On my knees, hovering over her, I panted and groaned, imagining that it was her hand stroking me hard. But her hand was busy between her own legs, rubbing her clit, driving her glistening fingers in and out, in time with my own fist. I painted her tits that night, and she impressively demonstrated that she was healed enough to handle an orgasm.
So of course I spend the better part of day six with my mouth attached to her pretty cunt—to make up for lost time.
But by day seven, she’s antsy. Sick of television and too wired to work. I call the troops to my place for dinner. Harrison watches the McQuaid Monsters over at Jake and Chelsea’s so they can come. Stanton arrives with Sofia, and the baby bump that could apply for its own zip code now. Brian and Vicki show up too. I introduce them to the rest of the squad, and we all eat pizza at the dining room table.
After dinner, we hang out in the living room—the guys watch the game while the girls talk baby announcements and bridal showers.
“It’s going to be a brunch,” Sofia tells Kennedy, about the bridal shower she’s throwing for Chelsea. “Not too big, because Jake and Chelsea are antisocial.”
“Ha!” Chelsea grins. “Let’s see how social you and Stanton are after this little delight is born. Then multiply that by six.”
“You really should come,” Sofia tells Kennedy and Vicki. “It’s going to be fun— mimosas and naughty bingo. Since they already have all their household stuff, everyone’s bringing lingerie for the wishing well.”
Jake’s eyes light up. “Yes, you two should definitely come. The more the merrier—for me.”
“When is it?” Kennedy asks Sofia, pulling up her calendar on her phone.
“The twenty-third.”
Kennedy clicks her tongue. “I won’t be able to make it—I’ll be in Vegas on the twenty-third.”
Spiders of unease scurry up my arms and across my back.
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
Kennedy meets my eyes across the room, and as casually as if she’s giving the weather forecast, she says, “The trial starts in two weeks. They’re handling the pretrial motions without me, but I’ll have to fly out in a few days.”
I put my beer on the coffee table and give her my undivided attention. “But . . . you’re not trying the case anymore.”
She frowns. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”
I gesture to her arm, her swollen eye. “You’re hurt.”
“No, I’m healing. By the time the trial starts I’ll be back to normal, except for the cast.”
My heart beats against my chest—wanting to bust out and shake her.
I get to my feet. Because I argue better on my feet, and I have a feeling this is about to spiral into one hell of an argument. “Kennedy . . . that’s . . . fucking crazy. Did the concussion knock you stupid?”
“Excuse me?”
“He tried to kill you.”
She stands up slowly, her spine rigid and shoulders back. “But he didn’t. And it’s my case.”
“They’ll assign another prosecutor.”
“No—they won’t. Because I won’t let them. Moriotti is trying to scare me away, and I’m not going to let him. He doesn’t get to take this from me.”
My fingers press against my temples, and my voice rises. “Holy shit, Kennedy—he’s not a schoolyard bully—he’s a goddamn psychopath, with the means and motive to put a bullet in you. And you’re going to walk into his territory to give him the opportunity? Why don’t you just draw a bull’s-eye on your forehead!”
I must sound as panicked as I feel, because her posture softens. Her voice fills with calming sympathy. “It’ll be okay.”
She reaches out to stroke my forehead, but I jerk it away.
“You don’t know that! Fucked-up things happen all the time!” I point to Sofia. “She was in a plane crash, did you know that? With her whole family—and it was just dumb luck that they didn’t die.” I gesture to Chelsea. “And Chelsea’s brother, he and his wife were just driving home and they were killed, Kennedy. They had six kids who needed them, and they died.”
I rub the back of my neck, scrub my hand over my face, trying not to totally lose it. “And I was just a kid; a dumb kid who got his leg ripped off for no reason at all. Bad things happen even when you’re careful—even when you don’t deserve them.”
“This is my job, Brent.”
“It’s a job you don’t need! You have more money in your trust fund right now than you’ll ever make as a prosecutor.”
“That doesn’t matter—”
My voice drops lower. “I get that—I do. You took this job because you needed a purpose. A reason to get out of bed every day.” I grip her shoulders, bend my knees and look into her eyes. “But you have me now. We can be each other’s reasons.”
She gazes at me like I’m breaking her heart. No—like her heart is breaking for me.
There’s a difference.
“You are my reason. And all I want in the whole world is to be yours.” Kennedy puts her hand right on top of my heart. “But I have to see this through.”
Goddamn it!
Something in me fucking snaps, because she’s not listening. She’s too damn stubborn. Too fucking fearless. And if I can’t change her mind—it could get her killed.
“If you go, we’re done,” I say coldly.
“Brent—” Jake warns, but I throw up my hand.