“I need to call you back.”
“Wait! Don’t hang up. I can’t stay here. You need to come and get me.”
“I’ll call you back, Nick.”
“Time to say good night,” said Sloane, cleaning up the remnants of our dinner.
“There was a reason I told Nick I needed to call her back, and it isn’t because I don’t want you to hear what I have to say.”
“Or her?”
“Can we sit?”
“Whatever you need to say—” Sloane clapped her hand over her mouth and raced off in the direction of the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, I followed and stood outside the door when she slammed it closed. I leaned up against the wall and waited. I moved a couple of feet away when I heard the water running in the sink. Seconds later, she came out, wiping her hands on a towel.
“Is there anything I can do?”
She shook her head. “I’m going to bed.” When I followed again, Sloane stopped at the room’s doorway. “Tackle, you need to leave.”
I reached out and felt her forehead. “No fever.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“I’m worried about you, Sloane. You’ve been sick since Christmas.”
“I have a doctor’s appointment scheduled.”
“When?”
She glared at me, put one hand on her hip, and pointed toward the door with the other.
“I’ll sleep on the sofa, but I’m not leaving.”
“I want to be left alone.”
I rested my arm on the doorjamb. “I can always call Mama Clarkson.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
I pulled out my phone.
“What about your other phone call? You promised Nick you’d call her back.”
“That can wait.”
“Of course it can. Just leave, Tackle. Leave. I’m not kidding.”
“Right.” I dropped my arm, put it behind her knees, and swept her up. I took two steps into the room and gently rested her on the bed. “I’m not going anywhere, but I will leave you alone. As I said, I’ll sleep on the sofa.” I brushed her hair from her forehead and softened the tone in my voice.
13
Sloane
“Just let me…”
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Tackle’s. “Just let you, what?”
“Stay. Worry about you. Be here if you need anything.”
I should stand my ground; the truth was, I didn’t have the energy to. I’d asked him—told him—to leave, and he continued to refuse. Telling him again now wouldn’t be any different. He’d still stay.
“Okay.”
“Okay, I can stay?”
“As if you wouldn’t, no matter what I said.”
He smiled. “Let’s get you tucked in.” He pulled the covers back on one side of the bed and told me to roll over before doing the same on the other side.
“Thanks,” I murmured.
“Good night, then.” He turned to leave the room.
“Tackle?”
“Yeah?”
“You could stay. I mean, here, in the bedroom.”
“Are you sure you wouldn’t sleep better without me in bed beside you?”
I smiled. “I think I can resist the temptation.”
He smiled too and winked. “I’m not sure I can, but I’ll do my best.”
When he undressed and got in bed next to me, I looked into his mesmerizing green eyes. The features of his face were as perfect as the body he worked so hard to maintain. My eyes trailed down to his bare chest, and I squeezed my thighs together.
It didn’t matter that I’d just lost the contents of my stomach; I wanted Tackle to remove his boxer briefs, the only thing he’d left on, and feel him inside me.
“You keep looking at me that way, and there’s no way I’ll be able to resist the temptation.”
“I don’t want you to.”
He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and slowly opened them. “I told you I’d leave you alone so you could rest.”
“There’s something I want more than sleep.”
Tackle studied me but didn’t move a muscle.
“Unless you don’t want to.”
When he raised the sheet, I saw that he did, in fact, want to very much. I reached out and grasped his cock when he lowered his briefs. He hissed a breath in.
“You have no idea how many times I imagined this.”
“Did you, really?”
“Oh, yeah,” he groaned.
“What else did you imagine?”
“How it would feel to have your mouth on me.”
I scooted my body down the bed, rested one hand on his hip, and swirled my tongue on the tip of his cock. Tackle wove his fingers in my hair.
“Open, drop your hands, and hold still.” His hands were on both sides of my face. He slowly eased farther into my mouth. “Deeper, Sloane. Relax your throat.” When I gagged, he pulled out of my mouth and moved his hands from my head. “Jesus, I’m sorry. You were just sick.”
He rolled out of bed and grabbed his clothes.
“Where are you going?”
“Into the other room.”
When I woke the next morning and went out to the kitchen, it was clean, but Tackle was gone. I told myself it was for the best; I’d been trying to get him to leave anyway. Neither thought made the ache of missing him hurt less.
I called my mom and asked if there was anything she wanted me to pick up for her on my way home. I hurriedly jotted down the grocery list she rattled off.
“I thought you were coming yesterday, mija.”
I told her I’d ended up running errands in the city, and by the time I got back to the apartment, I was too tired to make the drive.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I made a doctor’s appointment, but if you want me to wait to find out if whatever I have is contagious, I can stay here.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come home, Sloane. If you don’t feel like stopping at the market, your father can go.”
I laughed, thinking about the number of times my dad would have to call my mom when he couldn’t find whatever she wanted. “I can do it.”
I packed up my clothes, also known as laundry, grabbed my computer, and took the elevator down to the parking garage. Just that, made me think about Tackle and how I wished he hadn’t left.
“So stupid,” I mumbled and shook my head as I loaded my stuff into the backseat of
