Delayed, Nathan Kingsly [read aloud txt] 📗

back, “What do you mean? I gave you my number.”

I shake my head. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did.” She bends over and reaches for her purse. I could feel my brows furrow as she digs in, searching for something. What could be in there that would explain something that didn’t happen?

“Ha!” She exclaims and swings something that hits the light, blinding me.

Squinting, I reach for it, and she hands it over. Turning it in my palm, it’s a keychain, hard and smooth, with the initials ECB in big letters. I have to squint again to read the smaller print that says, “We Entertain, Celebrate, and Bashmen to all your needs”. Below the slogan reads a physical and email address, then a phone number.

“What is this?”

“I put one of these into your bag. It’s printed with my logo and contact information. Did you not get it?”

“No!” I pause and think for a second. When I’d emptied my duffle bag, I’d cut my finger on something, and at the bottom, found some glass scattered. At the time, I couldn’t place it or how it had gotten there. No thoughts had entered that it could have been the key I needed for my search. I’d thrown away the pieces in the trash, bandaged up my thumb, and moved on.

I close my eyes and lean my head against the headrest. “God, damnit,” I say through clenched teeth.

“What?” Her tone is soft, and when I open my eyes and move my head to look at her, she’s biting her lip, looking nervous.

“I got it, but in the form of pieces.” Her face twists in confusion. “It broke in the bottom of my bag,” I explain. “Didn’t think it was anything, so I threw it away.”

Her face smooths out. “So, if you did … ” She says each word in slow motion--as if she’s creating the thought as it’s forming around her beautiful mouth. “Would you have called me?”

“Not for a while.” Some of the bitterness stains my tone.

She nods, her lips turning down even harder in thought.

“Why did you leave?”

She chances a look at me before heaving a sigh. “I thought it was the right thing to do.” Shrugging, she goes on. “It was too late when I realized that I was making choices for you, and … ” Her cheeks heat, and I’m paying closer attention to her next words. "According to my family, I have a  tendency of sabotaging anything good in my life.”

Those words aren’t what I expect. I’m something good in life? “Sabotaging, huh?”

She nods sheepishly. “I’d already texted to let them know I was bringing someone, but when you didn’t show up, I got the third-degree shakedown. Mom accused me of always getting in my own way. Any sign of trouble--I run for the hills, making up excuses if I have to.”

“Think that’s true?”

“After my brothers chimed in with their two cents, I have to admit, I took it under consideration.” Her cheeks are even brighter now, and her fidgeting intensifies on the fabric. “At the time, I didn’t think I was doing it to you.” She chanced a glance my way, and before she could look away, I hit the release on her seatbelt. Her body goes stiff as it retracts back to the start position. Gripping her arm with one hand, with the other, I pull the release on my seat, and it slides back as far as it can go on the track.

“Get over here.” Holding out my now free hand for her to take.

Biting her lip, she takes my offered hand, and I help her straddle me in my seat. Her hands squeeze my shoulders. She opens her mouth, but when I grip her chin, she closes it again. Her eyes grow large in her face, but she doesn’t jerk away. “Now, you can’t hide from me.” I can’t deny the fact to myself that part of the reason for doing this is so that I could touch her. I’ve been deprived of her touch for too long.

Her brows furrow and she nods. “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous.”

I let her chin go, and she lets a big breath out. “Okay.” Her eyes never leave mine. “I did sabotage us by not giving you a choice, but I don’t regret letting you go home.” Her expression grows pensive. “Did it turn out to be the right thing?” Her question asked slowly as she scans my features waiting for her answer. Her fingers are tentative as they play with the collar of my shirt, and my hands tighten on her waist.

As soon as my head starts nodding, her expression softens, and a smile inches on her lips. Nothing beats this woman's smile, except for maybe her moaning underneath me. Swallowing hard to get my mind back on track, I start to talk about my decision on staying with my family, eventually getting my own place down the road to stay close, and then the most basic question pops into my mind.

“Do you live here?”

“Here, as in Georgia?” When I nod, she continues. “Yep, my whole life.”

I shake my head. “So, you’ve been a drive away this whole time.”

She laughs, “I guess I have.”

“I want to know how close.” My hand glides down and rests on her ass, bringing her closer to me.

“Forest Park,” she gasps, and her fingernails bite into the skin under my shirt, the pressure of it spiking my blood.

“Fuck, you can’t be serious.” I can feel my eyes grow wide, and for a moment, I’m too fixated on the coincidence to appreciate her hips shifting, though it doesn’t stop my body from responding.

“What?”

I bypass her question and ask another. “Which street?”

“Oak,” she says, her brows furrowing.

“Cypress.” I point into my chest.

“Shut up,” she says, and she smacks me on the bicep.

I nod, and her expression shows what I'm feeling.

“Which house?” she asks.

“The white one that sits off the road a bit more than the rest.”

She sighs. “I’ve always loved that house.”

“We have only been two streets