Tabitha Ch. 08

"That would be none of your business!" Tabitha snapped putting both fists on her hips.

"Okay, okay," said Laura waving her hands in surrender. "We'll miss you at the meeting."

"I'll try to miss you while I'm at lunch, but I can't make any promises."

Wes snorted a laugh. Laura swept another look up and down his form before turning on a heel and leaving.

"Let's get out of here before the gossip mill starts churning and we're accosted in the elevator," Tabitha muttered.

***

Wes was frustrated. Something had to give. Everything in his world had somehow turned upside down. He wiped the display windows at the front of the store in large, slow circles. Another day with no customers, at least there was a piano lesson on the books that afternoon.

The job he'd had for years was looking tentative and the sabbatical from dating he'd taken for just as many years was over. He was getting laid on a regular basis: good. Mr. Dennis was in danger of losing his store: bad. Sickly Sweet had their first album out and it was actually selling with a single on local radio: good. The band was going to have to go on tour soon and Clay had never had to leave Blake before: bad.

A month and a half since Tabitha had knocked him for a loop. She never ceased to amaze him; the way she was blunt and totally up front about absolutely everything. There was the way she felt under him, and on top of him, and asleep beside him.

She really shouldn't be attracted to him.

Tabitha Riley was the exact opposite of him; he put off haircuts as long as possible, while she had five hours set aside every week to get coiffed. She was gorgeous and what his mom would call a "sharp dresser," she was a professional, with a degree, and a corner office. Meanwhile, he'd forced himself to graduate high school so his parents and sister wouldn't be disappointed in him...not that he wasn't intelligent, he just had music on his mind. None of his clothes ever needed to be dry-cleaned, while most of her wardrobe needed to be cleaned delicately. Tabitha was smart and fun, and she was equally happy hanging at home or eating overpriced Italian food.

That's why it made perfect sense that she didn't want to get in too deep. How the hell long could this go on?

"Fuck," Wes hissed when his phone chimed in his pocket. The text was from Vance. "Fuck," he swore again. He hadn't heard from Vance in almost four years...and according to the text, he was in town and he wasn't alone.