Not Looking For Love: Episode 5 Read Online Free Page B
Author: Lena Bourne
"She can stay here tonight."
"She's really close to giving birth, I think," I say, checking my hands for scratches, but she didn't get me. "But she can't stay here. There's no litter box."
"I'll take her over to my dad's house tomorrow," Scott says and opens a can of cat food. The cat wobbles off the bed, and walks toward it, letting him scratch her behind the ears before she starts eating. "Besides, there's plenty of boxes in here."
I empty out one of the smaller ones to fill with newspaper for her to use. An envelope falls out along with his sketchbook and pencil case, hundred dollar bills spilling onto the floor.
"You left all this cash here in an unlocked apartment last night?" It's the first thought that rolls from my mouth, but not the only one I'm thinking, or even the loudest.
He shrugs and picks the money up off the floor, stuffing it back into the envelope. "Honestly, there's a lot more of it. And I wasn't exactly thinking straight last night."
"Scott, you have to stop. I think that's what your brother would have wanted, why he went to prison instead of you."
His face is a hard mask again, his eyes blacker than any night on this earth. "I've had enough arguing for one day."
"It's not arguing. It's a fact," I say, channeling granddaddy Henderson again, because that might be the only way to save us. "You've been given a second chance and not everyone gets that. So take it already."
I watch softness return to his face, blackness and shadow receding from his eyes, like a hard, gusting wind is blowing them away. His hand is hot against my icy cheek, soft like clouds. "Let's just not talk about this tonight, Gail. Please."
I relent and let him pull me against him, his fingers tangled up in my hair. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, because we haven't done that yet today, and I want to, more than I want any other thing. And then it's like we're standing on the sidewalk on the first day of snow, yellow streetlamps flickering all around us, time still and soft, no wind strong enough to move us, and no care anywhere in sight.
I pick up his sketchbook later, as we're heading back out. "Can I have that drawing you did of me?"
"That's not even finished," he says, holding the door open for me.
"You can finish it, then," I say, stuffing the sketchbook and pencils into my bag. "Or draw another one."
He shrugs and leans into the wall so I can walk past him out into the hallway. "I haven't really been in the mood for drawing lately."
And it sounds like another thing I'm forcing him to do that he doesn't want to.
"When you are then," I say. "I can wait."
My car is gone under a pile of snow, and a snowball hits my back as I'm struggling to free up the back window.
"What don't you help me instead of messing around?" I ask with my back still turned, balling up a fistful of snow.
"I can't, my cast'll get wet," he yells back. But there's little chance of that, since his jacket is zipped up over it.
I whip around and toss the snowball at him, it crashes against his thigh even though I was aiming higher.
"Oh, so that's how it is," he says, crouching to pick up more snow. "You just don't care about my cast getting wet."
I duck behind the car, his snowball whizzing past my head, and sling a handful of loose snow at him as he comes around the car looking for me. It hits him in the chest, and he yelps as some of it topples down behind his collar. I haven't been in a snowball fight for years, and the snow's really too soft to ball up properly, but I'm laughing, stumbling sideways trying to get away from him. He finally catches me at the driver's side, and dumps a fistful of snow down my back. I screech as it trickles down my skin. He's got me pinned against the car, his lips hot against mine, his tongue demanding entrance. It's like everything I imagined before, only so much better, because it's real.
"Do you yield now?" he asks.
I crush a fistful of snow down the back of his jacket. "Never."
And then we're
"She's really close to giving birth, I think," I say, checking my hands for scratches, but she didn't get me. "But she can't stay here. There's no litter box."
"I'll take her over to my dad's house tomorrow," Scott says and opens a can of cat food. The cat wobbles off the bed, and walks toward it, letting him scratch her behind the ears before she starts eating. "Besides, there's plenty of boxes in here."
I empty out one of the smaller ones to fill with newspaper for her to use. An envelope falls out along with his sketchbook and pencil case, hundred dollar bills spilling onto the floor.
"You left all this cash here in an unlocked apartment last night?" It's the first thought that rolls from my mouth, but not the only one I'm thinking, or even the loudest.
He shrugs and picks the money up off the floor, stuffing it back into the envelope. "Honestly, there's a lot more of it. And I wasn't exactly thinking straight last night."
"Scott, you have to stop. I think that's what your brother would have wanted, why he went to prison instead of you."
His face is a hard mask again, his eyes blacker than any night on this earth. "I've had enough arguing for one day."
"It's not arguing. It's a fact," I say, channeling granddaddy Henderson again, because that might be the only way to save us. "You've been given a second chance and not everyone gets that. So take it already."
I watch softness return to his face, blackness and shadow receding from his eyes, like a hard, gusting wind is blowing them away. His hand is hot against my icy cheek, soft like clouds. "Let's just not talk about this tonight, Gail. Please."
I relent and let him pull me against him, his fingers tangled up in my hair. I rise on my tiptoes and kiss him, because we haven't done that yet today, and I want to, more than I want any other thing. And then it's like we're standing on the sidewalk on the first day of snow, yellow streetlamps flickering all around us, time still and soft, no wind strong enough to move us, and no care anywhere in sight.
I pick up his sketchbook later, as we're heading back out. "Can I have that drawing you did of me?"
"That's not even finished," he says, holding the door open for me.
"You can finish it, then," I say, stuffing the sketchbook and pencils into my bag. "Or draw another one."
He shrugs and leans into the wall so I can walk past him out into the hallway. "I haven't really been in the mood for drawing lately."
And it sounds like another thing I'm forcing him to do that he doesn't want to.
"When you are then," I say. "I can wait."
My car is gone under a pile of snow, and a snowball hits my back as I'm struggling to free up the back window.
"What don't you help me instead of messing around?" I ask with my back still turned, balling up a fistful of snow.
"I can't, my cast'll get wet," he yells back. But there's little chance of that, since his jacket is zipped up over it.
I whip around and toss the snowball at him, it crashes against his thigh even though I was aiming higher.
"Oh, so that's how it is," he says, crouching to pick up more snow. "You just don't care about my cast getting wet."
I duck behind the car, his snowball whizzing past my head, and sling a handful of loose snow at him as he comes around the car looking for me. It hits him in the chest, and he yelps as some of it topples down behind his collar. I haven't been in a snowball fight for years, and the snow's really too soft to ball up properly, but I'm laughing, stumbling sideways trying to get away from him. He finally catches me at the driver's side, and dumps a fistful of snow down my back. I screech as it trickles down my skin. He's got me pinned against the car, his lips hot against mine, his tongue demanding entrance. It's like everything I imagined before, only so much better, because it's real.
"Do you yield now?" he asks.
I crush a fistful of snow down the back of his jacket. "Never."
And then we're
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