Leaving Normal by Stef Holm (best ereader for graphic novels TXT) 📕

She didn't want to say it aloud. "Like get too attached. One of us will get hurt. I don't want to hurt you, Tony."

"I think we're both in this too deep already. It's too late. If one of us walks away, the other's getting hurt."

She wondered if she could walk away. She tried to tell herself she wasn't even remotely attached. But after last night…after walking over here when she came home tonight—if that wasn't getting attached, she didn't know what was.

Even so, ever the one to reason, she tried to talk herself out of it.

"Well, if we quit now, the hurt won't be so bad."

Tony let her go, and she didn't realize until afterward that she'd been holding on to him. She staggered a little, caught herself.

"If you want to leave, then you can leave."

His words jolted her, surprised her.

"Do you want me to?"

"You know I don't."

Natalie stared at him, saw he was giving her a dare. He didn't want her to leave any more than she did, but it was her decision. She was the one who was conflicted. She looked for the easy out, the noncommittal goodbye and go on her merry way…back home to an empty house and an empty feeling inside.

It wasn't a good way to live. Risking heartache suddenly seemed like a good plan. Maybe. If she could just let herself not over think things. When they were together, she saw colors in every shade, like the flowers in her cooler. But she still knew that a future for them was just too gray.

Tony turned, went down a hallway. She knew where he was going without having ever been there before.

His bedroom.

She stood in the entry way, poised with a bottle of unopened wine she could take back home across the street, or drink here after…

…after she went down that hallway and followed a man who could make her forget all logic.

Flickering doubts vanished. She accepted his unspoken invitation so easily, caught herself moving.

Once in the bedroom, she set the wine on the bureau.

His room was richly painted, dark and masculine. The bedcovers were in tones of burgundy and gold, the furnishing black lacquer. It was a very detailed room, too. He'd decorated with black-framed photos of still life on the wall. Ivory vases were filled with greenery, a very little hint of bright color. Wall sconces were gold, the shades an ivory tone to match the vases.

Tony stood at the foot of the large bed. The frame was a heavy wood, its king-size dimensions dominating the room. The bed almost needed a step to get up into.

Without words, she went to him and kissed his mouth. That's all he needed to have. He locked her in his hold, lifted her off her feet and took her to the bed with him. She skimmed her hands up his warm neck, held his mouth close to hers. She could feel ripples of muscle on his back; the play of powerful sinew and masculinity was something she found intriguing.

Hands explored, mouths tasted, tongues met. Everything heated at one time in a sensory pool that tingled in every pore of her body.

Need swallowed her and she grew impatient.

Clothing was discarded. He sheathed himself with protection and her body yielded to his. Gooseflesh rose as she felt him sink into her slick internal heat. The friction and tempo that followed drove her to the edge, pleasure streaking mindlessly through her head.

She didn't let emotions get in the way this time. She simply accepted the physical pleasure. The purest of joys and fulfillment. Her body tremored as she cried her release. She wrapped herself around him, feeling him let go then uttering a low groan from the back of his throat.

In the ensuing seconds while their breathing caught and mingled as mouths touched softly and intimately, she knew what was different about making love with him this time.

This time, she gave him her trust.

The call came in and Tony knew it was going to be bad. Sometimes he could sense it, like a premonition.

That buzzer didn't go off because someone was having a great day. It always meant crisis, whether it was an obese woman who couldn't cook her own dinner and was calling for help, to an electrical spark coming off a dryer connection. The fire department responded to public problems.

Captain Palladino was in the engine before anyone else—which was saying a lot. He'd been dead to the world, sleeping in a recliner while a rerun of Seinfeld played on the tube. As soon as the PA announced the call to Station 13, adrenaline went in to full throttle and propelled everyone into action.

Tony drove, every muscle in him tense and stretched to the breaking point. Hoseman Walcroft sat in the back. After the mobile data terminal was engaged as "en route," and an address was located on a map, a lot of easygoing exchange transpired through the headsets as if they had to keep things light for as long as they could.

Laying on the horn through the lit intersections, Tony gassed the big engine through a red light. The hula girl om the dashboard danced with a smile on her face, her fringy grass skirt swaying when the wheels of the big truck hit bumps in the road.

The powerful truck moved at a decent speed, turning the corner and pulling into a residential neighborhood.

Tony steered the engine down the street to the address the captain directed him to. A dark cul-de-sac came into view under the headlights. Somewhere in the end was the address, but it was too dark to make out with limited light from the streetlights. Tony had to put on the brakes and stop.

"First on scene," Captain Palladino said and they all knew what that meant.

A female dispatch voice came over the radio. "Engine 13, stand by. Staged for code four from P.D."

Frustration knotted in Tony's shoulders, his hands gripping the big steering wheel, the engine idling beneath him. The three of them