Page 65 of Not You Again

I squeeze his hand a bit too hard and say through a stiff jaw, “We can’t afford to be in breach of contract, right?”

He closes his eyes and presses his fingers to the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath before he looks at me again. “No,” he agrees, “we can’t.”

“Then let’s do this right.” I offer him a shaky smile. “Besides, I’d love to meet your mom.”

“Glad to see your wife at least has some sense.” Jeremy smirks.

Kit mutters a curse under his breath, then stands, hands on his hips. He’s a head taller than Jeremy, and maybe that’s the point he’s trying to make. Through his teeth, sounding exhausted, he asks, “Are we done here?”

Jeremy narrows his eyes. “Do not touch the mics again. They’re expensive equipment and I only want my team handling them. You could have cost us thousands if someone had found that mic pack in the bathroom before my team did.”

I snort and roll my eyes. The restaurant was empty specifically because we were filming there. His crew were the only ones who would have found the mic.

“Done.” Kit shoves his hands in his pockets and strides toward the front door.

“We need more of you two on camera, together, trying,” Jeremy says to Kit’s retreating form, like I’m not right fucking here.

Kit opens the door and gestures vaguely back toward me. “We’ll go to the wedding this weekend, right?”

I punch my heart back down into my chest and nod. If nothing else, we’re still a team.

Kit sweeps his arm toward the open door with a pointed look at the executive producer. Undeterred, Jeremy hovers over me. With a smug look on his face, he tells me like he’s sharing a secret, “Keep him in line, will you?”

Like Kit isn’t his own person with his own wants and needs that have nothing to do with me. Even though I wish some of them did. I stare at a throw pillow on the chair across the room. “Fine.”

Kit clears his throat.

“It was nice speaking with you, Mrs. Watson.” He offers me the slightest incline of his head.

I hate the way everyone calls me that, like somehow I’m just supposed to give up who I am because of a stupid show and a sham of a marriage. Even if I’m beginning to wish it was real.

Finally taking the hint, Jeremy walks toward the door. I follow, as if I can bodily block him from reentering our apartment and our lives. He exchanges a glare with Kit before making his exit. Kit closes the door behind him with such control, the only sound is the click of the latch.

I’m left in the tiny entryway, with Kit mere inches away. My vision is full of him, and the lines of his shirt begin to blur as tears well in my eyes.

“You’re shaking,” he mutters under his breath. Before I can deny it, his arms wind around my body and press me into him. I bury my face in his chest as his fingers twine in my hair. He presses his lips to my temple. “You look cooked through, sweet potato.”

I make a sound that’s half whimper, half laugh. Kit chuckles in response, the sound thrumming its way through me. My voice comes out in a squeak. “Thank you for standing up for me.”

His fingers curl against my scalp, and shivers race down my spine. “I knew my wife was a badass; it was amazing to watch it firsthand. But I wasn’t going to let you have all the fun.”

I laugh, the sound muffled by his chest. He laughs too. After I fill my lungs with him one more time, I pull away. Hands still in my hair, his gaze falls to my lips like he might want to—

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he lets the air in his lungs out on a frustrated groan. His hands slide from me, leaving me cold. “It’s going to be one of those days.”

I sniff, tugging on the hem of my shirt. Kit checks the caller ID, then looks back at me, his emotions shuttered. I want to smash his phone against the door. Instead, I say weakly, “I’ll see you later?”

“Later,” he agrees, reaching for his messenger bag. Every night, still, he takes care of my hands. Even though I wish it was more now. I take a couple of steps back to cede the entryway to him. He slips out the door, but as it’s almost closed, he pushes it back open, surging toward me.

I gasp as he catches my face in both his hands and presses his forehead to mine. My eyes flutter closed, waiting for the kiss my body’s been starved of for too long now. Every cell in my body stills and nothing else matters. Just Kit. And me. Together. On any old weekday morning, like we chose this and each other, instead of being crammed together for entertainment.

I can see the future Kit spoke of last night, where we build the life we want.

But the kiss doesn’t come.

All I get is Kit’s whispered “You look beautiful” before he leaves me breathless in an empty apartment, staring at the closed door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVENKIT