Tuesdays with Jay and Other Stories by M.Q. Barber

Author:M.Q. Barber [Barber, M.Q.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Whiskey Jack Editing LLC

Chapter Twenty-Eight

More to Love

In “More to Love,” set the week after the big snowfall in Chapter 4 of Crossing the Lines, Jay and Alice are in high spirits from the trio’s long weekend together.

Jay coasted to a stop along the curb outside the diner a solid ten minutes early for lunch. The only break in the snow wall separating the sidewalk from traffic came at the corner. Hopping down splashed gutter slush on his already speckled socks and leggings.

The sun beat down on the massive piles of snow left over from last week’s storm, sending streams of water everywhere. Scraped bare, the streets and sidewalks traveled easy as a summer’s day, if he didn’t count the snowbanks heaped a good five feet high around parked cars and meters, shaving precious biking space off the lanes and making intersections a hellscape.

In a crouch on the sidewalk, he dug for the lamppost to chain up his bike. The lock clicked in with a snug snap, like the hooks on the arm cuffs Henry’d used on Alice after New Year’s but missing her pleased gasp. She’d liked being bound. And he’d…not freaked out over Alice-bondage. Maybe they could try again for Henry’s birthday next month, now that they’d lifted the weight of secrets off Jay’s chest. His twinges of fear might disappear faster.

Eight minutes yet. No urgent messages from the dispatcher on his phone. He swung loose his helmet and clipped it to his bag. Too early to look for Alice, but—striding down the block, barely taller than the white wall beside her, she waved a gloved hand at him from across the intersection.

He shot up and slammed his head against his handlebars.

Sonuvabitch.

Throbbing. Gah, rubbing the back of his head only spread jagged lightning streaks of pain. “Ow. Ow, ow, ow.”

“Jay?” Alice clomped up in snow boots at an awkward run. “Christ, are you okay? Here, lean on me.”

She pulled him in, burying his face against her thick red scarf. He oughta get her one in Henry green for Christmas this year. He inhaled honey and lemon while she parted his hair, looking for whatever she expected to find. Blood? A bruise to kiss? Hell, she could put a handful of snow on his head and he wouldn’t complain. Being so close to her set off those happy chemicals that pushed the throbbing aside anyhow.

More importantly, she’d been hurrying to meet him. Best damn start to a Tuesday lunch, head clonk and all. “You’re early.”

She’d stuffed her gloves in a pocket, the matching red knit peeking out the top as she toured his scalp with gentle fingers. “So are you.”

True, but Henry’s new-and-improved relaxed rules had driven his feet to pedal faster and his legs to pump harder all morning. What was her excuse?

“No bumps I can find.” Alice smoothed back his hair. “I, um, I didn’t want to be late again. Keep you waiting. That’s not—” Her arms slipped lower, and she squeezed him in a tight hug right there on the sidewalk, her hands splayed across his shoulder blades.

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