I must have crashedat some point because when I come to the next morning, my room is flooded with light and my guts are full of guilt. Yeah, I hate them.
The house downstairs teems with noise.
I crack open my door and scan the second floor. All of my roommates’ doors are open. Everyone’s downstairs. Judging by the clanking of cast iron against stovetop, breakfast is in the making.
Which means Stella’s awake. She knows I walked away from her. She knows what a bastard I really am now. There’s no denying it.
But, God, already I want to apologize.
I feel like absolute shit.
I want to fall to my knees in front of all of them and beg her forgiveness.
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror and decide a shower has to come first. If anyone is in doubt about what went on last night, one look at me would dissolve that in a hurry. My hair stands on end as though sexy fingers played with it all night.
Which they did.
There’s a hickey two inches above my left nipple. And another one on the round of my right shoulder.
And I smell like sex.
Correction. I smell like Stella. Like heaven’s own aphrodisiac. The scent in my nose is enough to make me shamefully hard again. I grab a towel and a change of clothes and lock myself in the bathroom.
A cold shower is no worse than I deserve, and when I emerge scrubbed clean—at least on the outside—I dress quickly, determined to get downstairs and find some way to pull Stella aside from the rest of the household and try my damndest to explain.
Explain how sorry I am that I’m all wrong for her.
I’m rehearsing the speech in my head as I descend the stairs. When I step into the kitchen, it hits me too late that the room is tense, the voices of my roommates raised in two overlapping conversations.
“No, Uncle T, you have to wait until it bubbles before you flip ‘em—“ Maisy insists. She’s balanced on a chair by the stove, while Tyler stares at the skillet, spatula in hand.
“They didn’t say who they were?” Nina asks Pen. They’re both standing by the open fridge, frowns of dismay on their faces.
“She’s right, T,” Livy calls from the table, her eyes never leaving the book in front of her, her tea cup held in one hand.
“We just told them to—“ Pen’s eyes land on me. They go wide with surprise, and then they harden. “Oh. You sonofa—”
All eyes snap to me, and it’s then I realize one pair—the most important pair—is missing.
“Where’s Stella?”
Pen’s knuckles perch on her bony hips. Her mouth turns down in a sour purse. “Probably right where you left her.” Her head shimmies from left to right as she glares at me. “It all makes sense now.”
My stomach fills with lead. “What makes sense?”
Pen bats her eyes at me, but there’s nothing fun or friendly in the gesture. Her look is pure acid. “Why she’s just not feeling up for Sunday breakfast this mornin’.” Her lip curls as her laser eyes cut up and down my body. “When she texted me an hour ago to see to Maisy, I had a whole other idea about her reasons, but I see now I was wrong.”
Oh, shit.
A quick sweep of the room shows me that Nina’s forgotten about the open fridge, Livy’s lost interest in her book, and Tyler has abandoned the pancakes. Maisy’s the only one who isn’t glaring at me. But she’s paying close attention. I see that much.
“Lark, what did youdo?”Nina’s question is all accusation.
“What’s wrong, Pen?” Maisy asks, turning a look of alarm to Stella’s best friend.
“You didnot.”Livy hisses at me.
“I didn’t—” I start to defend, but who am I kidding?
