Cement Heart(80)

I leaned in close, breathing onto her cheek. “Oh, I can go all night, baby.”

Redness started at the base of her neck, quickly creeping up to her face as she swallowed hard.

“Give up yet?” I asked.

“Fine,” she snapped. “I give up.”

“Now, when I let go, you promise you’re going to go to the sink and wash your hands?”

She stared me straight in the eye and nodded.

“All right, then.” I slowly released her hands and backed away.

She pulled her arms around to the front of her and inspected them. In a flash, she swiped her hand across my face and bolted out of the kitchen.

I covered my eyes with my hands. “Ow! Ow! The spices went in my eyes!” I called out, peeking through my hands to see if she had come back yet.

After a couple more whimpers from me, she peeked her head around the corner cautiously. “Are you serious? Oh shit.” She hurried over and pulled a dish towel out of the drawer, running it under cold water for a second.

I continued to writhe in pain, waiting for her to get closer.

She stood in front of me on her tippy toes, carefully lifting the damn cold cloth to my face, when I reached out and grabbed her around the waist. “Gotcha!”

“Crap!” she shouted, kicking and squirming to try and get out of my grasp. As I stood with a tight grip on her, laughing smugly, her heel connected with my balls. Not a full-on kick but a graze, and any guy will tell you, a graze is a hundred times worse than a straight kick to the junk.

The jolt of her heel made me lose my hold on her waist. Just as she wiggled loose and was about to run, I reached out and spun her, grabbing both of her wrists and pinning them against the wall above her head.

“You done yet?” I panted, inches from her face.

Her lips were parted slightly, her chest rising up and down as she stared right into my eyes. I could feel her warm breath on my skin as I searched her face, noticing a tiny scar she had above her lip. I wanted to kiss it. “Not even close,” she said barely above a whisper, arching her eyebrow in challenge. “Someone once told me not to start something I couldn’t finish, so—”

The doorbell rang, startling both of us. In unison, our heads snapped toward the front of the house. Michelle’s neighbor Jodi was standing on the porch, frantically waving at us.

“Damn it,” Michelle mumbled under her breath as she pulled her hands out of my grasp. “Can you let her in while I wash up?”

“Got it.” I sighed, annoyed that I had to let her go.

I opened the door and waved her in. “Come on in. Jodi, right?”

“Thanks.” She sniffed as she walked through the doorway. Her eyes were red and puffy, and a wadded-up tissue was clenched in her hand. Anxiety spread through me. I avoided crying women like the fucking plague. Except for one. When she cried, I ran toward her, not away. “Uh… Michelle’s in here. Follow me.” I turned and started walking, hoping she would just follow so I didn’t have to face her again.

As we got to the kitchen, Michelle was wiping her hands on another towel. She took one look at Jodi and rushed toward her. “What’s wrong?”

Jodi’s lip quivered and she crumpled into Michelle’s open arms. “I’m not getting married,” she wailed.

“What are you talking about?” Michelle asked. “Come here, sit down. Tell me what happened.”

I tried to move out of the way but somehow got caught sitting at the kitchen table with the two of them. Panicking like a trapped animal, my mind raced with possible escape routes. If I went to the living room to watch TV, I would look like a dick, but I didn’t really want to sit there and witness whatever was about to take place.

Got it!

I stood up and leaned in just a bit toward them. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but Michelle, I’m gonna work on dinner while you guys chat.”

She looked up at me with guilt in her eyes. “Are you sure? I’m so sorry.”

“No, please. Don’t worry about it. I got this.” I scooted out from behind the table and moved quickly over to the counter. I could still hear them talking, but at least I wasn’t expected to be a willing participant anymore.

“So what’s going on? Your wedding is next week,” Michelle said.

Jodi sniffed and blew her nose like a bullhorn into her tissue. “I don’t even know. We’re sitting around having coffee before work and all of a sudden, I’m in the middle of a meltdown, freaking out about whether or not this marriage is gonna work when the others haven’t. I can’t be divorced three times, Michelle. I just can’t.”

I watched in the reflection of the microwave as Michelle put her hand on Jodi’s shoulder. “Okay, okay. Slow down. One thing at a time. What even brought this on?”