Page 171 of Sour Notes

“You guys really don’t mind?”

The belief I’ve held onto for so long, that they’d be embarrassed or judge me, is crumbling around me like rocks in an avalanche.

“God no. Besides, where do you think you get it from? Wasn’t Mom arguing the benefits of orgasms to the TSA agent?” Nick laughs as they both stand up.

“Now, how about you shower, sort your face out, we grab some breakfast, and I’ll switch your flight so you can fly back earlier if you want?”

My heart rate thunders, the blood rushing like a tidal wave in my ears but when I stare at their matching grins, I nod slowly.

They’re right. It’s my turn to be brave and try to fix what I broke. Sucking in a deep breath, I flash them a watery smile.

“Okay. Do it. Let’s go hunt me a Wolff.”

37

MIA

I’ve been home for forty-eight hours now and Swayze is nowhere to be seen. I don’t think he’s been back home at all.

The fridge is bare, his bed untouched, and his phone’s switched off.

Well, that or he’s blocked me.

I’d be worried he was dead, but I drove past the station and saw his truck in the parking lot, so he is going to work, but I can hardly walk into the station and demand he talk to me. That bitch harassing him would love that.

Fuck, I hope she doesn’t try to sink her claws into him again.

Part of me wants to ask in our group chat, but I can’t do that without telling them everything. I need to speak to him first. I owe it to him to try and fix us.

Actually, I owe it to both of us.

Sighing, I side-eye my suitcase. I’m pretty sure it’s judging me from across the room because I’ve been back for two days now and haven’t unpacked a thing.

Ughhhh. I force myself out of bed and walk over to unpack the elephant in the room. It’s just another reminder of how badly I messed up and that really isn’t helping. Not for the first time in my life do I wish I were a Disney princess.

Imagine if Belle’s closet hadn’t helped her figure her shit out? Where would she be now? Married to that toxic fucker, Gaston. And Beast? I’m not even gonna think about that. I’ve cried more than enough these last few days over my own beast.

“Why can’t you talk, dammit?” I kick it once for good measure before unzipping and dumping the whole thing upside down, my clothes and the vast array of sex toys ending up in a heap on my bedroom floor. The cherry on top?

My glow in the dark yellow Clone-a-Wolff tumbles out last, like a phallic crown.

Fuck. I forgot about this. Snatching it up, I glide my fingers over the smooth tip. Tears flood my eyes for the millionth time because I can still picture his face when we made this. He looked so horrified, but he did it anyway.

For me.

Then he used it on me and it was the best toy time I’ve ever had.

How ironic is it that I’m crying over a sex toy? This is all I have left of him right now, so I tuck it under my pillow on top of his shirt.

No, I’m not gonna fuck myself with it. That’s kinda wrong with how messed up things are between us, but it’s my prerogative to spoon it, alongside his suit jacket, which is draped on the pillow next to mine.

Yes, I plan to spend the foreseeable future sleeping in his shirt, spooning his jacket and Clone-a-Wolff.

If anyone saw me, they’d think I’d totally lost it. Entirely batshit.

Joke’s on them, though. I never claimed to be sane.

What if these things are all I’ll ever have?