Page 112 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
Hmph. That’s exactly what I thought, but apparently not.
I folded up the box I’d emptied and plopped down on the armchair beside Shelly. “This chair is harder than the floor,” I said
.
“Rich people,” she said, shaking her head.
“You’re a rich person.”
She laughed softly. “I know.”
“Just how much money did Philip give you?”
“Way more than I’m worth.”
My curiosity sparked—what did she do to him?—but no. This was Philip, who I both knew and disliked, and I didn’t need the mental images.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked.
“I think you should make him talk to you,” Shelly said.
“Yeah?”
“Or maybe give him time to come around,” she said.
“That’s the exact opposite advice.”
She shrugged. “What the hell do I know about relationships?”
Point taken.
It had been a week. In only a couple of days it had been clear I was physically recovered, but we still hadn’t really talked. We still hadn’t had sex. He barely even acknowledged me.
He’d frozen me out for one week. Surely he couldn’t last much longer.
Chapter Ten
When I woke, it was dark and still, but something prickled at my awareness. I turned my head on the pillow to see Colin standing beside the window, staring between the slit in the curtains, all big and solid and beautiful. I loved him. Well, clearly I’d hit my head. I’d turned into a sap.
But I did love him. I’d proved myself to him, when I hadn’t given the cop information. And he’d proved himself to me, when he’d trusted me about it. It didn’t fix everything, but it was enough. It should be.
I slipped from the bed and padded across the wood floor. He didn’t move, even when I laid my head against his back.
“You never said if you liked them,” I said.
There was a short pause. “Like what?”
“The curtains. I made them, so they’re kinda wonky in places, but they’re a hell of a lot cheaper than what they were trying to sell. If you don’t like them, I can—”
“I like them fine.”
I ran my hands up the smooth muscles of his back to his bunched shoulders. “You’re so tense.”
He said nothing, but he didn’t move away, so I kneaded gently. I hated that he was so upset. If he’d just open up, I could fix it, surely I could. Maybe it was just a high, but after facing the cops, both dirty and clean, and coming out on the other end intact, I felt invincible. I could be normal. We could be together.
He sighed, and his shoulders relaxed just slightly.
“I want to tell you something,” I said.
