Impulsive (4 page)

***

When the guests had gone, Tasha placed her hands on her hips and surveyed the wreckage of her kitchen while Luke cleared the table. Plates, dishes, and utensils cluttered the sink and counter. As much as she enjoyed cooking for her friends, she hated the aftermath with equal passion. She scowled, tied an apron around her waist, and prepared to dig in.

“Let me help. Where should I start?” Luke’s voice buzzed in her ear. Turning, she found him behind her, dishtowel in hand, looking like a man on a mission.
 

“You wash. I’ll dry.”
 

They stood shoulder to shoulder in silence. Should she say something?
Don’t overthink it.
Maybe she needed to follow her own advice. It wasn’t her first hookup, just the first one with a friend. She hadn’t given any thought to the aftermath. She’d been so secure in their friendship she hadn’t considered all the ways it could change things.
 

Steam fogged the window over the sink. He paused to put his iPod on the speaker dock and scrolled through his playlists before settling on a mix of hip-hop music, knowing how much she detested it. The lone dimple in his cheek taunted her when she frowned over his song choice.
 

“This sucks. It’s not even music. You can’t be serious.” With great effort, she tried to be stern.
 

“I suppose you’d rather listen to some kind of death metal noise.” One thick black eyebrow lifted.
 

“I’ve got the new Seven Drift release.” She made a move toward the iPod dock, but he blocked her with his chest.
 

“No.” He wrinkled his nose.
 

“Aren’t you excited about the concert? I saw the look on your face, like you smelled something bad.”

“Who says I’m not excited?” he asked. “Now, come on. Twerk with me.” He rapped along with the song, bumping his narrow hips against hers, grinding against her backside. This was Luke being Luke. Friendly. Flirty. Playful. She held her breath as he danced around her and pretended to spank her with large, dramatic sweeps of his arm. All she could think about was sex, sex, sex. Sex in the bathroom. Sex on the sofa. Sex on the kitchen floor. The muscles of her core clenched in a delicious reminder of what he’d done to her a few hours earlier.
 

I want him…again.
Once should have been enough to resolve the sexual tension between them. Now, it stood between them like a third person, hungry and demanding.

“Don’t leave me hanging.” Luke put his hands on her hips and tried to sway her from side to side. “You know you want to.”

“Stop it. I refuse to validate this noise.” Despite her somber words, laughter bubbled from her lips.

“You love it. Don’t be a hater, Tash.” His dimple deepened, and he waggled his eyebrows. They were back to normal, the way they’d always been. She loved it, loved their easy friendship and the comfort of it.

With her hands on her hips, she glared while he continued to circle and tease her. After the third time, she splashed soapsuds on him. He flipped her with the dishtowel. It connected on her bottom with a loud smack.

“Do it again, and I’ll be forced to take drastic measures,” she warned, struggling to keep a straight face.

“You and what army?” He crowded up to her, bumping her shoulder with his. The strength in her knees dissolved.

“Bring it.” She gave him her best menacing glare. He responded with a burst of laughter.
 

“You’re adorable,” he replied, and tweaked the tip of her nose. “I love it when you get all feisty and shit.” His eyes fell to her lips and stayed there for a fraction of a second longer than appropriate between friends. His breath puffed against her mouth. She closed her eyes and savored his nearness. The heat of his body burned through the thin cotton of her shirt.

Breathe. Just keep breathing.
 

She’d never been so aware of the space between two people. The rise and fall of his chest. His scent. She remembered his groan when she’d dug her nails into his back, the raw fullness of having him deep inside her. Then she thought about her mother and sisters and all the heartache from their failed relationships. Her father and the checkout lady. Talk about a mood killer. They needed to keep things light between them. She needed to stay in the safe zone.

“You should totally ask Sherry to the concert,” she blurted.

The playful smile on his lips slid away. He took a step back, drew in a deep breath, and straightened. “You’d be okay with that?”

No, she wasn’t okay with it, but it seemed the simplest way to keep their relationship from escalating to something more. This needed to be a one-time thing. She’d make sure of it, even though the thought of Sherry touching Luke turned her stomach.
 

“Sure,” she said. “Sherry’s cool. And she really likes you.”
 

Confusion and irritation flashed across Luke’s face, but it was the flicker of something new, something unsettling, giving her pause. “Okay,” he said, his voice a deep husk. He took another step back. The air around them chilled.

“What happened earlier was great, but it was just a one-time thing.” She closed her eyes and tried to breathe through the tightness in her chest. “It’s not going to happen again.”

“Sure,” he replied. “I know. Just helping each other out, right?”

“Yeah. Right,” she whispered.

Without opening her eyes, she knew he was gone. In the space of one erratic heartbeat, he’d moved away from her and toward the living room. It took a few seconds for the dryness in her throat to disappear.
 

“Hey, I’m out, girl scout.” Luke glanced at his watch and frowned. “I’ve got to get up early in the morning.” He gathered his duffel bag and dug his car keys from the side pocket.
 

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She sank onto the sofa and propped her feet on the coffee table, determined to fight back the unease burning through her veins.
 

“Yeah. We’ll go to your mom’s. I’ll pick you up later.”
   

The door clicked shut behind him, and the smile fell from her lips. An air of disappointment filled the apartment. She was being silly, turning nothing into something. Their friendship was strong, and it had been the best sex she’d ever had. Too bad it would never happen again.

***

When Luke reached his car, he threw the duffel bag into the back seat and slammed the door behind it. A night breeze hissed through the trees lining the street, and golden pools of light puddled beneath the streetlamps. He leaned against the car and scrubbed a hand through his hair. The wind cooled his heated cheeks.

What the fuck happened back there?

He blew out a deep breath and tried to sort through his feelings. He’d just fucked Tasha at a dinner party. His best friend. Part of him wanted to celebrate. Another part of him knew it was a mistake. The memory of their reflection in the bathroom mirror, her long legs draped around his waist and her pupils dilated with lust, made his cock twitch.
 

An elderly couple strolled down the sidewalk in front of him, holding hands and smiling. They nodded as they passed, and he forced his mouth to turn up in reply, although it probably came across as more of a grimace than a grin. Their appearance spurred him to get into the car, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave quite yet.

He clenched his fingers around the steering wheel and drew in a deep, cleansing breath because he couldn’t stop replaying her parting words.
This is just a one-time thing.
For her, maybe, but he didn’t do one-night stands. He wanted a girlfriend. Someone who would hold his hand, have his kids, and walk with him on a starry night forty years from now. Did some small part of him think Tasha might be the one?
 

He laughed at the absurdity. What was he thinking? This was two friends letting off a little steam and nothing more. They existed at the polar opposites of the dating spectrum. Tasha didn’t do relationships, and he didn’t fuck around. End of story.
 

The lights to Tasha’s eighth-floor apartment glowed yellow above him. Her silhouette moved from room to room, preparing for bed. He waited for the last window to go dark before he started the car, feeling a curious mixture of euphoria and panic.

As he pulled away from the curb, his cell phone rang and he glanced down. The name on the display screen brought a rare string of profanity to his lips.

Elijah Crowe.

Chapter 5

Even though her mother lived an hour away, it had been awhile since Tasha’s last visit. It was too weird without her father there, and the drama of her three sisters pushed her to the brink of insanity. They talked too loudly, too much, and all at the same time. After each visit, she took two aspirin and thanked her lucky stars for an apartment of her own.

Luke picked her up in his beater Honda. Because the AC didn’t work, they rolled down the windows and let the hot wind whip through the car. He played eighties rock music and forced her to sing along. If he had any issues with their recent hookup, he didn’t show it, and she breathed a sigh of relief. He was the one constant in her life, and she needed it to stay that way.

The Gretzky house looked the same but neglected. Dead flowers drooped from a planter on the porch. The yard needed mowed. Weeds choked the mailbox, and paint peeled on the garage door. Tasha’s throat tightened at the sight of it.

Luke parked on the street behind an unfamiliar Taurus. When he turned off the key, the music died and was replaced by shouting from inside the house
.
 

“Jesus,” Luke muttered.

Tasha leaped out of the car and ran up the steps, heart hammering against her chest, fearful of what she might find. Luke’s footsteps pounded behind her.

She barreled through the front door and straight into a war zone. Her mother, father, and the lady from the grocery checkout stood in the middle of the living room. They were so busy shouting and pointing fingers at each other that no one noticed her arrival.
 

“How dare you bring this whore into my house!” Felicia shouted.
 

“I am not a whore. You’re the whore,” shouted the checkout lady. “Tell her, Frank.”

“I’ll tear your eyes out, coming into my house and talking to me that way.” Felicia launched toward the checkout lady. Frank grabbed her around the waist and swung her to the side before she made contact.
 

The checkout lady backed away, eyes wide, and pointed a glossy red fingernail at Felicia. “If you lay one hand on me, I’ll press charges.”
 

“You’re trespassing,” Felicia said.

“Mom? Dad?” Tasha jumped between the women. “What’s going on here?”

Three faces turned to look at her. Her mother pushed away from Frank and straightened her dress with a twitch of the waistband. She was tall and slender like Tasha, but the resemblance stopped there. With over-teased hair and shiny pink lips, she was more suited for
Jersey Shore
than the suburban Midwest.
 

“Hi, ladybug,” her father said, a sheepish grin on his face.
 

“Hey, Dad. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
 

The three of them began talking at once.

“Your father cannot come in here unannounced—”

“Your mother needs to let me get my stuff—”

“I am not a whore.”

Tasha raised her hands into the air. “Stop it.” Silence fell again. She drew in a deep breath and pointed to Felicia. “Mom, not a word. Checkout Lady, I think you should go outside.” Checkout Lady opened her mouth, took one look at Tasha’s frown, and pushed through the front door. When the woman had left, Tasha turned to her father, the only one who had any semblance of calm about him, and said, “Now, Dad, you want to tell me what’s going on here?”

If she resembled anyone, it was her father. Her wide-set eyes, fair coloring, and determined chin were a delicate shadow of his masculine features. He straightened the collar of his polo shirt. The familiar gesture tugged at her heart. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he was still her father. This was the man who’d taught her to ride a bicycle, wiped away her tears when Tommy Painter stood her up for prom, and bought her a car when she graduated high school. Above all else, he was human with frailties and flaws like everyone else.

“Your mother has been harassing me for weeks to pick up my things, so here I am,” he said. “Now I’m here, but she refuses to let me get past this room.”

“He let himself in without knocking,” Felicia said, her voice shocking in its coldness. “And his whore was touching my things. You don’t live here anymore, Frank. I want your key back, or I’ll change the locks.”
 

“Mom, you said you wanted him to get his stuff,” Tasha began, trying to prevent another outburst.

“I didn’t mean for him to show up unannounced with that—that hussy.” Felicia sank into the chair next to her. The lines in her face had deepened with the strain of the divorce. She looked older and more tired than Tasha had ever seen her. Her father had done it, drained away her youth and aged her with worry.

“This is still my house,” Frank said. He turned to Tasha. “You understand, don’t you, ladybug?”

“Dad, maybe you should set up a time to come back when things are a little more settled.” Tasha cast a worried glance at her mother, who grew paler with each passing second.

“How could you bring that woman here, Frank?” Felicia burst into tears. “Haven’t you humiliated me enough?”

“Why are you acting like you care?” Frank asked. “You never noticed whether I came or went during the last twenty years of our marriage. I find it hard to believe you care now.”

Tasha’s heart squeezed and tears pricked behind her eyelids. It was high school all over again with her parents shouting while she stood by helplessly. This was the reason she would never give her heart to someone. Love, marriage, monogamy—they were all an illusion. She put invisible hands over her ears and tried to block out the insults. A gentle touch on her back distracted her from an impending meltdown. Luke stood behind her, eyes warm with kindness and empathy.