Everything I've Never Had by Lynetta Halat Read Free Book Online Page B

drunk, mind you. I don't do drunk, but one glass and I'm feeling good. So when I down these two glasses, it goes straight to my head. I grin at myself and give myself the Fonzie nod. Good call , I think.
    Hearing the volume kick up on the jazz band's Harry Connick, Jr. number, I realize the doors behind me have opened, and it startles me. I whirl and there he is. I shake my head and narrow my eyes at him. “Nope! We are not doing this again,” I proclaim.
    He snaps his head back and wrinkles his brow at me. “Doing what exactly?” he asks, clueless to inner turmoil.
    “Making out on a porch,” I throw my hands out, which I realize are still holding the empty champagne glasses, “or balcony or whatever. Not going there again.”
    He chuckles at me. “Celeste, I didn't come out here to make out with you. I don't want to make out with you.” I must make a God-awful face because his softens and he says, “I didn't mean it that way, Cel.”
    I move toward him, “Get out of the way, Adrian.”
    “What the hell, Celeste? What's with the hostility?”
    “Are you kidding me?” I shriek. I push his chest with the back of one of my hands. He doesn't budge. Worse than that—my hand freaking tingles at the contact. Ugh! Control thyself! I take a deep breath and release it. Carefully, I set the glasses down on the bistro table.
    “No. I'm. NOT,” he enunciates each word clearly.
    Turning back to him, I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale. “Please, Adrian, move out of my way,” I try with sweetness, a bobbing of my head, and an even sweeter smile.
    “Not until you tell me what you're pissed about.”
    My eyes fly open and I stare a hole in his chest. How can he be so oblivious? “I'm upset because you brought a date, a girlfriend, and you didn't even tell me you are seeing anyone much less that you have a girlfriend!” My eyes jerk up to meet his. As always, I get lost in them. They are soft and piercing at the same time. How does he do that?
    “I'm sorry, Celeste, but I don't see how that's really any of your concern,” he tells me.
    My mouth drops and I snap it closed quickly, only to let it fly back open with, “What? How that's any of my what ?” I'm utterly astonished.
    “Who I see isn't any of your concern,” he lays it out for me.
    “Oh, OK,” I puff. I feel tears spring to my eyes and not a few. That hurt. A lot. “I thought we were friends.” I’m back to sounding pathetic. Fabulous!
    “We're family, Cel. We're cousins,” he says without feeling.
    “We are NOT related. If we were related, I wouldn’t ache for you the way I do.” Please, God, tell me I did not say that out loud.
    I hear his sharp intake of breath and know for certain that I did. He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Celeste, don’t say shit like that. I'm trying to do the right thing here. I’ve moved on from that.”
    “Mmm...doesn't sound like someone has moved on so much as someone is trying to move on.” I lean in and run my fingertip down the front of his shirt. I jerk my finger back and shake my head a little. What am I doing? Who is this woman? “Adrian, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me. Please let me pass. I just need to go get my head together.”
    “What do you mean 'get your head together'?” I look up and watch his brow draws together. He reaches out and runs his fingertips over my gathered brow. His folded hand rests on my temple for a minute and neither of us says a word. “I don't want to hurt you, Celeste. I never wanted to hurt you. I care about you too much.”
    “I care about you too, Adrian. I care about you so much,” I admit. Again I feel tears spring to my eyes. This time they don't stop though. They spill over and he catches them with his thumbs. I feel his hands grasp the back of my head as he tries to clear my tears. I close my eyes and lose myself in his touch. Feeling his calloused fingertips move over my skin is at odds with his gentle caress. “I don't