Uncovering Desire

by Kacey Shea

  “Damn it, Kate!” He turns and storms from the room. A few moments pass and I jump at the slam of the front door. Good, he left for his run. It’ll be easier to flee without him watching my every move. I release a humorless laugh. How twisted is that? I’m moving back to my apartment, in my car, and I consider it an escape. I shake my head and resume packing. Eye on the prize, Kate. Get things back to the way they were and I’m sure I’ll feel better.

  PISSED OFF, I SLAM THE door to the apartment and break into a steady jog. Running helps clear my mind. Exercise, in general. There’s something so simplistic and basic about it. I can let my mind focus on what I know—movement, breath, sweat. The endorphins bring clarity, if only for a fleeting moment.

  She can’t be fucking serious. Kate thinks she can just move out and things go back to the way they were? Hell no. Not on my watch. Fucking Kate Bryant. Why do things have to be so difficult? She frustrates the hell out of me. I pump my legs faster, moving into a steady pace. Not sure how long I want to run today. I hang a right at the corner and head west, away from the morning sun.

  I handled last night poorly. She gave me so much of herself after the bout with her father. She’s a tough, strong woman. She’s earned my utmost respect. But when she jumped on the bandwagon of Jon-needs-a-shrink, it hurt. Had she been talking to Alex? Why does everyone suddenly think I’m about to lose my marbles? I’m fine. I’m handling things. I don’t need a doctor to tell me life is challenging, that Will’s death is not my fault. I already know these things. Having a damn pity party won’t make me feel better.

  I paced my room for an hour last night. I wanted to go back to her. To apologize. To hold her. To make love to her. That led to more pacing, and then later, pushups until I couldn’t anymore. I was thankful when sleep took over and gave me rest from the thoughts that plagued. I wasn’t sure what to do.

  That was, until this morning.

  Seeing her packing her things was all wrong. Kate’s been driving me crazy for weeks, yet somehow I’ve become addicted. I don’t want her to leave. I want her to stay. That scares the shit out of me. To give someone that level of control over my life, it’s more than a little frightening. But I’ve tried fighting and the reality is that she already has a hold whether I want her to or not. I just have to give it a shot.

  Her nonsense about us not being a fucking option, now that’s infuriating. That I should be with Carly? I’ve never wanted Carly. Carly would never crash her car for me, hold me when I cry, call me out on my bullshit. And I’ve done things for Kate I’d never do for any other woman. Hell, I’ve never baked a cake for anyone. Until Kate. I can’t believe I didn’t see it until now.

  She’s my person.

  I need to make things right. I turn before I reach the next light, back tracking my steps at a faster, steady sprint. Kate likes to be in control and I get that. But there is no way I’m letting her control this. I’ll just have to convince her otherwise. Yeah. I need to talk to Kate. Tell her how I feel. Prove to her that we can be good together.

  Oh, but we are so fucking good together.

  Her tight pussy milking my dick, ass bent over in those fuck me heels. The sounds she makes when I lick her out. My heart drums faster. Shaking my head, I push those thoughts from my mind. The sooner I convince Kate we’re meant to be, the sooner I can make her feel good.

  I pump my legs as fast as they will go and sprint the entire way back to the apartment. I need to talk to Kate. And thinking about being intimate together is only making this run uncomfortable. The faster I can get home, the faster I can get my woman.

  I throw open the front door of the apartment and call out for her. It’s too quiet. I sense if I go down the hall I’ll find an empty room, but I can’t fight the urge to check, regardless. The door is open, lights off, and, yep, she’s gone. The boxes from earlier are nowhere to be found. Kate’s sheets and blankets have been pulled off and replaced by Evie’s set.

  “Damn it!” I stomp to the bathroom, peel away my sweaty clothes and toss them in a pile. I twist the faucet and the shower soon fills with steam. Kate’s gone; she might think she’s won. Yeah, not happening. I need a better game plan to think things through. My girl is stubborn and I'm preparing for an all-out battle of wills.

  Squirting a glob of shampoo into my hands, I run my fingers over and through my hair. I rinse my head and then work the soap into a lather and run my hands down my torso. Thoughts of Kate, her beautiful spirit, feisty attitude, toned body, perky tits, and luscious, smart mouth, fuel my hands’ descent. I’m rock hard, stroking my length, imagining Kate’s hands are my own.

  Leaning back against the fiberglass enclosure, I picture Kate on her knees before me. God, I wish she were with me now. Within minutes, I reach my orgasm, Kate’s name a prayer on my lips as my hands coat with evidence of my desire. I push off the wall and the spray from the showerhead collides against my stomach. I reach for the soap once more, and make quick work this time.

  The tension I released only moments ago seeps back in. Masturbation is a hollow replacement for the real thing. Twisting the knob so the water slows to a stop, I resolve that the next time I get off in the shower Kate will be physically present instead of only in my thoughts.

  Drying off, I fasten the towel around my waist. The bang of dishes clatters through the thin wall. She’s back. My heart races. I blow out a breath and prepare to take on my strong willed Kate. I throw open the bathroom door and saunter out.

  “Couldn’t stay away, could you, beautiful?” I call down the hall. I round the corner to a very amused Evie.

  “Beautiful?” Her brows rise and a smirk pulls at her lips. She’s removed pans and half of the refrigerator’s contents onto the counter. “Not that I don’t enjoy the sentiment, but was that meant for me or did you expect someone else?” I scowl and pull the towel tighter at my waist.

  “Of course you’re beautiful, but please don’t make me suffer through your poor cooking skills. Let me get dressed and I’ll take over, chef.” Her laughter follows me down the hall and back to my room.

  I pull a pair of boxers, shorts, and T-shirt from the drawer and dress in record time. Where the hell is my mind? Of course it would be Evie, not Kate. Fool. Get your head in the game, Beltran. I release a frustrated growl as I stomp back down the hall.

  Evie’s propped herself on the counter, mixing bowl in hand, legs swinging off the ledge.

  “What’s the story, morning glory?” She beams, dragging the spoon in lazy circles.

  “What are you doing? I said to wait.” The counter is still a mess as I attempt to decipher what the hell she’s trying to make. Evie’s a horrible cook. Love her to pieces, but she should be banned from the kitchen permanently.

  “I can stir pancake batter, thank you, Mr. Grumpy Pants.” Grabbing the bowl from her arms, I grimace at the lumpy contents. She hops off the counter and moves to a barstool. I salvage the batter by adding a few spices and a little milk, and heat the pan.

  “So what crawled up your ass?” A few drops of water splashed onto the pan sizzle nicely, so I pour the batter for the first batch, then meet her gaze.

  “I don’t know what you mean. Other than having to clean up your kitchen catastrophe, I’m just peachy.” I attempt a smile.

  “Oh.” She twists her long dark hair between her fingers. “I thought maybe you were upset about something else. Sorry about the mess. I’m just starving.” Damn. I’ve hurt her feelings.

  “Pretty boy not making his queen breakfast anymore?” I smirk and attempt to lighten the mood with a joke. After flipping the cakes, I pull the syrup from the fridge and grab two plates off the shelf.

  “No. He had to work today. Besides, we got into a fight earlier.” I raise my brows. This is a first. Evie and Tate don’t fight about anything. Her shoulders hang in defeat as I slide a full plate across the counter and hand her a fork. “Thanks, Jon.”

  “You wanna talk about it?” She shoves a forkful into her mouth and nods her head. I pour her a cup of co
ffee and she sips before she answers.

  “He isn’t happy I’m moving back here.” She pokes at her food. “I mean, I’m not thrilled, either.” Her eyes snap to mine. “No offense to you. You’re a great roommate.” I laugh, a genuine one, and flip a stack of pancakes onto my plate.

  “I get it, Evie. You don’t have to explain.”

  “I guess I thought this temporary living arrangement would be fun, but that I’d be ready to move back. I discovered I liked falling asleep in his arms every night.” She shrugs again, and talks between bites. “It’s scary how quickly you become hooked on someone.”

  “I know what you mean,” I grumble. Her eyes snap. Shit. Shouldn’t have said that out loud.

  “Oh?”

  “I—I can imagine.” I busy myself washing dishes to avoid her inquisitive gaze. The last thing I need is Evie going to Kate before I can. Maybe it’d be nice to have her opinion, but it could also backfire. No. I’ll figure this out on my own.

  “So, how do you feel about Kate moving out?” Her words hold more question than the simple one she’s asking. I dry the last dish and put it away before I meet her gaze.

  “It’s great. It wasn’t so bad having her here. But I’m glad to get my roomie back.” I paste a fake ass smile on my face and hope it’s enough to deter a list of questions. “Now, about Tate. I’m sure you guys will work through this. Can’t you just take turns staying at each other’s place more often? Not sleeping in the same bed seems like an easy fix. Nothing to fight about.”

  Evie nods, her expression thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess so.” She shrugs. “It’s more than just sleeping in the same bed, though. I’m going to miss the stupid stuff, too. You know, like packing lunches, doing laundry together, stolen kisses between putting the boys to bed. I know, I sound annoying, even to my own ears.” She laughs and rolls her eyes.

  “So, Tate doesn’t want you to move out. And it sounds like you agree with him. What’s the problem here?”

  “I can’t just move in with him! It’s too soon. I can’t leave you. That’s not cool. You’d need notice to find a new roommate. Besides, he hasn’t even asked me to stay.” She murmurs the last part. I roll my eyes. Women.

  “If Tate asked you to stay, would you?”

  “Yes.”

  I shake my head. “But you won’t ask him?” She throws her hands in the air and waves them wildly.

  “It’s not my house! And if I ask him I won’t know if he really wants me to move in, or if he’s just asking because I asked him and he’s just being nice.” She stops with the crazy talk and shoves the last bite in her mouth.

  “So, you want him to ask, but not because you put the idea out there. Basically, you want him to read your mind?” Her eyes roll.

  “Thanks a lot, Dr. Phil. Let’s pretend I said nothing. I’m sure it’ll work out.”

  “Stop. I’m just trying to understand the inner workings of a woman’s psyche.”

  “How’s that going for you?” She smirks.

  “Not well. I think I’ll stick with my day job. But honestly, Evie, from my viewpoint it sounds like you just need to talk to him. Tell him how you feel. I bet you’ll be surprised.” She breathes a deep sigh and her shoulders straighten. She hops off the chair and washes off her plate in the sink. I shove the last of my pancakes into my mouth and do the same. She bumps my shoulder with her own.

  “You’re pretty smart for a juggernaut. Have you considered taking your own advice?” A grin pulls at my lips.

  “Maybe I will. We should probably get to work.”

  “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” I fill my coffee mug before following Evie into our makeshift office. I boot up my laptop and open my email, scroll through it, and jot down a few notes. I have a ton of reports to fill out from last night’s incident. Detective Collier wasn’t thrilled with my renegade actions and they’re moving a raid up earlier than they’d like for fear of covers being blown.

  “Hey, Evie?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes appear over her laptop screen. I can’t ask her what to do with Kate, but there is one thing I need her opinion about.

  “Do you think I need to see a doctor?” She bites on the end of her pen as she considers my question.

  “Why? Do you have an itching and burning sensation when you pee?” I narrow my eyes and a grin fills her face.

  “No. Not that kind of doctor. It’s just that two different people who I respect have mentioned they think I need to talk about my feelings. In a professional setting.” Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up. Just saying it aloud fills me with embarrassment. I study my notepad.

  “Here’s the thing.” Evie stares out the window and twirls her pen. “If it’s two people you trust and respect, who put your best interests first and call it like they see it? Then, there’s your answer.” I nod and consider her input.

  “Besides, you’re a badass, Jon. Served overseas, for God’s sake. I’m sure you can handle one hour of talking.”

  “One hour!” The words leave in a shout and I shake my head. Evie shrugs.

  “That’s the common length of most counseling sessions, as far as I know.”

  “Seems like a long time, that’s all,” I grumble.

  “Hey, my dad has a friend who does a lot with the VA office. Maybe he can ask around and get some names for you?”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Evie. You’re a good friend.” She’s offering without being pushy and I appreciate that. I have no idea where to find a shrink, and I’m not about to go to anyone I find via Google. Maybe this won’t be as torturous as I imagine.

  DAMN IT, KATE. WHAT WERE you thinking?

  I sit across from my sinfully beautiful date and sip my third glass of Sangria in this trendy little Mexican cantina. There’s a picture above our table of the classic Last Supper, but in place of bread, painted tacos. I’m here with sex on a stick and it feels… wrong. Forced. It’s a feeling I’m not familiar with because I don’t do things I don’t want. I don’t know, maybe it’s just been a long day.

  I was up early and packed before the auto shop returned my car. With Jon on his run, I loaded my car with my belongings. I dropped everything off at my apartment, took a quick shower, and was only late to work by an hour. Not that anyone cared, but it’s not something I make a habit of.

  When Trent called to see if I had plans tonight I took that as a sign. Maybe I need to spend time with another man to keep my thoughts distracted from a certain someone. Trent’s insanely attractive, he’s funny, easy to talk with, and oh, he’s a musician. Nothing better. Except, all night there’s this nagging in the back of my head. It’s very distracting.

  “We’ll start in Florida next week and work our way up the East Coast. Can’t fucking wait to hit NYC. That’s like a dream. To play in a city known for culture and art. We’re the opener now, but in a year or two, can you imagine the possibilities? Fucking living the dream. So what about you, Miss Kate Bryant? What’s next for you?”

  “Can I get you another drink?” Our server comes by the table and when I nod, he rushes off to retrieve another. I should stop, or slow down at least, but the fruit infused wine fills me with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Absolution from the thoughts striving to hijack this date.

  “I don’t know what’s next for me.” I thank the server as he sets down my glass and I rub my fingers against the condensation that gathers from the cool liquid.

  “I find that difficult to believe! After your debut show at the gala? I’m surprised you don’t need an agent already. But if you do, I know a guy.” His eyes dance and I can’t help but smile.

  “I did get one call. But nothing’s certain, so I don’t want to get my hopes up.” I lean forward and Trent does the same. “It’s a local gallery owner. Small, independent, but he saw my work and he wants to have lunch. That’s good, right?”

  “Fucking amazing, Kate.” Trent’s smile is blinding. In this dimly light restaurant one lonely candle illuminates his features. Playful eyes, hair that curls onto his face, s
trong jawline and lips. I sigh. Those lips, the vessel to which his talent manifests. I lick my own and his smile widens.

  “Wanna dance?” A little dance floor across the room holds a few couples attempting to salsa.

  “Okay.” He stands, reaches out a hand to pull me to my feet. He’s so tall. Even in these pumps I still have to look up to meet his eyes. He saunters to the floor and I swing my hips in time. Dancing is fun. I like to dance.

  Trent pulls me close and begins moving his hips to the rhythm of the music. Copying his moves, I smile wide. Hip to hip we move across the space. He’s good. He throws in a few hip hop moves to earn my laughter, and we grind our hips in slow, sensual movements that would make any other woman blush.

  “Let’s get out of here.” He speaks against my ear. Shivers travel up my spine. He pulls me close and I can feel his arousal. I’m turned on too. The way we’re dancing is erotic, sexual, and I’m all revved up. I nod against his cheek and he traces the shell of my ear with his lips, finally sucking on my lobe. I gasp.

  Trent pulls my arm, holds my hand in his, and drags me from the dance floor. We move outside and he hands the valet his ticket. His thumb rubs circles against the skin of my hand. It’s slow, purposeful foreplay.

  He wants me. It’s obvious. But do I want him too? We would be hot together. A man like this, he oozes sexual energy and expertise. I would enjoy being on the receiving end. But don’t you want more than a one night stand? The thought passes quickly and dampens the throbbing between my legs.

  When we get to my apartment, Trent follows me inside. He pulls me hard against his tall frame and covers my lips with his. His kiss is assertive, confident, bold. Everything Trent embodies. But I’m not feeling it. I pull away.

  “Wait. Give me a minute.”

  “What is it, babe?” He brushes a few wayward hairs from my face.

  “I—I need to know what this means to you. Tonight. Us.” His lips tilt up to reveal a smile and he leans in. Framing my face with his hands, he peppers kisses over my eyelids, nose, and finally, lips.