they’d married.
The last guy had struck out with the gorgeous brunette at the bar.
Tony hoped like hell he could do better.
* * *
When she looked up, he was right there, leaning against the bar beside her. Big and broad, smelling like woodspice deodorant and Seventh Generation double-concentrated laundrydetergent.
Smelling like Tony.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
She was so glad to see him, her skin hurt. Her jaw ached with the pressure of not smiling at him, her fingers twitching to touch him.
Amber held herself in check.
He nodded at the empty glass on the bar. “Buy you another one?”
“Sure.”
Sure, he could buy her a drink. Because that made sense.
It made sense for Tony to be here. Why not? He’d probably dropped by on his way home from work.
No. It was only nine. Considering how badly things were going on the job and how long the commute to Chillicothe was, he wouldn’t be home from work yet.
Maybe this was his lunch break.
She’d forgotten to pack his lunch.
The thought produced a hysterical pressure at the back of her throat, and she clamped down on it, afraid to do anything more than breathe in, because she might break.
One tap would do it, she was so brittle. Iced over. Ever since she’d sat down in the chair at the salon and watched her hair drop to the floor in heavy, wet chunks.
She’d let herself be towed along in the wake of the spa receptionist’s enthusiasm. Brittany had booked the haircut, followed by waxing, massage, sugar scrub, and manicure. Amber had let herself be buffed. She’d felt the hot trickle of a tear at her temple when a stern aesthetician in a lab coat ripped all the hair off her labia, and the tears had kept coming, strangely warm. Inside, she’d felt like she was getting colder.
Last night, she’d eaten a four-course dinner alone and tried to convince herself she enjoyed it. Today, the beach. The pool. A drink, and then shopping. New dress. New shoes. A not-quite date at the bar with Jared from the pool at some not-quite-defined time after dinner, because she hadn’t felt like saying no when she could shrug and look at the horizon.
She hadn’t led him on, precisely. Hadn’t batted her eyelashes or laughed at his jokes. She’d only been present, and her presence didn’t give him the right to touch her. They’d had amisunderstanding about that. About what he thought she owed him, just by existing in this dress. By having tits and an ass and wearing lipstick.
She was so weary of being touched.
She was so weary of everything, and she didn’t know what she’d thought her mini-makeover would accomplish, but it hadn’t. She’d stood naked in front of the mirror in the suite’s bathroom and stared at herself and felt … not nothing, precisely. An absence of pleasure. An absence of anticipation.
She hadn’t cared what happened with Jared until he’d put his hand on her back and some of the ice had started to crack.
Don’t
, she’d thought.
Don’t, or I’ll break
.
And then she’d seen Tony across the room. A hammer blow, delivering back to her all the blood beneath her skin. All the sweat, the joy, the
fear
. So much fear, she’d had to clamp down hard on the need to smile. She’d had to. Because when she saw him, she felt that kiss he’d given her—that last firm press of his mouth against hers before he got in the van and left the island—and she’d thought,
I was waiting for you to come back
.
She had been. Or she hadn’t.
Had she?
Amber had no idea. No grip on anything.
God, it was terrifying. Why not have a drink?
“What is it?” he asked.
“Absinthe.”
One eyebrow went up. “I’ve never had that before.”
“It’s interesting.”
Tony hailed the bartender and said, “Two more of those.”
After the drinks were in front of them, the tip pushed across the counter, he lifted his glass and said, “Cheers.”
Then he tried it, and his brow drew in, darkening his eyes. Casting a shadow over the planes of his
The last guy had struck out with the gorgeous brunette at the bar.
Tony hoped like hell he could do better.
* * *
When she looked up, he was right there, leaning against the bar beside her. Big and broad, smelling like woodspice deodorant and Seventh Generation double-concentrated laundrydetergent.
Smelling like Tony.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hi.”
She was so glad to see him, her skin hurt. Her jaw ached with the pressure of not smiling at him, her fingers twitching to touch him.
Amber held herself in check.
He nodded at the empty glass on the bar. “Buy you another one?”
“Sure.”
Sure, he could buy her a drink. Because that made sense.
It made sense for Tony to be here. Why not? He’d probably dropped by on his way home from work.
No. It was only nine. Considering how badly things were going on the job and how long the commute to Chillicothe was, he wouldn’t be home from work yet.
Maybe this was his lunch break.
She’d forgotten to pack his lunch.
The thought produced a hysterical pressure at the back of her throat, and she clamped down on it, afraid to do anything more than breathe in, because she might break.
One tap would do it, she was so brittle. Iced over. Ever since she’d sat down in the chair at the salon and watched her hair drop to the floor in heavy, wet chunks.
She’d let herself be towed along in the wake of the spa receptionist’s enthusiasm. Brittany had booked the haircut, followed by waxing, massage, sugar scrub, and manicure. Amber had let herself be buffed. She’d felt the hot trickle of a tear at her temple when a stern aesthetician in a lab coat ripped all the hair off her labia, and the tears had kept coming, strangely warm. Inside, she’d felt like she was getting colder.
Last night, she’d eaten a four-course dinner alone and tried to convince herself she enjoyed it. Today, the beach. The pool. A drink, and then shopping. New dress. New shoes. A not-quite date at the bar with Jared from the pool at some not-quite-defined time after dinner, because she hadn’t felt like saying no when she could shrug and look at the horizon.
She hadn’t led him on, precisely. Hadn’t batted her eyelashes or laughed at his jokes. She’d only been present, and her presence didn’t give him the right to touch her. They’d had amisunderstanding about that. About what he thought she owed him, just by existing in this dress. By having tits and an ass and wearing lipstick.
She was so weary of being touched.
She was so weary of everything, and she didn’t know what she’d thought her mini-makeover would accomplish, but it hadn’t. She’d stood naked in front of the mirror in the suite’s bathroom and stared at herself and felt … not nothing, precisely. An absence of pleasure. An absence of anticipation.
She hadn’t cared what happened with Jared until he’d put his hand on her back and some of the ice had started to crack.
Don’t
, she’d thought.
Don’t, or I’ll break
.
And then she’d seen Tony across the room. A hammer blow, delivering back to her all the blood beneath her skin. All the sweat, the joy, the
fear
. So much fear, she’d had to clamp down hard on the need to smile. She’d had to. Because when she saw him, she felt that kiss he’d given her—that last firm press of his mouth against hers before he got in the van and left the island—and she’d thought,
I was waiting for you to come back
.
She had been. Or she hadn’t.
Had she?
Amber had no idea. No grip on anything.
God, it was terrifying. Why not have a drink?
“What is it?” he asked.
“Absinthe.”
One eyebrow went up. “I’ve never had that before.”
“It’s interesting.”
Tony hailed the bartender and said, “Two more of those.”
After the drinks were in front of them, the tip pushed across the counter, he lifted his glass and said, “Cheers.”
Then he tried it, and his brow drew in, darkening his eyes. Casting a shadow over the planes of his
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