by Denise Wells
He tastes so manly, like mint and lemon and home.
He tastes like I’ve come home.
I moan and lose myself in the kiss, not bothering to come back to reality until I hear a throat clear, and a small voice asks, “Brad?”
I pull away and look up to see Stacy standing behind him, her face frozen in disbelief, with eyes wide, mouth agape, and one hand at her throat.
He stands and turns to look at her.
“Aw, Stace… Shit…”
She looks between Brad and me. “I wanted to make sure you were okay… but I can see now you are fine. So… I’m gonna go.”
And with that, she turns and runs away.
Brad stands there looking like he’s been shot.
“Fuck! I’ll be back.”
He turns to leave, then looks back and points at me.
“Kat, don’t move!” he growls, and he runs after her.
I sit there, stunned.
What the fuck just happened?
I stand up, throw a bunch of money on the table, and head for the nearest bar, pulling my phone out to text my besties, Lexie and Remi, as I go.
Shit. Fuck. Piss. Shit. Fuck. Piss. Shit. Fuck. Piss.
