Page 28 of You Make Me Feel
Maybe a better man would have given it to her in person. But I’m not a better man. Plus, she made it clear she doesn’t want to see me.
I can at least give her that.
I walk back to the car, clicking the lock open and climbing inside. That’s it. Done. She’s better off without me and my grumpy ass. Let her have her fantasies, God knows somebody should.
But as I drive home, I don’t feel any better. I don’t feel much of anything at all except annoyed at myself. Because I upset her. And that wasn’t my damn intention at all.
And when I’m back in bed, the ceiling stares down at me. I close my eyes, but the image of her is still there. Hereyes. The flush on her cheeks. The way her breath hitched before she told me to leave.
Only an asshole would be turned on by her righteous indignation.
Which makes me the biggest asshole on Liberty.
Dammit. The book’s gone. I’m off the committee. She never has to see me again if she doesn’t want to. For once in my life I’ve done the right thing.
So why the hell do I feel even worse?
nine
SADIE
Groaning, I manage to roll myself out of bed, shooting a dirty look at my running sneakers that are definitely not getting an outing today.
Not just because I don’t want to bump into a certain asshole with thick ropes of muscles in his thighs and unfairly beautiful eyes, but because I got exactly zero sleep last night.
I catch sight of myself in the mirror and wince. Puffy eyes. Hair that’s auditioning for birds to take up residence in it. Why is it when you want to look good, nature always does this?
Apparently, the man you really want to hate finding out that you have a secret desire to be chased until you’re caught makes for excellent insomnia. I’ve been switching between sheer embarrassment and white hot fury all night.
And now I have to get down and open the shop. Butfirst, coffee.
I shove my hair into a messy bun, pull on the first clothes I can find – a pair of faded leggings and a T-shirt that saysMy Safe Word is HEAfrom a set that Romy bought me for my birthday – and head downstairs.
She’s already there, camera set up in front of the bookshelves, ring light making her skin glow like she’s shooting a beauty ad. Not that any makeup brand would appreciate her saying, “What woman wouldn’t want six pairs of hands all over her body?”
I cough out a laugh and she hits pause on the camera, her eyes wide as she takes in my disheveled state
“Need coffee,” I tell her.
“And you’re almost speaking in full sentences. That’s impressive.” She grins at me. I look at the book she’s holding. It has an illustrated cover, with a woman in the middle of six guys. They’re all dressed in hockey gear and smoldering as they stare at her.
“This book isn’t even out yet and it’s already hit the top one hundred on Amazon,” she tells me, wiggling it. “We got an advanced copy. Isn’t that great?” She lifts an excited brow. “And I’ll have an iced caramel macchiato with an extra shot since you’re about to ask.”
“Sometimes I wonder who’s the boss in this relationship,” I mutter.
She tosses her hair over her shoulder. “I think we both know it’s me. Now go get my drink so I can get back to talking about crossing swords.”
“Crossing swords as in…”
“As in not swords.” She winks. “Her boyfriends have boyfriends. And it’s hot as hell.”
I press a hand to my forehead. “God help me,” I mutter. “If Mylene asks why I’m ordering a latte with a whiskey shot, I’m blaming you.”
“Tell her it’s for art,” Romy calls after me. “By the way, you got a package. I put it on the counter.”
“Thanks, I’ll check it later.”
I step outside into the early morning air. It’s a glorious day. The sun is out, the sky a perfect cobalt blue, and the ferry is pulling into port, steam rising from it’s funnel.
