And also… I’d kissed him.
I took a breath, curling deeper into the pillow that still smelled like him. Suddenly, I was too warm. I raked a hand through my hair.
A shadow moved beside me. I jumped.
John was back. He handed me a steaming cup of tea.
I blinked at him, perplexed. “Is it poisoned?”
He picked up my cold tea from the table and walked out of the room.
“Good night, Nora.”
Chapter Eleven
Sleep deprivation will kill you.
I have 99 problems—and also hemorrhoids.
John has dimples… in more than one place.
Idefinitelydidnotlook at the pictures again. Nope. Not even once.
Instead, I’d deposited my phone across the room, establishing a firm physical boundary between me and temptation.
John's confidence had lit a new fire under my ass. As my fingers flew across the keyboard, I relished the rhythmic clicking sound. If I could just add the hum of a high-end coffee machine or the moody soundtrack of Portishead’s 1997 album, this would be heaven.
I typed like my life depended on it—which, to be fair, it kind of did.
Busy Nora didn’t eat.
Stressed-out Nora didn’t talk.
And determined Nora didn’t sleep.
Well, if you ignore the 20-minute nap I accidentally tookonmy keyboard, which left an unflattering pattern on my face and sixty pages of "ehhhhhhh..."
I’d probably die of sleep deprivation at thirty-six, but if it kept Dad’s shop open, it would be worth it.
When sunlight painted my bedroom walls pale yellow and dusted the snow-topped trees with gold, my eyelids began to droop.
What I needed was a hefty dose of caffeine, but every time I glanced at my door, the image of last night came back.
The feeling of John’s warm jaw against my lips.
The prickle it left behind.
His scent that still lingered faintly on my shirt. Not that I’d been sniffing it.
Okay, Ihad.
And then I cursed myself.
He was my competitor. My arch-nemesis. Andengaged.
To a goddess.
This was just a game to him. A trick he probably played oneveryone.
