Page 41

Tabby puts the monkey in her office chair, and for a moment she hesitates. My stomach is tight with anticipation. She’s standing there in those tight black pants and that red sweater that accentuates her curves.

Desire heats my veins, and my fingers curl remembering the feel of her breasts. I’d wanted more tonight, but she hasn’t been the same since that run-in with her uncle and Betty Pepper.

I felt her bristle every time a church lady nodded and smiled at us tonight. They meant well, but I feel like they killed Date #2.

Her hesitation disappears, and she steps to the door. “Thanks for giving us a ride tonight.”

Shit. I follow her slowly. “It was my pleasure.”

She pulls the door open, and I manage to smile. Her eyes don’t meet mine—she seems to avoid looking at me altogether, and disappointment is a lead weight in my chest.

I want to touch her. I want to kiss her. Somehow I’m sure if our lips would meet just once more, everything would change.

I don’t though.

My hands stay at my sides. I softly say goodnight a “Sleep well,” and with that, she shuts me out again.

Thirteen

Tabby

When I was thirteen, I got my period for the first time.

My stomach cramped and it was weird and scary. Uncle Bob didn’t know what to tell me, and I started to cry because for the first time in a long time I wanted my mother. He brought me to the ladies Sunday school class for help, and Lurlene Woodruff told me I should be thankful the Lord gave me such a loving uncle to raise me after my Jezebel mother ran off when I was a baby.

It didn’t make me feel better.

Betty Pepper took me aside and told me what was going on with my “menses,” as she called it. She told me Lurlene meant well, then she gave me a little white Sunday school Bible and a piece of candy.

It was the day I realized while some ladies were cruel old meanies, even the nice ones had a plan for my life.

And it wasn’t my plan.

As soon as I was old enough, I walked out of that church and never looked back.

Lurlene Woodruff died a few years ago, and I wanted to wear red to her funeral. Instead, I just went to the beach and hung out with some of the surfers who were in town for the weekend. I smoked pot and forgot why I even cared about those people.

Tonight I remembered why.

It’s because while I’m not like my mother, I’m not like them either. I have my own dreams. I don’t need a good influence, and I sure as hell don’t need some man they all approve of showing me “the error of my ways.”

It doesn’t make me a Jezebel. It makes me smart and strong.

Hell, closing the door on Chad just now took the strength of Hercules, but I’m not losing my focus. I’ve been working on my plan too long.

Coco is a lump in the middle of my bed fast asleep, and I smile looking down at her angelic face. Soft brown curls are around her cheeks, and she is so much like her mom.

Emberly’s strong, too, losing her dad when she was about Coco’s age. She’s been my best friend as long as I can remember, and she’s always supported my dreams—just like I’ve always supported hers.

Slipping out of my pants and sweater, I pull on Chad’s tee and boxers again. His scent is fading from the fabric, but I dip my nose inside and give it a hard sniff, searching for him. When I find it, my body relaxes.

Chad Tucker is sexy and hot and kisses like a rock star. He’s like a chiseled boulder, and I won’t lie—I want to climb him like a tree.

My phone lights up on the top of the dresser with a text. I walk over and pick it up, turning the face so I can read it. As much as I don’t want to, my heart jumps when I see Chad’s name on my screen.

Sorry things got weird tonight.

For a minute, I hesitate, trying to decide how much, if anything to say. It’s not your fault.