been saving for the right time, seeing as I couldn’t afford to replace it and I couldn’t see on the horizon a day soon when I would.
This was definitely that time.
Ham’s voice slid through my head.
I decided not to bother with the ginger ale.
Or the glass.
Chapter Two
I heard the growl of a big truck’s engine.
My eyes shot open.
That growl was coming from my driveway.
Then it stopped.
That was when my body flew into motion. I threw the covers back and jumped out of bed.
It was dark. I didn’t care. I rushed through my bedroom into the hall and straight to the front door.
I unlocked it, yanked it open, and Ham was standing there, one arm in a sling, the other hand lifted toward the doorbell.
I threw myself at him, wrapping my arms around him.
He grunted, part in surprise but mostly in pain.
I jumped back.
“God, sorry!” I cried.
He stared at me through the shadows. The only illumination we had was dim and coming from the muted streetlamps of my development. I felt his eyes move over my face as I drank him in.
Then his hand shot out, hooking me at the back of the head. He yanked me to him, planting my face in his chest.
Cautiously this time, I rounded him with my arms.
“Cookie,” he whispered into the top of my hair.
Warmth washed through me and I closed my eyes.
“Ham,” I whispered back.
“Missed you, baby,” he said softly.
I closed my eyes harder and pressed my face into his chest.
He let me, and we stayed that way a long time.
Finally, he broke the moment by lifting his lips from my hair and saying, “Let’s continue this reunion inside with a beer.”
Shit, I didn’t have beer.
And shit again, I forgot in the thrill of hearing his truck in my drive that I’d spent that entire day alternately freaking out about the state of my life and freaking out about the fact that Ham was coming back and what I was going to do when he did, with Ham winning most of my freak-out time. Though, even with all the time I gave it, obviously, I didn’t come up with a plan, nor did I steel myself against the thrill of hearing his truck in my drive.
And shit a-freaking-gain. In the thrill of hearing his truck in my drive, I forgot to throw on at least a robe so I was standing there in a clingy, sexy rose-pink, spaghetti-strapped nightgown that showed cleavage, exposed some skin through strategically placed lace, and had been purchased in a time when life was a whole lot better.
I tilted my head back, leaving my arms where they were, and he curled his hand around the back of my neck.
“I don’t have beer,” I informed him and watched his brows shoot up.
“Did hell freeze over and I missed it?” he asked and I wanted to keep distant. I wanted to control this “reunion.” I wanted to guard my heart and my time.
I just couldn’t.
So I smiled.
“Don’t have a line to the devil, Ham.”
“Bullshit, babe. Somewhere along the line, you made a deal with him. No woman who gives head the way you do hasn’t sold her soul for that ability.”
I blinked at this quick, explicit reminder of our bygone intimacy.
Then again, Ham was an honest guy. He didn’t hide anything, even when he kept things from you. I knew that didn’t make sense. I couldn’t explain it. But I knew he was good at it.
He also didn’t pull any punches. If he liked something, he liked it and said he did. Same with the opposite. Same with anything. If he had something to say, he said it. That didn’t mean he didn’t have a filter. That just meant he was who he was, he did what he did, he said what he said, you liked it or you didn’t, and he didn’t give a fuck.
I, unfortunately, liked it.
Ham let me go, moved back so my arms were forced to drop away. He bent and carefully picked up a big black duffel that I hadn’t noticed was sitting on the concrete beside him.
This, I didn’t think was good. This meant Ham thought he was staying with me.
And Ham couldn’t stay with me.
“Uh… Ham—”
“Move back, babe.”
“But, your bag—”
“Babe, back.”
I moved back.
Ham moved in.
I shut the door and hustled in behind him.
“Got lights?” he asked.
I held my breath and flipped a switch.
Ham’s ability to notice pretty much everything all at once honed by years of working bars had not dulled and I knew this the instant he muttered, “Jesus. What the fuck?”
Of course, the state of my house was hard to miss.
On the whole, my house was awesome. The best of the five floor plans offered by far, even if it wasn’t the biggest. I loved it. It was perfect. The development was perfect, pretty, friendly people in it, well taken care of.
After growing up in a home that was not all that great, and living a life that had its serious down times, this house was all I ever wanted.
The narrow, cool, covered walkway outside was flanked on one side by the garage and the on the other by the recessed portion of the kitchen. The front door opened to a short entryway that led to an open-plan area, the living room straight ahead, dining area to the left back. The kitchen was also to the left, part of it recessed toward the front of the house with a wide, curved bar that fed into the overall space.
The living room was sunken two steps, which gave a vague sense of breaking up the space and a not-so- vague ratcheting up of the awesome factor.
The colors on the walls and ceiling were sand and cream, the carpeting a thick, cream wool, so the feel was warm but serene.
I’d gone with a variety of upgrades, something I was paying for now in a number of ways, all of them literal. I’d gone for premium cabinets, granite countertops, Whirlpool appliances, and a built-in unit in the living room, with glass doors and recessed lighting. It was the shit.
I’d also upgraded the doors, so instead of sliding glass, there were French doors leading from the living room, dining room, and the master bedroom to my backyard.
Most of the wall space was taken up by windows covered with custom-built Roman shades that I’d splurged
