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Chapter Seven
Frankie
Red hot embarrassment crept up my neck and into my face as I reached forward, ignoring Clive’s expression, a mixture of surprise and chagrin, and abruptly ended the video call.
I knew that Clive immediately regretted his choice of words—could see it on his face—but his flippant comment made what we’d shared feel dirty, and those words stabbed too deep for me to dismiss. Not right then, anyway—I needed time to think. Time to take care of myself, to decide what to do next.
Pete—who mercifully made himself scarce during the call—sauntered back into his room, licking his dinner off his lips. Tail switching, he arched gracefully onto the bed to settle into his usual spot on the pillow.
I reached over and gave him a scratch. “He just couldn’t help himself, Petey.” A sigh gusted out of my mouth, and with it, my eyes misted with unexpected tears. “And he doesn’t really know about how…that is for me.”
The thoughtless words felt worse than a slap in the face. With any other man, I would kick his ass out the door before he even managed to get his pants on. But with Clive, it was too deep for something so simple. Too complicated. I didn’t want to feel like a cheap whore when I was with him. Good time Frankie, and all that.
I wanted better. Deserved better, too, but before I cut Clive off for good, I wanted to give myself the time and space to be angry with him and think about what it might take to fix this.
“I think I love him, Pete,” I sniffled. Pete raised his head from his pillow and gave me a long, sleepy blink. “And I don’t think I can just cut him off, or if that’s even what I want at all. I wish I knew, but it’s not that easy.”
With one more shaky, tearful sigh, I rolled out of bed, leaving the blankets behind as I padded naked into the bathroom. I washed my vibrator—now a permanent reminder of Clive, I thought with annoyance as I set it on the counter to dry—and climbed into the shower to rinse away the perspiration and evidence of what we did.
And it was—God, it was so fucking hot. I loved watching Clive touch himself, loved the way his powerful muscles heaved and shuddered while his big hands pumped the heavy bar of his cock and touched the dark twin weights of his balls. Even now, by myself in the shower, after crying over his insensitive bullshit, my pulse sped up as I remembered his unrelenting stare, his gruff demands, and the shattering pleasure.
More than I thought was possible without two people even touching.
Pete waited for me on the counter, baleful stare fixed on me as I stepped out of the shower and dried off before pulling on some sleep shorts and an old Rainier College hoodie. Stolen from Marcie during junior year, a month or so after she stole it from a guy she promptly dumped a week later. I wore it all the time when she hung out at my apartment, and she always laughed when she saw it.
“You stole it fair and square,” she always said, with a shrug and a smile.
Shit.My teeth clamped around my thumbnail as I thought about my best friend. Clive did have a point about that—if we were really done, how would I ever handle that with Marcie?
Sorry, Marse, can’t come out with you tonight. Your dad and I fucked like rabbits, he broke my heart, and now I plan to avoid him until one of us dies.
Marcie would be—well, disappointed. Hurt? Absolutely. I didn’t know if a long-term lie of omission was any better for our friendship than telling her outright if things didn’t work out. Both sounded equally destructive.
“What a mess, Petey,” I muttered to my cat as I flipped the comforter back and slipped between the blankets. It was early—a couple of hours before my usual bedtime—but I was drained, and a stack of books waited for me, a place to get lost in for at least a little while.
I cracked open the first one, something about sexy vampires that Kresley shoved into my purse a few days ago, and with Pete curled up on the pillow next to me, I let the story fill my mind, and tried to push out thoughts of Clive.
I woke up the next morning with the paperback still clutched in my fingers, Pete seated imperiously on my chest as he stared into my face.
Breakfast, human, he seemed to say as he touched his damp nose to mine.
“God, fine,” I muttered irritably, pushing him off me as I sat up and rubbed my eyes. They felt dry and prickly after a late-night reading with the constant threat of tears every time Clive—his face, his body, everything—showed up in my thoughts uninvited.
I picked up my phone and looked at the screen. Nothing from Clive, I noted with a mixture of relief and disappointment.
“It’s not healthy, Pete,” I said as my coffee finished brewing and I poured in a disgusting amount of sickly-sweet creamer. In the corner, the toaster dinged and two pieces of golden-brown bread popped out. I plucked them out of the slots and deposited them on a plate, buttering them peevishly as I stared at my still-silent phone.
Pete, face-down in his bowl of food, didn’t even acknowledge me.
“Mercenary little shit,” I grumbled, flipping the sexy vampire book open again as I settled onto my stool, munching my toast while I read.
I hadn’t gotten far, just a couple of pages, when my phone buzzed and jumped on the counter next to my elbow. My heart rose into my throat when I looked down at the screen. It was Clive, all right, and he got up really early to try and catch me before I went into work.
I tapped the red icon with my index finger. Decline. Humming with satisfaction, I picked my book up again and finished my toast. Somehow, the crunchy bread and salty butter tasted even better with a side of ignoring Clive.
The phone buzzed again, this time with a text.
Message received and understood, it said. Clive again. I’ll check back with you later.
