Page 30 of Wicked Heat

She may not feel like she constantly needs a shower after having gone out with that piece of shit, but Rory tainted me. So much that I haven’t even been attracted to anyone since him.

Liar.

The word flashes in my mind like neon, and I try to shove it down, but all that does is conjure pictures of him in my mind.

The one man who has caught my eye.

The one man who has snuck into my fantasies.

Ashton Stone.

But that’s not attraction. Not really. It’s just a reaction to an exceptionally good-looking man. After all, I barely know him. I mean, yes, we’ve talked in the months since he crashed Nikki & Damien’s celebration. I’d thought he was an asshole then—albeit a ridiculously hot asshole. But he’d redeemed himself, and I’d been glad. Not for selfish reasons, though. I was glad he’d come out on the non-asshole side of the equation for Damien’s sake. Not mine.

Sure, we shared a few glances. But that’s normal, right? I mean, we were the only twenty-somethings in the house. It’s not like I had any illusions about Ashton Stone, a guy who goes through women the way someone with a cold goes through Kleenex. Anyone who pays attention to celebrity gossip knows that.

Even if he weren’t a major player, there’s no way a guy like that—a guy who’d started from nothing and built a fortune—would be interested in the family nanny. Not even one on her way to being an author. That was the stuff of romance novels and Lifetime movies.

And my life was about as far away from a fluffy romcom as the earth is from the sun.

My happiness in learning that he isn’t a total jerk had nothing to do with him. On the contrary, I was simply grateful that Nikki and Damien and the kids didn’t have to suffer through another asshole in their already asshole-filled family tree.

I wouldn’t even go so far as to call him a friend. He’s an acquaintance. I like the guy. He’s polite. He’s interesting. And he hasn’t been a shit to me.

But I’m not attracted to him. Not at all.

Not even a smidge.

Truly.

I haven’t been attracted to anyone in years.

Sometimes, I wonder if I ever will be.

And the truth is that I hope I won’t. What would be the point? Getting involved is terrifying enough even if all you’re worried about is whether the two of you will mesh. Toss in my baggage, and the thought of starting out in a relationship is enough to send even the sanest person running into a closet and curling up in a ball.

And I’m not the sanest person. Not anymore.

Not by a long shot.

“You should have just jumped him.”

I jerk my head up to find Kari back in front of me with a box filled with cookies. “What? Who?”

She cocks her head as she raises her brows. She doesn’t say a word, but I get the message anyway: Girl, do not even.

“A, I don’t know what you’re talking about. And, B, I have no interest in getting involved with anyone, least of all Ashton Stone.”

I say this last part in a whisper so low she has to lean forward to hear me.

“Who said anything about getting involved? Besides, from what I’ve read, Ashton Stone doesn’t do involved. But you, my friend, need some touch. No, hear me out,” she adds when I take a step backwards, my fingers in a cross to ward off evil.

Kari just rolls her eyes and barrels on. “It’s like you’re stuck in the mud. Take a leap. Take control. Sleep with Ash. Hell, sleep with any guy. Enjoy it. Then move the hell on.”

“Kari…”

“You know I’m right. Teresa said pretty much the same thing, didn’t she?”

I scowl, but I don’t answer. Teresa’s a good therapist. I, however, am a lousy patient. And besides, Teresa didn’t tell me to fuck around. She told me to open my heart to possibility. Frankly, neither option works for me.