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Daire’s cheeks carry a red tint, his grin filled with wonder and amusement.
If I told them what I was really imagining, I’d probably get a lecture. We’re grown adults, but Easton is a flirt, and I haven’t said I could handle anything for a reason. I’m scared. What if I like this single life and give up on my dream to marry the right guy? What if I become a harlot? Or worse, what if I eventually regret it and grow to hate Easton? I can’t imagine not having him in my life. So much to think about. He would say I’m over thinking. Maybe I am.
On my way out, Everleigh walks me to the door. “Before you go, can I ask you something?”
“Sure?” I adjust the dinner and dessert to-go bag that Cecily gave me. The thing is insulated.
“Are you aware that you’ve developed feelings for Easton?”
“As a friend? Yes. We’ve gotten close.”
“And you don’t think it’s more than that?”
“Not at all.” I laugh off her question. “I mean, he’s sexy, and I’m not blind, but we’re just friends.” Who may start having sex soon. Oh God, am I that obvious?
She touches my arm. “You’ve been through a lot lately. The breakup. The attack. Living here for a while. It’s a lot. Your life is very controlled. You’re a creature of habit. You make a schedule and stick to it. You alter it when necessary, but eventually you go back to being you. I love who you are.”
“Do you think Dash loved—loves—who I am. How I am?” I’d rather stay home and watch Dateline than go to the sports bar.
“I think he’s realizing what he lost. I also think you’re very intuitive, but you tend to ignore that side. You second-guess your choices, always looking for the right answer. Sometimes there isn’t one. Trust your gut to guide you.”
Like she did with Daire. “It’s good advice.”
“But don’t trust Easton’s gut. It’s connected to his penis, and while he’s showing maturity and seriousness toward the business now, I don’t think his attitude toward women has changed.”
“I know it hasn’t. You don’t have to worry about me. He knows my boundaries and respects them.”
“Good.” She kisses my cheek, one hand on her belly. “See you soon. ‘Night.”
“Good night.”
The roads seem darker on the way back to Easton’s house. I don’t see the moon. Rain drizzles on the windshield. I groan. Easton cleared out a spot in the garage for me. I haven’t used it yet, not wanting to invade more of his life. Tonight, I will.
I pull into the garage. Easton’s motorcycle is gone, but his car is here. I don’t know if he moved the bike for me and stored it elsewhere or if he’s out on it. That doesn’t sound enjoyable in the chilly rain.
Inside, I take off my shoes and hang up my coat. The lights are off, and it’s quiet. Is he gone? Maybe that’s a good thing. The bourbon has me slightly buzzed and feeling free. If he came on to me, I would attack.
On my way upstairs, I stop on the second floor. His bedroom door is closed. I listen but don’t hear anything.
“Easton?” I whisper. What am I doing? “Easton?”
After a few seconds, I go upstairs, strip myself, then fantasize about him taking me on the kitchen counter until I orgasm. I’ve never done that before. I’ve thought about it, but I usually watch murder and fall asleep instead. As good as the release is, it isn’t enough to satisfy this new craving. I want Easton. I want him more each time we’re together, and I fear nothing will make it go away.
Chapter 17
Sadie
I close my laptop, having finished my work for the day, which included checking in with Vanessa, making sure commission deposits are ready for Friday, and posting some stuff on social media. Very light work for a Wednesday. Who am I kidding? This is how most of the days go, which is why I started my side gig in the first place. Boredom mixed with the desire to be more creative than I’m able to be at the real-estate firm.
I text Reva to see how my plants are. When I get the reply that all is well, I clean Detective Pickles’s cage, give him fresh water, and let him run on the floor, trapped between my legs and some pillows.
He tests the perimeter the whole time, like a prisoner trying to escape.
“You’re not in jail, DP,” I say, adopting Easton’s nickname for him.
DP doesn’t get it. I pet him and hold his little furry body until he pushes his nose through the cracks of my fingers, again trying to escape. “Back to the cage for you, little guy.” Instead of getting in his wheel and running as I assumed he would, he buries himself in a pile of hay in the corner.
I laugh and grab my phone on my way downstairs. I don’t know if Easton is home, if he was home last night, or if he went out.
