An expansive desert lay before me.
josh
It was astounding. Something mesmerising. For a moment I forgot what I’d done - I had walked out on Rafe, for the final time. But really final, this time. His snakeskin charm does not work on me like it used to.
Snakehips.
Rattlesnake.
Slap of leather.
Banish him from your mind, Lila. Fill a suitcase - small, chic, potentially international - fire up the Subaru and hit the open road.
Within minutes the jitters come over me. The nerves. The slowing of adrenaline and the peaking of anxiety. Calming those nerves seemed sensible. It seemed that all women of intrigue and mystique dabble in light alcoholic flair. I turn off the freeway and allow my liver to guide me.
“Martini. Dry.” How incredibly chic, I allow myself to think.
“Rafe on his way?”
I should have driven further.
“Not this time, Hank. Not this time.” Repetition, suave.
“Sure he is - just came through the door.”
The clack of a snakeskin boot. Snakehips. My loins drop at the same instant as my stomach. Confluence. Two deeply opposing feelings that have dictated most of my waking days.
I turn. Slowly, in my swivelling stool.
“Sweet cheeks.”
Wetness. Immediately. Goddammit, Rafe.
“Goddammit, Rafe.”