The retrieval of my wife and our family.
EXCERPT
“Where’d you get beer?” Elisabeth asked as she scrambled
from the couch.
“Seth,”
I replied, hanging my head and rubbing my eyes.
Jesus,
I’d wanted to kiss her. She was being a bitch, spouting shit she didn’t mean
just because she was too scared to let me in.
But,
even through it, those plump lips were calling to me.
I’d
never been able to resist that woman. Despite that we’d fallen apart, it hadn’t
changed. The hum for her was still in my veins. It never went away, but for two
years, it had been dormant. I’d packed it down so tightly that I’d hoped it had
died. But, with one look, my body began thrumming like a live wire.
“Seth?”
she asked as she bent over to straighten her tight, black pencil skirt.
It
was a rare occasion to catch Elisabeth in something other than a perfectly
pressed skirt and a pair of heels. But she’d been sleeping all day. It was
wrinkled all to hell and back. The only thing her efforts succeeded in was
drawing my attention down to her legs.
Legs
that had spent many nights wrapped around my hips as she came while crying my
name.
Shit. I should go.
But,
after the way she’d latched on to me that morning, I wasn’t going anywhere.
“My
assistant,” I answered. “I had him pick you up a bottle of wine, too.”
She
blinked. “You have an assistant? Who delivers you beer? And your ex-wife wine?”
“No,
I have an assistant who does whatever the fuck I need him to do. And, luckily
for us, beer and wine happen to fall into the
whatever-the-fuck-I-need-him-to-do category tonight.” She fought back a smile
as I finished, “So do gyros.”
“Damn.
I need to get one of those,” she mumbled to herself.
I
smirked. “Cash my checks and you could afford one.”
It
was a dick move, bringing up the money right then. But, despite her expert hand
in decorating, that little starter house we’d bought with rose-colored glasses
now needed a shit-ton of work.
Her
back shot ramrod straight, fury crinkling the corners of her eyes as she
snarled, “I’m not cashing your
checks.”
I
shrugged. “Guess you’ll have to figure out how to get your own wine and dinner
after tonight.”
“I
think I can manage,” she fired back.
“Suit
yourself.” I pushed off the couch and meandered to the kitchen.
I
went to the fridge and leaned in, searching for anything I could snack on. With
the exception of at least a dozen Tupperware containers, she didn’t have much
in the way of a quick bite.
Snagging
a handful of grapes from the drawer, I made a mental note to send Seth to the
grocery store after he’d delivered dinner.
Popping
the grapes in my mouth one by one, I felt her watching me in what could only be
defined as silent awe. I decided my best move would be to ignore it. “You know,
I should have invented Tupperware. You alone could keep me in business,” I told
her, retrieving a beer and then shutting the door.
She
scoffed then muttered, “At least then I would have benefitted from you
abandoning our marriage.”
Lava
fresh off the volcanoes in Hell boiled in my veins.
I
cocked my head to the side and questioned, “I’m sorry. Come again?”
“You
should go,” she snapped.
Think a-fucking-gain.
“Nah,
I’m good. Got any movies?”
I
tipped the bottle to my lips, doing my best to calm the storm brewing within me,
all while still fighting the desire to take her to the floor, plant myself
between her legs, and remind her how that fucking attitude affected me.
Clearly,
she had forgotten.
My
cock had not.
“Roman,
it’s been a crazy day. Please don’t do this tonight.”
“Do
what?” I asked, leaning back against the huge, granite island.
She
threw her hands out to the sides in frustration. “What you always do.”
“What
do I always do, Lissy?”
“This!”
she yelled.
I
frowned and took another pull from my beer. “Haven’t been in our kitchen,
drinking beer, in a long time. I hardly think it’s fair to say I always do it.”
Her
eyes nearly bulged from her head. “My
kitchen, Roman. This is my kitchen.
Not ours. And you know good and damn well that is not what I’m talking about.”
My
lips twitched as I pointed the neck of my bottle at her. “No. What I know good
and damn well is that I have no idea
what the fuck you are talking about.
Or why you’re slinging unnecessary and, might I add, undeserved attitude at me
like a short-order cook at the bitch house.”
“He
did not say that to me,” she whispered to herself.
When
I lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, she swung a pointed finger toward the door
and yelled, “Get out!”
I
grinned, crossing my legs at the ankle. “You always were cranky when you were
hungry.”
And
that was the exact moment her head exploded.
