On my way upstairs, I use the app on my phone to turns off lights, lock doors, arm alarms, and silence notifications.
Besides the sunroom and the summer kitchen, my bedroom is the only other furnished and occupied room in this stupidly large house.
I turn on the shower and strip on autopilot and replay Sin’s shock and awe of a visit.
I went from panic, to confusion, to unadulterated lust when she touched her breast. Every drop of blood in my body rushed to my dick, and by the time I was thinking straight again, I’d broken something I hadn’t even realized I was holding.
I can’t stop thinking about the hurt in her eyes when she left and I’m not sure I’ll sleep well until I make things right between us.
I stare at my reflection while I brush my teeth.
How can I tell Sin who I am, what my life is whenI’mnot even sure anymore?
Chapter Twenty-One
Sin
Trust the Process
“I appreciate your help so much,” I repeat for the tenth time to the young receptionist who was so easy to deceive I feel ashamed of myself.
I assumed this building, one of the most expensive addresses in DC, would have CIA trained front desk staff.
Instead, my prepared and rehearsed sob story fell on the most sympathetic, gullible ears. I didn’t even get to the end of my monologue before she was telling me the apartment number and that the person who lived there was away on extended travel.
“Wow, Casey, thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t helped me.” I cast my stricken eyes downward and sniffle.
“Tomorrow’s my last day at this job, and they’ve treated me like shit so it’s my pleasure.” She hands me the key card she scanned for me. “And this might be the first time since I started working here that Iactuallyhelped someone.”
I smile weakly and take the key card back and make a mental note to wait until next week to come back and do the search. She said he’s not due back until after Labor Day which is next week. I’ll do it the Friday before I head to my parents for the long weekend.
I wonder what Kwame’s doing for it.
The thought comes to me unbidden, and I shake my head to clear it and step out into the brisk afternoon foot traffic along New York Ave back toward my car.
After everything that happened with Stephen, it shouldn’t have been so easy for Kwame to get under my skin.
Yet here I am, exhausted after a night of lying awake thinking about him.
When I managed to fall asleep, my dreams were plagued with the scenes from that night at his house. Everything was so vivid and visceral that when he groaned my name at the end, it jolted me out of sleep.
I fumbled in my bedside drawer for my magic wand and spent thirty minutes on the edge of release before I gave up.
I woke up before my alarm went off with whatever the woman’s version of blue balls is. I’ve been on the verge of tears all day.
There is only one cure for it.
Him.
But he had his dick in someone else’s mouth last night.
The thought makes me want to knock his teeth out.
I’ve never been in knots like this over a man.
I need someone to talk me off this ledge. I climb into my car and start the ignition. I wait for my phone to connect and then open my messages.
“I need to talk to you.” I hit send on the voice note to my best friend, Ediri. She’s in London and I can’t remember if it’s a four- or five-hour difference, but I pray I’ve caught her during the afternoon slump at her flower shop.
