The Foxe & the Hound

by R.S. Grey

  “I had trouble finding the right cheese,” I offer lamely.

  Carter laughs. “I helped. No worries.”

  Adam doesn’t laugh, and I can’t be sure, but I think most of the cheese melts off the shelf when Adam’s laser-beam gaze slices through Carter.

  To cut the tension, I drop my stack of ingredients in Adam’s cart. Carter notices and holds up his hands in innocence. “Sorry, are you guys…together? I would have never—”

  “Oh, yeah. I mean—”

  “You didn’t say you were here with someone.”

  Now Adam’s laser beams are aimed at me. I fire mine right back at him.

  “I didn’t really have the chance.”

  My excuse sounds pitiful even to my own ears.

  “Umm.” A short middle-aged woman with a baby strapped to her front tries to shove past us. “Would it be possible for me to get to the cheese for a second?”

  “Oh yeah, of course.”

  I step away and give her room to browse.

  Carter backs up and nods. “I’ll see you two around. I need to get these groceries home before my stomach growls at me again.”

  I laugh and wave him off, hoping the tension will drift away with him.

  Shocker—it doesn’t.

  Adam is moody as we push our cart through the store, finishing up with the second half of the list. I try to distract him with my most winning smile, and when that doesn’t work, I throw some Oreos in the cart. Everyone loves Oreos, right? His scowl doesn’t budge, not even with the promise of double-stuffed cream filling.

  “It took me a while back there because I got caught up in the tomato section.” I laugh. “You realize you have the worst handwriting ever, right?”

  He takes the list out of my hand without returning my smile. “My staff at the clinic can read it just fine.”

  He might as well be Mr. Freeze with the way he gives me the cold shoulder through the rest of the store.

  I don’t even bother trying to create idle chitchat after that; I just finish off my bag of chips and mind my own business. If he wants to play Mr. Jealous, he can play by himself.

  At checkout, he refuses to let me pay for half, and seems somehow insulted that I would even offer. I think I could do just about anything at this point and he would find fault with it. Plastic?! Who gets plastic bags?

  “Oh, and these,” I say to the cashier, holding up the barcoded side of my chip bag. She scans it without a second glance, and I stroll out of the store and head for Adam’s car wearing a gratified smile.

  When we both slide into his car, the tension and silence are nearly unbearable. I’m tempted to lean forward and turn on music, but there are a million buttons on this stupid dashboard and for all I know, I could press one that expels me from my seat like I’m in a cartoon. I sigh and lean back, crossing my arms so I’m not tempted to touch anything.

  My sigh doesn’t get to him like I hoped it would, so I have no choice but to lose the silent game we’ve both been secretly playing.

  “This is ridiculous.” I turn and work up just enough courage to glance at his fists clutching the car’s steering wheel. “If you’re angry with me about something, just tell me so we can move on.”

  “I’m not angry with you.”

  I snort. “You could have fooled me.”

  His fists tighten on the steering wheel and I look away.

  “I’m annoyed that Carter made his way into our date, that’s all.”

  “Well, he’s gone now and the only person ruining this date is you.”

  He lets out a heavy sigh and then pulls the car onto the first dusty dirt road we pass. We’re only a few minutes away from my apartment, but now we’re headed into the middle of nowhere. I want to ask him what he’s doing, but I’m scared to hear his answer.

  We make another few turns and end up parked beside the old water tower. It was originally painted sky blue to match the colors of Hamilton High, but most of the paint near the bottom has worn off. There’s a perimeter fence blocking trespassers from reaching the ladder, but that never stopped me in the past. In high school, we all went to the top at least once as a rite of passage.

  “I’m not doing a good job at this,” Adam admits quietly, and his soft tone catches me off guard.

  I was prepared for a fight, not a surrender.

  I turn and take in his profile. His eyes aren’t on the water tower—they’re focused straight ahead. Tonight, here, they seem more like two raw emeralds than anything else, hard and unyielding. His jaw is locked, his mouth is pulled into a harsh line. His hands are still clutching the steering wheel even though the engine is off.

  “I guess I’m not either,” I admit.

  He nods and looks out the window then, finally, at me.

  “I was never jealous with Olivia.” Apparently my expression betrays how shocked that statement makes me because he shakes his head and turns away. “I’ve never been that type of guy, the kind that needs to stake his claim and beat his chest. With Olivia, we had a really easy relationship and I was confident in what we had together. I never thought to be jealous of another man. We were together for eight years, and then she fucked my best friend. I don’t know, maybe if I’d been a bit more suspicious, more aware of other men, I wouldn’t have been so shocked to find them in bed together.”

  Suddenly, I get it. His whole macho-man routine makes sense. He feels like he didn’t do enough to protect his last relationship, so he’s trying to overcompensate this time around.

  I lean my head back against the headrest and smile. “I don’t mind the jealousy, it’s the accusations and the lack of trust that infuriate me.” He opens his mouth to respond, but I continue. “I know it’s going to take time for us to build trust with one another, but right now, at the very least, you have to give me the benefit of the doubt. I’m not Olivia. I would never sleep with your best friend, not even if he happened to be Chris Pratt.” His fists loosen on the steering wheel. “He’s not Chris Pratt, right?”

  He smiles and shakes his head, finally turning to face me.

  “You were screwed over royally, Foxe. I’d expect there to be some collateral damage.”

  He nods. “When I left Chicago, I thought I was leaving all of that behind as well, but I guess I brought some baggage with me.”

  “How much?”

  “What?”

  “How much baggage did you bring with you? I’d rather know now. The jealousy and the machismo act I can handle, but I’m wondering if there are other things too.”

  He looks out the window, past my shoulder, as if trying to bring to mind any other faults.

  “I guess I have a short fuse lately as well.”

  I smile. “Yeah, I’ve seen that a little bit, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

  “What about you?” he asks, reaching out for my hand. He laces his fingers through mine, and I like the way it feels. He has big, masculine hands; mine look puny by comparison.

  “No baggage.” I shrug. “Perfectly well-adjusted adult over here.”

  He grins. “Yeah?”

  “Adam…I stack food precariously in my refrigerator and I store my winter sweaters in my dishwasher. Believe me, there’s a whoooole lot of baggage that comes with dating me. Fortunately, though, I haven’t had any horrific relationships in the past. There aren’t any old wounds that have yet to heal or angry ex-boyfriends lurking in the shadows. In fact, I haven’t really dated anyone serious in a long time.”

  “Not even Carter?”

  “We only went out on one date,” I admit.

  He seems surprised by that.

  “Now I kind of feel stupid for getting worked up about him.”

  I shrug. “It’s the uniform, it makes him seem more threatening than he is.”

  He laughs and nods, turning out to look at the old water tower. “Maybe I should get one of those.”

  My mind does the work for me and the image of Adam in a police uniform is nearly enough to short-circuit my brain. Suddenly, the
car feels clammy. I want to roll down the window, but I can’t because I have no clue which button to press.

  I turn to Adam and find that he’s been studying my profile. His eyes aren’t gemstones anymore, but they’re just as threatening.

  “Should we go home?” he asks, bringing our clasped hands to his mouth and kissing the back of mine.

  I shiver and shake my head. “Not yet.”

  We should head back—we have perishables in the trunk—but I like sitting in his car with him. I unlatch my seatbelt and turn to face him. There’s a small console separating us, but nothing else.

  “Do you want to head back?” I ask, and it sounds like an invitation.

  His gaze drags down, pausing on my lips for a moment before he trails down my neck and chest. He’s studying my dress—no, he’s studying my body beneath the fabric. His smile is slow to spread, a little haunting…sexual. “No.”

  “Can I kiss you?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He wraps his hand around my neck and tugs me closer. Our lips meet over the center console, and at first, it’s harmless, just a little peck. His smile presses against mine. We laugh and his hand gets tangled in my hair even more. He’s holding me there as I kiss him again, and this time, I add heat. My teeth bite down on his bottom lip and his hand tightens. His kiss devours me.

  I pull back and our eyes meet. A silent challenge passes between us.

  Here? he asks with a tilt of his head.

  Now, I say with small smirk.

  There are inconveniences about having sex with Adam in a car. When he tugs me over the center console, I lose my heels and my elbow bangs against the steering wheel. My knees barely fit on either side of his hips, and when his hands trail up my inner thighs, I arch my back so hard that I hit the horn. It blares so loud I jump out of my seat, and Adam is laughing and tugging me down again, kissing me. The space is awkward, but Adam isn’t. His hands know exactly how to hike up my dress so my light blue panties are revealed. They’re such a soft, delicate material against his jeans. I grind my hips back and forth as he kisses me, and the sensation is torturous for us both.

  One hand falls to my hip, and he’s tilting and timing our movements as if he’s inside me, as if he’s showing me how good it will be in a few minutes. Maybe next time we’ll be fully naked in a bed, with soft candlelight and a sexy playlist in the background, but right now we’re in the cramped space of his front seat and Adam is sliding my panties to the side so his middle finger can sink inside me. My head falls to his shoulder and I pant, actually pant, like I can’t get enough air. The windows are foggy and Texas is too humid for this kind of activity. I’m sweating, and my heart is hammering hard. He slides a second finger inside and I bite down on his earlobe, whispering his name.

  “Say it again,” he commands, and I do.

  I whisper his name every time he drags his fingers out and sinks them back in slowly. Right when they’re so deep inside of me that I feel like I’m breaking in two, that’s when I say his name.

  “Spread your legs,” he says, but he doesn’t wait for me to listen. His hands are on my thighs, spreading me like I’m an elastic band, and maybe my knees are digging into the door and the center console, and maybe he’s ripping my delicate blue panties—the pair I covet every time I find them tucked away in my drawer—but then his fingers are back on me, in me, and I don’t care about bruises or panties. I want what he’s offering.

  “I’m so close,” I promise him, and his thumb swirls across my clit.

  I’ve had first times with men before. They’re awkward and clunky, like a new pair of shoes you haven’t worn in yet, but this, Adam making me come with his fingers as I arch back and cry out into his silent car—there’s no room for anything but heat and passion. His mouth is on my neck, and the zipper of my dress is tugged down. My bra is blue too, and it belongs to a matching set that was pristine up until a few minutes ago. Adam notices and swears he’ll replace it for me, saying it against my breast as his lips close around my nipple. He could be promising me the Taj Mahal and I wouldn’t notice.

  “Who cares. Who cares.”

  My fingers are in his hair and when I tug, he swirls his tongue across my nipple. I like the give and take. Maybe he does too.

  “I’ll make you come again,” he promises with a heavy breath. “But I need to be inside you.”

  I nod because of course he needs to be inside me; this night was never going to end any other way. When he showed up outside my office with sunflowers, he could have just taken me right then against the brick building.

  His jeans are unzipped and barely pulled down, just enough for him to position himself beneath me. I push up onto my knees and he brushes across my wetness. A shiver runs down my spine from the sensation and he does it again, and again, coating himself until he’s slick.

  My nails are digging into his shoulders. “Adam, stop. You’re killing me.”

  He doesn’t stop. He hits my clit and my stomach quivers. I’m going to come again, and he’s not inside me. No! I want to feel myself come around him, so I reach down and position him right beneath me. Before he moves, I sink down. He’s only barely inside, stretching me slowly, but my thighs are burning and my eyes are pinched closed. I can’t focus—I’ve lost track of every sense except for touch. I think I’m begging him for something, but I barely hear my words and I don’t hear his reply. He holds me up, teasing me inch by inch. I don’t think I can wait any longer. Pleasure is already ripping through me and behind my closed lids, I see stars.

  “Madeleine?” he asks.

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding and the stars lose their shimmer.

  “Yeah?”

  “Look at me.”

  His hands prop up my chin, waiting for me to blink my eyes open. I can’t. Once those light green irises meet mine, he’ll see it all. This is the first date and I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be straddling his lap, digging my fingers into his shoulders, slowly losing my mind.

  He leans forward and presses a kiss to my cheek. It’s so romantic and soft. I want to capture it in a mason jar and preserve it for later, for a month from now when Adam and I have dissolved into nothing. I could pry it open every now and then for old times’ sake and feel just like I do in this exact moment. He’s buried all the way inside me and I’m shaking and finally, our gazes meet and there’s no going back. He moves in me, grinding and rolling his hips in such a deliciously erotic rhythm. I think there are tears brimming in my eyes, but I refuse to acknowledge them. Maybe he sees them too because he pulls my face forward and presses his mouth to mine.

  In this position, he saves me the trouble of trying to stay composed. My moans disappear on his lips. My body shatters and he holds me together, whispering against my cheek.

  Later, when I’ve safely settled back into the passenger side seat and am trying in vain to straighten my clothes, fix my hair, wipe my mouth, he reaches over and grips my thigh. It’s subtle and reassuring.

  “Still hungry?” he asks with a lazy little smirk.

  It’s the smirk of a man who’s just successfully seduced a woman, the smirk that will keep me up later tonight as I lie in bed, wide awake and buzzing from the best night of my life.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  MADELEINE

  “You had sex.”

  I drop my muffin. It hits the floor and rolls beneath the table beside ours.

  I toss up my hands and glare at Daisy. “You made me lose my muffin.”

  “I think you lost something else too.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You had sex and you aren’t telling me about it.”

  A few seconds pass as I run through the pros and cons of retrieving my muffin. Pros: I wouldn’t lose the $2.70 it cost me, I’d get to eat it, and I could avoid looking at Daisy for another few seconds. Cons: the table is occupied, the muffin is definitely covered in dust and dirt by now, and I would only get to avoid Daisy for a few seconds—not nearly l
ong enough.

  “Can we talk about something else?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and crossing my arms.

  Daisy breaks off half her muffin and slides it over to me on a napkin. It’s a peace offering, and I take it.

  “All right, fine. Your brother and I have been having a lot of sex.”

  I want to let my forehead fall and hit the table, preferably hard enough to cause some short-term memory loss. “How about we skip over the topic of sex altogether?”

  “What? It’s all I think about. Fertility this, fertility that.”

  I feel bad for snapping at her. “How’s it going?”

  She shrugs. “I’m supposed to take a pregnancy test in a few days. Last night I had some cramping on my right side which could be implantation cramping—an early sign of pregnancy.”

  I frown. “C’mon Daisy, you know better. You can’t read into things like that. You’ll just drive yourself insane. Remember a few months ago when you swore you were slightly more bloated than usual?”

  She picks at her muffin. “Yeah, well, this feels different.”

  I don’t have the heart to burst her bubble, not when she’s struggled for so long.

  “Well in a few days, we’ll know for sure.”

  “Yeah.” She nods, not meeting my eyes. “If only I had something to distract myself until then. It feels like torture having to wait that long…”

  I groan. “Fine! Fine. We had sex last night,” I whisper. “In his car.”

  She claps her hands together. “YES! I knew it. Your poker face is shit. I mean, you were smiling down at your muffin, and no one likes lemon poppy seed that much.”

  I try hard to keep the smile off my face, but it’s impossible.

  “Did he stay the night after?”

  “No. We went back to my place and cooked dinner, drank wine, played with Mouse. It was remarkably normal considering what we’d just done a few minutes before, but I didn’t invite him to stay over. I thought it was better if we had some space.”

  “Huh. Makes sense I guess. Was he good?”