Chasing Kane Read Online Free

horror, but I continued. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. I’ve wanted all kinds of things that are scary. A career in music, a relationship with you—”
    She jabbed me in the side with her elbow, giving me the opportunity to hook my arm around her waist and roll her underneath me.
    “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size,” she giggled, panting.
    I buried my face into the crook of her neck. “You’re just the right size. Fun sized.”
    “So where are we?” she asked, turning the water cold for the second time in five minutes.
    Sitting back on my heels, I took a deep breath. “We’re right here.” I playfully dug through my pockets. “No condoms.”
    “But no tracking ovulation,” she stated with some reticence.
    No. Not yet.
    “I don’t know … what do you think?” was what I came up with.
    “I think you’ve talked me off the ledge. There’s no rush,” she said much to my deep, deep relief. “We can just let things happen, right?”
    Grinning, I unzipped my jeans and kicked them off the bed behind me. “Now, if you would just let this happen …”
    I grabbed her ankles and slid her body down until her head was on the pillow and Georgia was once again looking up at me with hopeful, loving eyes.
    “I don’t want you to leave in a month,” she said, moving her hands across my hipbones and to all points south.
    I swallowed a moan, pressing myself into her hand. “But the welcome home sex is oh, so fine.”
    She reached around and smacked my bare backside, letting out a small yelp when I again rolled her over so she was on top of me.
    “Well,” she half-slurred, drunk with lust, “I guess I better remind you what’ll be waiting for you at home.”
    ***
     
    The good and bad news is that the month went by relatively fast. More bad news was always in saying goodbye to my wife. She’s tough as nails, at least through her first few layers, so she never really did weepy, long goodbyes. But she’s pure mush beneath the granite around her heart, so it never took more than a couple of days before I started getting a mixed bag of text messages ranging from I miss you to Don’t do anything stupid.
    The good news—great, really—was that all evidence pointed to CJ’s ability to keep it together at work, thereby reducing his professional liability on tour, but I couldn’t yet speak for his social risk. I knew he wasn’t anywhere near being over Frankie, but that wasn’t a conversation I was about to drag out of him.
    He spent much of his non-studio time at Molly Molloy’s, quickly referring to it as Molly’s any chance he got, but the good news there is that there wasn’t a single bar fight. And, if he spent much of his time hooking up, he didn’t do it at our place.
    Still, I hadn’t seen him in much more than flirty conversation and ass-grabbing, which made me wonder how long it would take for him to admit his still-lingering feelings for Frankie. Or push him over the edge into complete regression to his old self.
    With a smile on my face, I barged into Georgia’s bakery, situated one floor below our sprawling apartment. Sweet Forty-Two was her pride and joy, in very much the same way music was mine. We learned more about art from each other in our different mediums than we ever could have if we stuck with our own kind. Though, we often argued which art was more satisfying to the soul—food, or music.
    “What are you so happy about?” she spat out behind a wildly menacing grin. Sarcasm through her face at its finest.
    Checking to be sure there were no customers, I hopped onto the counter and slid myself down until I was next to her. I simply beamed at her in silence.
    “You’re weird,” she said. “And you’re dirtying my counters. People eat on this, Regan, seriously.” She shooed me away and I situated myself in the open kitchen.
    “Our tour starts tomorrow,” I started, my hands rubbing together.
    “And?” She scrubbed at the counter, annoyed.
    “Our