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There hasn’t been a naked woman in my bed since—
Fuck.
My head fills with that awful mental image. Penny under Frank. His name rolling off her lips. Her nails digging into his back. Her honey eyes filling with relief.
I can’t fuck Leighton in my bed.
I can’t even fuck myself in my bed.
Leighton pulls the sheets against her chest. The same way Penny did.
The same fucking—
“Ryan?” Her voice gets soft.
“I can’t. Not here.”
“Oh.” Her blue-green eyes turn down. Her lips press together. “Did I do something?”
“No, Leigh. It’s me.”
“I thought you were over…” Her voice trails to a whisper. Her brow furrows. She can’t bear to finish her sentence. She can’t bear my bullshit.
“Me too.”
“So you’re still…”
I nod to the hallway. “Let’s go to the couch.”
She shakes her head. “No, uh… I… I’m gonna get dressed.” She stares into my eyes.
She’s asking for something.
But I don’t have a fucking clue what it is.
She must not find it, because she looks away with a frown.
Slowly, she slides off the bed, pulls the mirrored closet door open, and dives into the top drawer of the black dresser—her drawer.
“Could you give me a minute?” She hugs the black sheets to her chest.
“It’s not you, Leigh.”
“I believe you.”
But she doesn’t. It’s written all over her face.
“It’s just not… I don’t want to think about her either.” She swallows hard. “It’s okay. Really. I’m starving anyway.”
“I’ll make you something.”
“No.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I should probably—”
“Stay.”
“Maybe.”
“Let’s get street tacos.”
