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Shaking my head, I scan the message.
Graham: Still thinking about my cock Davidson?
I groan, dropping my head to my desk and trying to ignore the feeling of dread in my stomach. I allow myself a brief moment of pity before I type a hasty response.
Me: Actually, the opposite. Trying to burn the memory from my brain. Why are you even texting me?
Graham: So grumpy for someone who got their brains fucked out all night. Need a repeat already?
What? No! My thumbs tap at my screen with more force than necessary, making the loud tapping of my fingers, echo around the walls of my cubicle. How can someone so… infuriating cause so many emotions to simmer inside me at the same time?
Jesus, this is getting worse by the second.
Me: You’re insane, and obviously have trouble taking a hint. This was a mistake, and it won’t ever be happening again. I thought we made that clear when I kicked you out of my house this morning.
I expect some type of argument, because, hello, he is Graham, but instead, a picture comes through of his neck that is covered in hickeys with a message.
Graham: If you say so, Davidson, but you and I both know that this is far from over.
This time, I do groan out loud, because what in the hell am I doing? I’m annoyed at myself, and at him.
I shove my phone back into my desk drawer after typing a message to Holland that I’ll be making an emergency visit after work today. One, because I want to see my nephew, and two, because there is no way in hell I’m going to be able to keep this a secret from my best friend, and also because I need some accountability, since I obviously have a problem with only thinking about what my vagina wants.
Realistically, I know exactly the type of guy Graham is. I’ve known him for years, and I know his track record. There’s a reason I don't date athletes, and there’s an even better reason why I don’t like Graham. So, him having a magic dick… doesn’t change that.
Staying away from him is the only option. Period.
I spend the rest of the day researching cases for Rob, not giving myself the opportunity to think about Graham, or the hot, sweaty, ridiculously good sex we had last night, until I’m shutting my computer down and pulling my purse out at well past six to leave for the day.
I even put on my favorite true crime podcast on the ride to Holland and Reed’s house because I’m avoiding thinking about last night and all of the things that Graham made me feel.
I’m truly the queen of avoidance, but it’s for a good reason.
When I pull into Holland’s driveway, I shut off the podcast and grab my bag then walk inside through the side door.
The second I walk in, I smell my mom’s lasagna and almost panic that she’s here, then I remember that Holland has been spending time with Ma, trying to learn her recipes. She’s on this new “wifey” thing where she wants to cook every single night for Evan, and Reed.
I shudder. I am not made for this kind of life. I am so glad I get to be the cool aunt and that actual living, breathing humans don’t have to depend on me.
“Holl, I’m here,” I call from the mudroom, where I kick off my heels and hang my bag on the designated hooks.
Before I even make it to the kitchen, Evan comes barreling around the corner with a Nerf gun that’s twice as big as him, wearing full tactical gear. An actual vest that reads SWAT, goggles, and a belt that houses hundreds of plastic bullets.
“Hands up Auntie Em or surrender to the United States of Uhmeri-cuh.”
I laugh then quickly plaster on a concerned face, raising my hands. “What am I being accused of, sir?”
He thinks on it for a second, letting his gun lower slightly, then quickly raises it back up. “Because it’s been five whole entire days since you came to visit me.”
Only my nephew has the ability to soften me to a pile of mush with only a few words. He has me wrapped entirely around his finger.
“I’m sorry, buddy, I have been so busy with work. How about we go to the movies soon? Oh, or, what about the arcade?”
Evan grins, his eyes lighting up. “Okay. You don’t have to surrender.”
I laugh. “Thanks. Where’s Aunt Holl and Uncle Reed?”
He shrugs. “I told Uncle Reed to hide and I kinda forgot about him when you got here.”
