His gaze drops to my lips. “So stop talking.”
Without realizing it, I’m pressed right up against Lucas, hip to hip. My hands are gripping his chest. His hands are wrapped around my waist and I cannot resist.
One kiss won’t hurt me.
Two won’t either.
Lucas’ lips are like a sleeve of Oreos: you know you shouldn’t have them at all, but you can’t stop with just one taste.
“These kisses aren’t for you,” I warn him.
“I don’t care.”
And then he takes over. He picks me up and props me on the kitchen counter. My back hits the cabinets and my butt crushes a few packets of sugar. They sprinkle out onto the floor, but Lucas is tilting my head back and tugging on my bottom lip.
“I can’t,” I breathe out in between kisses. “Baby python.”
“What?” he asks, brushing his lips across my neck.
“Oreos.”
The back door opens and the little bells on the knob jingle. Gina is humming a little tune to herself as Lucas and I jump apart and quickly try to restore order to the kitchen. I’m sweeping up the sugar off the ground when she comes around the corner.
“Morning early birds,” she says with a tip of her head before continuing on to her desk.
I stand frozen, waiting for her to come back and reprimand us for making out before the sun has fully risen, but she doesn’t. For the rest of the morning, I walk around with a shit-eating grin—that is, until my mother shows up and ruins everything.
My mother makes it seem sensible. For the next week, our house will be getting fumigated for termites—or was it roaches? I can’t remember. She swore she told me it was a possibility, but I can’t for the life of me remember having that conversation with her.
“When I was washing your hair! You don’t remember?”
I guess I’ve been busy lately.
“So there’s going to be one of those big circus tents over the house? Where are we going to stay?” I ask.
That’s when she pats me on the shoulder and hands over a duffel bag.
“I’m afraid that’s a question for you, not we, sweetie. I have a place for the next week, but you’ll have to find somewhere to stay. I’m sure you’ll manage!”
I’m 28 and suddenly, an orphan.
“Where are you staying?”
She kisses me on the cheek and starts to back away, down the office’s hallway. My my, she’s in a hurry to leave.
“Oh just with a friend. Call if you need anything. Toodles!”
“You say toodles now? Who are you?”
When I make it back to my office, I unzip the duffel back to see what she’s packed me. There’s a little note up top: Just the bare essentials! Hope I thought of everything you’ll need. Love you, Mom.
Sure, there are work clothes and my toothbrush, but she also took the liberty of digging through my underwear drawer. Half the bag is filled with lingerie, the kind I buy for myself when it’s on sale after Valentine’s Day but never actually wear. Where does she think I’ll be for the next week? On my honeymoon?
Lucas’ voice drifts in from his office next door and the answer hits me. She thinks I’ll be staying with him. What a little meddler. I wouldn’t be surprised if that house was completely pest-free and the exterminators were just a ploy. I mean, she didn’t even pack my phone charger, but the lace panties? The sheer bra? Those are accounted for.
I zip the bag up, toss it under my desk, and dial Madeleine.
“HAHA. No. Sorry.”
That’s her reply when I beg her to let me stay with her for a couple days.
“Madeleine! Come ON, you are my best friend. You’re supposed to be there for me when I need you.”
“Listen, I’d love to have you, but my place isn’t really set up for roommates at the moment. There are boxes…I’ll probably be bringing guys home most nights…you know the drill. Maybe next week?”
“You realize I’m going to be homeless, right? Like living-under-a-highway-underpass homeless. “
“Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“Oh my gosh, are you in on this? YOU ARE, AREN’T YOU?!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Look, my boss is calling me. I’ll talk to you later. Oh, and make sure to send the address for your particular underpass so I can come visit every now and then.”
“Hilarious. Bye.”
It doesn’t take long for word about my situation to spread around the office. My mom told Dr. McCormick who told Mariah and so on. Lucas knows by lunchtime.
“I hear the Lone Star Motel has good rates this time of year,” he says, leaning against my doorway.
“Funny you should mention it, I already have a room set up there,” I gloat.
“Gross. Daisy, I was kidding. Obviously, you can stay with me, if you want.”
I reach for the second half of my turkey sandwich. “No need, Dr. Thatcher. I have it all taken care of. I don’t mean to brag, but there’s a garden view economy suite with my name on it.”