I close my eyes and can see him standing under the light of my loft with a gun tucked in his waistband and his bare chest in all its glory. A shiver ripples down my spine upon feeling those strong, warm hands on me.
God! What’s happening?
7
KEITH
Clementine trembles and her deep breath skims my skin as I hold her face. Goose bumps appear on my arms as my body fills with a strange excitement.
My grip on her stomach tightens and she whispers my name, “Keith.” Her voice soft, almost a moan, and I realize what I’m doing.
Fuck!
I thrust her away from me and she stumbles, her hands grabbing the counter.
What the hell just happened?
I tug on my hair in anger and frustration.
“What are you doing in the dark at this goddam hour?” I’m holding on to my anger by a thread for the sake of my sleeping daughter.
“Coffee,” she repeats. “I don’t know how to use this machine.” Her voice trembles and in the dark my imagination makes it worse.
I flip on the light switch. “This is not a public machine. I told you yesterday, this”—I wave my arms around—“is our private space.”
She fidgets, biting on her lower lip. “I… I thought, if I could make just one cup before you, I mean before…anyone wakes up. Can I?”
Her wide gaze fixes on me for several beats as she waits for an answer. But when I don’t agree to her request, her feet turn around and she sprints off to the loft.
Once alone in the kitchen, I scrub my face, fingers rubbing on my creased forehead.
What have I done?
I’m in no state to have someone in my space, let alone someone like…her. I close my eyes, taking deep breaths, until an image forms in my head. Me holding her close, her thin cotton nightshirt under my hands, too flimsy. In my imagination I can feel her soft skin.
Fuck!
My eyes open in shock, heart hammering in my chest. I grip the counter to will my raging cock to go down.
How the hell am I excited by this girl?
Did I just cheat on my wife?
Am I seriously lusting over a girl fifteen years younger than me?
When I return to my room, as every other time, my gaze lands on Melanie’s photo, but today I can’t smile back. I’m ashamed of myself for what just happened.
I lie down on the bed and close my eyes, but my mind goes back to the kitchen. I drag it away from the incident in the dark to when she scurried upstairs.
Why the hell didn’t I let her make coffee?
I was never this rude, this much of a jerk. I glance at the bedside clock. It’s five thirty. Annoyed at myself, I get up and turn on the coffeepot in the kitchen. I take a mug out and at the very last moment another. After pouring two cups of coffee, I grab one and take the stairs up to the loft.
My fist lightly hits the door as I knock.
Clementine nervously glances at me, holding the half-open door.
When I offer the cup to her, she makes no attempt to grab it but continues looking at me with those Bambi-brown eyes. “Take it or not, but I’m not going to beg you to drink it.”