Page 68 of Savage Prince
Did he have something to do with Standish’s death?
I shut down those questions and pace my apartment with another worry in mind—worry for my brother. Sitting here all night thinking about everything that could have happened to him is going to drive me crazy.
I have two choices to block it out—go to the club or go to Elijah’s scrap yard.
Two very different men.
Two very different places.
Two very different motives.
What do I do?
Chapter 29
Temperance
If Harriet were home, I would sit in the courtyard with her, drink wine, and listen to stories about her incredible life. But she’s not here. She’s out living.
With one last glance at the walls that feel like they’re closing in on me, I head for my closet and assess my options, like somehow finding the right outfit will dictate what I do tonight. I’m fresh out of little black or red dresses and sexy skirts. My activities of late mean that I’ve worn every sexy piece of clothing I have, and of course, I haven’t had time to do laundry or go to the dry cleaner. Because, I don’t know, I’ve spent way too much time either working or sneaking around and having the best sex of my life.
The best sex of my life.
The thought lights up all the dormant parts of my brain, and suddenly I’m wondering why I’m even second-guessing the idea of going to the club.
Oh, wait, that’s right. I don’t know who he is and can’t risk getting any more attached to a guy whose life iscomplicated.
I could uncomplicate it for him, I think as I flip through the hangers in my closet while berating myself for even considering it.
Work clothes. Work clothes. Old work clothes. Older work clothes.
If I were being judged by the contents of my closet, I’m pretty sure someone could come to only one conclusion. My life is boring.
I’ve spent so much of my time working and trying to be respectable that I’ve basically dug myself a cozy little hole in the ground where I’m content to hang out until I’m eventually buried in it.
Great. Let’s get morbid.
I head for my dresser and open the top drawer where my limited collection of sexy lingerie lives. It’s empty. Because I desperately need to do laundry. Next drawer down.Yoga pants.Below that?Ripped jeans.
I bet I could go into Harriet’s house and find a more exciting wardrobe than I have. But then again, it’s not like I’ve spent any money that I’ve scrimped and saved on a closet full of clothes that would be suitable for going out and painting the town red.Or for spending more time at a sex club.
That settles it then. I’m not going. I will make my decision by default based on my lack of clothing options.
I reach for the yoga pants and consider pulling them on and making myself at home in my bed with a book. I have enough toy options and batteries in the nightstand drawer to keep myself well satisfied.I don’t need him.
It’s not the same, the devil sitting on my shoulder reminds me, as though I actually need reminding. I don’t. I know it’s not the same. I know there’s nothing like the thrill of walking up those steps and into one of those rooms and letting my instincts take over. That’s the problem—my instincts can’t be trusted. They led me back there too many times for my own good.
But what if I just went one more time.
One. More. Time.
The words punch through my brain like a chant from a million fans packed into a massive arena.
Screw it. I toss the yoga pants onto my bed and head back into the kitchen to find my phone, which, after girls’ night, has a bunch of new numbers.
Do I feel good about asking one of them for help this early in the possible friendship? Not really, but I’m desperate.
I pull up Yve Titan’s contact and tap to open a new message.
