Free Next August by Kelly Moore

hair has my fingers itching to run my fingers through it again. His body is so relaxed. As my hand goes toward his back, his eyes pop open and he lifts his head.
    “Hey, blue eyes.” His voice is gravely.
    I splay my hand on his back.” Hey, yourself.” I kiss his shoulder blade.” I have to go to work.”
    He rolls over and pins his body to mine.” Quit today, and we can have a repeat of last night. Or even better.” He kisses my chin.
    I laugh. “It gets even better? I won’t survive.”
    “Spend the day with me in bed.”
    “As tempting as that sounds, I can’t. We’re already shorthanded at work.” I untangle my body from his. He lays there and watches me as I unabashedly saunter to the bathroom, hoping to tempt him into the shower. I leave the door open and turn on the water. I wait until it’s warm, and as I walk in, he comes in behind me.
    Needless to say, I am going to enjoy being late for work.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    August
     
     
    I have been unfocused since I stepped out of Nashville’s shower on Sunday. I still have hints of her scent on me, even though I’ve been stuck in Seattle all week preparing for the launch party. I thought once would be enough, but I want her even more. She’s been so busy at work she’s been sending monosyllabic responses to my texts. It’s driving me batshit crazy.
    She moves in today and I’m stuck here, in Seattle, in this office. Last Sunday, while she was getting ready for work, I rummaged through her closet to see what size dress she wears. I ordered her a navy blue gown for the party. I laid it on her bed so that she will see it as soon as she gets to the house. I’ve envisioned her in it several times today. I couldn’t sit in my office with a raging hard on, so I went to the gym in my building and worked out. All that did was feed my endorphins and I ended up in a cold shower. Thank god that worked, or I was going to have to give myself a hand job before my meeting with a new client.
    The meeting goes off without a hitch, and the day flies by, until Bob, one of my financial advisors calls me. He tells me that the family that had blamed my father for their son’s death, in the second car accident, are snooping around again.
    As far as anyone knows, my father himself is dead. Only my staff knows he’s lingering in a vegetative state, and I want to keep it that way. I refuse to continue to pay for my father’s sins. I need to protect what I have built. Besides, before my mom died, I loved my dad. He was a good man, but he blamed me for her death. I can still hear him drunkenly yelling through my bedroom door, “If you weren’t such a pain in the ass crybaby, maybe your mother would still be here.” Then there were the beatings, of course, As I got older, I knew that he was to blame for her death. He was the one drinking and driving the car. I was just a scared kid. At least my rational mind knew that. No matter how old you get, the idea that one of your parents, and in my case, my only remaining parent, hates you, does some damage.
    They were celebrating their ten-year anniversary the night she died. I was at a sleepover with a classmate and we got in a fight over something. I don’t even recall what it was. His mom called my parents to come pick me up. They had both had a few drinks, so they didn’t use good judgment getting behind the wheel. So I lived with that guilt my whole life: the sleepover fight, and my crying in the car and distracting my dad. The second crash, however, I had nothing to do with, and I refuse to feel guilty about it.
    “I will have our security team on alert,” I say. “Thank you for letting me know.”
    I pull out my phone and punch in speed dial for Wayne. I update him on the new information and have him beef up security.” I want a man at the front gate of my house. Just as an extra precaution.”
    “Consider it done, sir,” says Wayne.
    I hang up. I punch in Nashville’s number. I need to let her know, but it is really