few dates, shared a few kisses, but nothing had ever really felt…right the way it did with him. I wondered if it would ever feel right again, but I mostly tried to distract myself from those thoughts by
promising myself that when the right guy came along, my body would let me know it. Sure, I’d been missing feeling that closeness with someone, but the wounds that Jake left had always felt a little two raw and dangerous. I didn’t want to open myself up to the guilt I would feel, no matter how much I knew no-one, least of all Jake, would have begrudged me for the effort.
But sitting here, on this couch, only a few inches away from Tate, I had started to feel something that was unlike anything I’d had with the men I’d dated over the last few months.
I knew I was fooling myself, to some degree. I’d be lying if I said that I hadn’t felt some kind of frisson between me and Tate before, even as both of us did our best to ignore it. We channeled out chemistry into platonic activities, enjoying the way we bounced off one another with ease. It was comfortable, even if my body was telling me that there was something more to this entirely.
So, I sat there, facing him, taking in his handsome, distinctive face: a strong jaw, a long nose, and bright hazel eyes looked back at me, expectantly. I realized it was my turn to speak, and all I was doing was sitting here and gawping at him like a total idiot.
“So, um, Tate,” I stumbled, lifting my wine glass to my lips to cover up my flushed cheeks. “How about your love life? Any nice ladies you want some help with?”
“You make it sound like I’m doing something creepy with them,” he laughed at me, before looking down and picking at the fabric of my couch. “And no. There’s no-one around at the moment, at least, no-one I have any chance with.”
“Oh, don’t say that!” I cajoled. “Who is she? What’s she like? Do I know her?”
His eyes met mine, and I felt a shiver of heat squirm down my spine. Why did he have this affect on me? This was Tate. Just normal, average, Tate, no different from the Tate who had sat on that very couch opposite me for countless nights over the last two years. Nothing had changed, but it felt like everything was different. “I think you know her. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What about you? How’s your dating scene?”
I sighed, blowing my bangs out of my eyes as I did so. “Oh, pretty under-populated, as ever.”
“I don’t see why you don’t have dudes battering down your door all the time,” he said, his voice careful.
“It’s not really about opportunity, it’s more about the fact that I don’t really want to date any of them,” I replied.
“Really?”
“Really. I mean, they’re nice enough, and all, but none of them do that….thing to me. You know? That thing that makes me actually want a second date.”
“And what might that thing be?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Damned if I know. As soon as I figure it out, I’ll start telling my dates to do whatever it is if they want to see me again. Maybe I just haven’t met the right guy yet.”
“It gets tough, I know,” he smiled. “But you’ll get there in the end. You’re right. If the people you’re going on dates with aren’t compelling you to arrange a follow-up, then they’re not the people you should be dating. Simple.”
“Ah, you make it sound so easy, Tate.” I chinked my glass up against his playfully. “But hey, you’ve certainly lasted past the first meeting!”
“I have indeed,” he replied, with pride in his voice. “Is it my amazing conversation, or my good looks that kept me around?”
“A bit of both,” I answered without thinking. Shit, did I really just say that out loud?
“Oh, really?” he raised his eyebrows at me.
“Not like that. I mean—” I rushed to say, trying to cover my tracks. Damn, this wine had gone to my head.
“No, it’s okay, I get it. I’m just too devilishly charming for you to keep your head on straight.” He cocked his head at me. “Or maybe it’s the wine.”
“Probably the wine.” Hopefully the wine, I thought.
“Speaking of, I should probably think about getting home soon. I want to let out Fillion and drink a big glass of water before I go to bed.”
“Yeah, call me if you’re hungover tomorrow. We can go get some greasy friend junk to make it all go away.”
I smiled as he rose to his feet. Fillion was his black Labrador, who he’d raised from a puppy, and Tate doted on him. I had never seen him stay at a party late, because he always had to get off home and make sure that his beloved Fillion was doing okay. I had always found caring about animals a very attractive trait in men, even though I was trying desperately to forget that fact right now.
It’s just the wine, I told myself again, promising myself that tomorrow morning, all the odd feelings this man was stirring up inside of me would be gone for good. Ending up with Tate, however tantalising it sounded right now, was probably a terribly bad idea. I couldn’t imagine either of us coming out of that arrangement feeling like we weren’t awful people.
So I stood up, and guided him to the door, undoing the latch so he could get out. Smiling, he squeezed my elbow, sending another jolt of electricity along my whole body. Damn, could he feel that too?
“Take care of yourself, Erica,” he said, just as he stepped into the hall and headed for the door.
I closed the latch behind him, leaning up against the wood for support as I tried to process the riotous feelings that were exploding across my body. I felt guilty for wanting him, but I did. I wanted him desperately. I didn’t know if it was just my natural curiosity coupled with my libido pushing me in his direction, but all I did know for sure was that I wanted to feel how his warm, hard body would feel against my own, how he would feel as he was—
There was a tap at the door, jolting me out of my reverie. I squinted through the keyhole. Tate? Had he forgotten something? Opening the door, I looked up at him, and realized in that moment just what he had come back for.
Leaning down, he slid one hand behind my neck and pulled me into him. Our lips met, and the feeling was explosive. Nothing like the other kisses I’d had over the last few dates. His mouth was firm, and gentle, all at the same time, his tongue parting my lips and exploring the inside of my mouth. Gripping one of his strong arms, I leant into him, inhaling the scent of his skin. Once familiar, it was now studded with something darker and more needy, although I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I didn’t care.
We stood there, in the doorway to my apartment, our mouths saying everything they hadn’t been able to before he left. I couldn’t tell you how long we were kissing, but it felt like a damn had burst, as if both of us had been waiting for this for a long, long time. It felt so natural, and so right, but then I remembered that Tate had watched my husband and I kiss like this at our wedding ceremony.
I pulled away, and Tate kept a hold of me as I swayed slightly on my feet.
“Woah, there. Everything okay?”
“Yeah, I-I just think I need to get to bed.” I replied, forcing myself not to look up into his dark eyes. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to kiss him again if I did, and I needed some time to go over what had just happened in my head. He nodded, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead as he stepped out of the doorway, allowing me to close it behind him. I pressed my head into my hands as my head spun uncontrollably.
What the hell had just happened? Did this mean that he wanted me the same way I wanted him? Or was this just one tipsy kiss that we should put to the back of our minds and never speak of again as long as we live? Oh, Jake… My heart suddenly ached when I remembered that the last first kiss I’d had that had made me feel that alive was from him. I knew it was counter-productive, but I wanted to be able to move on from him completely, and dating one of his best friends didn’t seem like the best way to go about that.
I wondered if Tate was experiencing the same guilt that I was, along with that undeniable fizzing that was happening somewhere deep in my belly. Even amongst those confusing feelings that were sending my head in a thousand different directions, there was one that I could recognise and identify: the girlish part of me that was delighted that he’d finally kissed me. My crush was now cons
ummated, even if it was in the most middle-school way imaginable.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped away from the door and started to gather up our glasses. I needed to get to bed, and pray my head was clear enough tomorrow to think about this logically. But as I washed up, took off my make-up, and changed into my pyjamas, I couldn’t shake the feeling of that kiss from my brain.
Calling Scoop to me, I lay down in my giant double bed, sprawling myself out to stretch out my tired limbs. Turning my head to look at the empty pillow next to me, I couldn’t help but wonder, would it stay empty for long?
When I woke up the next day, my head was swirling, and it wasn’t just the wine. I was still trying to fully get my head around what had happened last night. Had we really…done that? Had he really come back to my apartment like he was in some cheesy rom-com, just to kiss me? The memory of his lips on mine was still seared into my brain, and I brushed my fingers across my mouth, mimicking the feel of his skin against mine. The thought made me shiver. It wasn’t unwelcome.
I sat up, and groaned slightly as my hangover made itself known. It wasn’t terrible, but I was going to need a good few slices of toast to get through my morning’s work. Walking to the kitchen, I reached for glass, filled it with water from the tap, and gulped it straight down.
Mmm, that was better. My throat already felt less scratchy than it had when I’d woken up. I decided to push my thoughts about Tate to the back of my head till I had to confront them. It was the strategy I’d been using ever since that moment last night, and it seemed to be working for me so far. I settled in in front of the computer screen, and started my work.
I managed to keep going for a good few hours, my mind working automatically as my fingers whizzed over the keyboard. I was putting together a piece for one of the websites I wrote for, its target audience being Navy widows like me. Having to channel the side of my brain that would always be Jake’s widow was difficult, because it was a side of myself I usually tried to shut down, but it provided some serious distraction from the matter at hand. I was starting to cautiously wonder if maybe the kiss last night hadn’t been so ground-shaking after all, when my phone buzzed on my desk next to me. I looked up, and Tate’s name glowed above a message he’d just sent to me. I opened it, sat back in my chair, and scanned the text quickly.
Taken By The Forbidden Highlander (Scottish Highlander Romance) Page 76
