Page 73 of Shamed
Flipping off my blanket, I sit up and rub my hands over my face, a chill sneaking through my body. Maybe the cool air will be good for my foggy brain and overall “off” feeling.
The only plus is that I don’t feel like I’m going to be sick. But my head feels heavy, like it’s stuffed with cotton.
With a sigh, I push off my bed.
A cup of tea would be nice, and maybe something to eat. Unfortunately, I don’t think I have much in the way of food here.
Grabbing a hoodie off the floor, I slip it on and pad barefoot across the cold laminate. But I pause when I reach the doorway.
What if he’s still here?
God, my brain must be working at a snail’s pace if it took me this long to consider that possibility.
I suck in a slow breath and tiptoe out of the room, holding the air in my lungs as if he’ll be able to hear me breathing. When I find my apartment empty, I release it with a heavy exhale.Thank god.
Pressing a hand on my stomach, I go to my kitchen and flick my kettle on.
Maybe after my behavior last night, Mase will finally keep his distance. That would be best, really.
Even so, the thought of it doesn’t sit well with me for some reason.
I stir some milk into my tea, then toss my spoon into the sink, the loud clatter of it hitting other spoons a sharp sound in my otherwise quiet apartment, causing my shoulders to flinch.
Barely a moment later, there’s a knock on my front door, and I snap my head that way.
The only people who come here—besides the odd lost person, who I only talk through the door to—are my landlord . . . and Mase.
Shame and embarrassment vie for top spot. How am I supposed to face Mase after last night if it is him?
I’m not late with my rent, but perhaps Clint is just here to collect his bucket. I glance at it briefly on the floor before walking over to the door, the floor creaking beneath my feet as if to announce my presence.
Swallowing, I look through the peephole.
My eyes close, forehead dropping forward.
Aw, dammit.
“I have your key,” Mase calls through the door. “Took it to lock up after I left. I know you’re in there. Don’t make me use it.”
I peek through the hole again. The sun is out, but I know the inviting sunshine is a lie that disguises the cold air. “How did you know I was still here and hadn’t left to go somewhere?”
I watch the corner of Mase’s mouth kick up, a puff of white dispersing into the air as he huffs. He really is an attractive man . . . far too attractive to be wasting his time on me.
“I heard some noises as I reached the top step.”
Stupid spoon.
I unlock and open the door just a fraction, but when I notice the tray with two drinks in one hand, and a bag in his other, I push it open.
My brows dip. “What is that?”
Mase lifts the hand with the bag. “Thought you may be feeling a little rough this morning, so I brought you some breakfast.”
The knot in my stomach tightens, and I chew the inside of my cheek. “You didn’t have to do that,” I tell him quietly. “But, um, thank you.”
Stepping back, I open the door some more, motioning him to come in out of the cold.
“I know.” Mase enters, then places the bag, drinks, and key on the kitchen counter as if he belongs here, while eyeing the ceiling above the bucket. His attention returns to me. “How are you feeling today?”
