“I should probably clean up.” He lifted me up off his lap and set me down on the couch.
Dumbfounded, I stared at him as he stiffly walked across the living room, gathering our bowls and wine glasses. I glanced around to find Mouse on a dog bed near the fireplace, his nose hidden under his tail.
I got to my feet, a little shaky with the abrupt lack of afterglow.
The usual post orgasmic fuel also strangely missing.
What the hell had happened? I stopped at Mouse’s bed and patted his head. “Sorry you had to see that.”
He made a little huff and tucked his nose further under his tail. Could you scar a dog with sexy times? I’d never done it in front of an animal before. One of my previous boyfriends had a cat, but she disappeared the minute we got naked.
I padded across the living room into the kitchen. Dutch was gripping the counter, his head bowed. I went up behind him and looped my arms around his middle and he instantly stiffened.
“Okay, now I’m definitely getting pissed.” I stepped back and pushed his shoulder. “Look at me.”
He turned around and leaned his hip on the counter, crossing his arms insolently.
“Is this part of your six kinds of fucked-up? Jekyll and Hyde?”
His jaw clenched.
“Hey, I’m the only one who got the orgasm, so it’s not like you got your rocks off and don’t need me anymore.”
He said nothing.
“Wow. Okay, so you’re just not going to say anything?”
“I’m messed up about stuff, Phoebe. I shouldn’t have touched you. I was stupid.”
“Messed up about what?”
“I can’t talk about it.”
I frowned. “What do you mean you can’t? Or do you mean you won’t.”
“There isn’t really a difference.”
The hurt surprised me. It wasn’t like I knew him that well, but I thought we’d been vibing pretty well while we were eating. “I see.”
I didn’t—not really, but I wasn’t going to stay where I wasn’t wanted.
“I’ll get out of your hair, then.” I backed out of the kitchen and bumped into Mouse.
“Take him with you.”
I looked around the kitchen at the treats on the counter and the leash hanging on the side of the fridge. “You bought him a bunch of stuff.”
“Take it.”
Maybe he really was hot and cold to the extreme. A manic phase? I didn’t know the ins and outs of mental illness, but it felt like it was something else. Being an empath was annoying as hell.
I picked up on his rolling emotions, but it was like a staticky radio station and I didn’t know how to pull the information clear. It came in handy when I was dealing with the volatile emotions that had been flying around my house, but at the moment it was just confusing.
And I was tired.
And my own system was out of whack with an orgasm to beat all orgasms, then just a wall.
Like he’d locked himself away where I couldn’t reach him.
