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I make quick work of my own body. I try—and fail—to not think about Reese while I do. But it’s the thought of how much farther his own fingers would reach inside me that sends me over the edge. Wishing that I could have his body pushing into mine is what makes me come all over my hands.
It’s pathetic.
“Get a grip.”
It’s a half-hearted scolding. Any grip-getting went out the window when I decided to rub one out in Reese’s guest bedroom seconds after almost letting him do it for me.
Groaning, I rummage around my dresser drawers. I’m up, so I might as well get a shower in. I still have another day off. Maybe I can sneak out without Reese trying to jump scare me into a conversation that I’m not willing to have with him.
Besides, I can’t have him looking me in the eyes after what I just did. He can always tell when I’ve gotten off and it wouldn’t take much to connect the dots. A dumb jock, he is not.
I gather up a pair of shorts, a loose t-shirt, and a towel. Taking care, I open the door just a crack and peek out. I half-expect Reese to be there, waiting to lunge out. I can just picture him, pointing a finger at me in gleeful accusation.
I know what you did. You still want me, no matter what you say.
Luckily, there is no Reese and I don’t have to give him the satisfaction of being right. I trot quickly to the bathroom and get a shower going. While Reese put me in clean clothes last night, it didn’t help the sweat smell that’s dried and now clings to my body. I feel stale, crusty, molding from the inside out.
No woman wants to feel like that.
My shower is so hot and steamy that it turns me lobster red. But I take my time lathering my body and then my hair. I even sneak in a shave. Anything I can do to burn off the layers of skin that that thin-lipped creep from last night might’ve gotten his hands on. When I get out, I tightly wrap my towel around my torso and beeline straight for the guest bedroom.
Not a sign of Reese at all.
I push down the disappointment, even as I tell myself I’m glad for his absence.
As I’m getting dressed, my phone buzzes. If it’s Reese, I’m gonna break my phone and get a new one with a new number. But it isn’t Reese.
QUINN: Hey O. You wanna grab lunch today?
QUINN: I’m really sorry about last night. Promise everything will be tame today.
QUINN: Like seriously. Just some coffee and maybe hitting up the deli?
Last night. I shudder. I can’t stop replaying the moment I saw him darkening the door of that dingy bathroom. He was so mad… not at me—not at first, at least—but mad for me. That violence pulsing out in my defense… It makes me shiver just to remember it. So it’s best not to remember it at all.
OLIVIA: Sure. Just got out of the shower. What time?
QUINN: Noon? I’m in the area.
OLIVIA: kk
I hurry to finish getting ready and toss my hair into a sloppy high ponytail. I want to be able to bolt out of the house as soon as possible and not give Reese time to notice that I’m still here.
QUINN: Your chariot has arrived.
When I peek out of my room again, the house is silent. Before I head downstairs, I check Violet’s room. It’s empty. Same with Reese’s. When I trek downstairs and look around, it seems that both Violet and Reese are gone.
Weird.
Reflexively, my fingers twitch. They itch to reach into my pocket and withdraw my phone, sending that cursed text to Reese. Where are you? But that would sound like I’m interested, or that I care. No, the reason that I would even bother would just be to check in on Violet.
I don’t give a damn where Reese is.
… Right?
Groaning at my own pathetic self, I keep my phone holstered and bolt out the front door. It’s halfway down the driveway that I realize I forgot to lock the door. I trot back with a curse, click it locked, and jog over to Quinn’s car.
She has pop rock blaring through the speakers. Means she’s trying to keep her mood up. There’s a drooping, deep-set frown on her face.
