Page 55 of Miss Trust

Chapter Twenty-Five

Tory

Iwanted to stay angry with Chance about him making a decision about swim lessons for my daughter without giving an ounce of consideration to my feelings on the matter. The fact he’d casually dropped this offer in the kitchen without a care for our audience was infuriating. Had he not realized he was overstepping? Or did he simply not care?

I’d bet it was the latter. Yet as I watched Penelope standing on the side of the pool listening to safety instructions from her new swim coach, I was hard pressed to stay annoyed. The lessons did give me peace of mind. And Penny had been on cloud nine. I’d interviewed the young man, Tyson, a UCLA student on a swim scholarship, and emphasized the need to go slow because of her condition. He’d been more than accommodating. The plan was for him to come daily during the two weeks before her next treatment. Then we’d let him know once she was feeling good enough to resume.

Mona came out, her eyes on Penny and her swim instructor. “How’s it going?”

“Good. Tyson is patient with her. Of course, she’s ecstatic to be swimming.”

“Huh. Not real bad to look at either.”

Mona’s shocking statement made a giggle bubble up. “He’s nineteen.”

“Probably why he seems all shiny and new. Chance won’t like it.”

“Chance won’t like you ogling the swim instructor?”

She barked out a laugh. “No. He won’t like the idea you might.”

My face heated while denial reigned supreme. “He won’t care.”

She made a humming sound in her throat before winking and walking off.

What the hell did she mean? A blush crept up at the fact she might know about the other night’s pool house activities.

Later that evening I found myself jumping at every sound, afraid it might be the front door and Chance coming in. Then when he didn’t come home, I found myself irritated at my own disappointment.

Why was I disappointed? I absolutely would not have sex with my boss ever again. For one, I wouldn’t be able to take his gloating over me breaking my own rules, and two, I didn’t need to make things more complicated.

One night was a big enough mistake. The best way to keep it a small number in the mistake column was not to repeat it. No matter how much my body strongly disagreed.

Dammit. Why couldn’t he have been a selfish lover? A bad kisser. Have a tiny dick. Something to balance the scales of sexual injustice.

Sigh. Enough thinking of Chance Maxwell’s not-at-all-small dick. Nope. Tonight I was on my own with a little help from an old friend. The type of old friend who required a charge but could get the job done without any smugness or regret. I plugged it into an outlet in my bedroom that night, knowing it had been a while since I’d used it. What could I say? Self-pleasure hadn’t been much of a priority these days.

I checked on Penelope one last time, tiptoeing over to where she’d fallen asleep in my bed to put my hand on her forehead. I did it every night, every morning, and sometimes more. She was cool to the touch, allowing me to take a deep breath and relax. Of course, tomorrow could be a completely different story. I picked her up in my arms, smiling at the way she curled into me. Luckily, Penelope had always been a sound sleeper because tonight I needed her in her own bed.

After tucking her in, I tiptoed into my room and partially closed the door, knowing I could hear her if she stirred.

Hoping a few minutes had done the trick, I unplugged my vibrator and turned it on. “Come on,” I muttered when I saw the vibration was weak. I should’ve charged it longer. Oh, well. For now, I’d work with what I had.

I lay down on my bed, cursing my cheap toy. “Come on, you stupid thing. I’m asking for one measly orgasm. Just one tiny one. Please.”

Great. Now I was talking to my vibrator.