Every December [Soon to be Self Published]

Chapter 10

Lydia

The pit of my belly is on fire. My breath is rugged as A.J.'s hand sliding up and down my thigh, going towards my center. The sound of his voice, as if his mouth was already on mine, it's all a mash of heat and breathlessness even now, the next morning, lying in bed.

The choice he gave me was clear. Pick either him or Garrett, but a thrum of want pulses through me that I can't shut out--that I'm already leaning towards my answer.

Fix what's broken with Garrett or have fun with A.J.

Do I even want to call Garrett? Or do I accept the rejection and fearing what the future might look like? My life isn't bad. I have everything I want with an awesome career and a house of my own. Despite the family issues, I am comfortable enough to say I want what's next. Maybe I should pause and give those dreams a chance to breathe and be reimagined. If only loneliness wasn't so scary. Especially when my friends have moved on to having babies and our connections are changing. Ashley doesn't need my advice anymore and I have no experiences raising a daughter for us to bond over.

Thankfully, the painkillers do their thing and my thoughts blend together. 

Between work and life and growing into routines, I can't remember. A.J. had followed through, watching the first Die Hard, sitting casually on the opposite end of the couch, which had been torture, there were too many amused gazes he had flashed at me that were definitely laced with something darker. And I had sat there like some teenager wondering if the cute boy on the couch was aware that I like him. Because I do. That's a problem.

My second problem involves the production of taking a shower and making the great journey to the bathroom without sounding like a herd of cattle. 

First step to showering is removing my clothes down to bra and panties. Second step is to wrap the lovely garbage bag around the cast. Instead of doing this butt naked, I step over the bath ledge too quickly with the cast foot first-- "No!" My hands flail out at the same time I scream, grabbing anything for support and doing a slow moving slide/fall onto my rear, knocking a shampoo bottle over which tumbles down and hits me in the stomach. "Ow," I groan, caught between hilarity and fear that I hurt the cast.

A rush of footsteps and A.J. knocking on the door. "Lydia, are you okay?"

"I--" I splay my hands on either side of the bathtub. My heart beating loudly as if to second my thought that I will, mostly likely, die of embarrassment, maybe. A snort of laughter is all I manage.

"I'm coming in," he says, opening the door. My gaze snaps to his with an electric flutter in the pit of my belly. My head peeks up from the bathtub.

A.J.'s a beautiful man standing over me, his eyes drip with amusement. He's going to give me shit about this. Even still, from this angle, I don't stop myself from looking. My gaze takes on a mind of its own following the trail of his long legs, settling briefly on his midsection and up his gloriously lean chest. I swallow over my dry throat. "Just. Don't comment, okay?"

There's an immediate shift in his gaze, dark and heavy, full of need. "You're making it really hard not to say anything." A.J. walks over and stares down at me, that hooded gaze raking over me. The air is suddenly thick and sizzling between us.  

He reaches down and picks up the shampoo bottle, his fingers brushing my stomach as he does and my skin trembling in response. I catch my breath at the burning awareness as his gaze stops at my bra a moment too long, and his eyes look lower, to my plain black underwear. Smoldering hot need rises in his eyes, in his body. My cheeks are on fire as my own heat sears a trail down my middle. "Now that you've gotten a good look, can you help me up?"