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That desire for things that didn’t exist was what had gotten me into trouble in the first place.
Illusions.
I still had a hard time distinguishing what was real and what wasn’t. This was something I’d worked on with my therapist, but I’d taught myself to put up a good front. Deep down, I hadn’t learned who was to be trusted and who wasn’t. Like an innocent little girl, I let my heart do the picking.
That was why Trish was my best friend. Why I loved her baby like she was my own. Why I was living with a man I had no business being around.
He could hurt me. I doubted the way I had been in the past, but he had the power nonetheless. And he shouldn’t.
I didn’t even know him.
But the fact he hadn’t come home after the morning we had stung me something deep and fierce. And I wasn’t brave enough to wonder if that was because he could have hooked up with someone last night. I’d even stayed late at work and contemplated asking Trish if I could sleep over with her just to give Holt a taste of his own medicine.
In the end, the pull toward home had been strong. I couldn’t stay away. Needed to know if he would come back. I had my answer.
No.
And that stung.
I dropped my bag on the counter and went straight for the wine. Some of my co-workers had asked me to go out tonight, but I’d declined. Now that I’d come home to an empty place on a Friday night, I reconsidered.
Phone and wine in hand, I leaned against the counter and took a long, satisfying swallow. Immediately, some of my muscles loosened. I thumbed through my contacts about to press Call for one of my colleagues when the front door opened.
Holt’s coveralls were filthy. He had a smudge of grease on his cheek. His hair was a wreck, strands of it haphazard in opposing directions.
Relief rushed through me even as I stood a little straighter.
“You should lock the door.” He kicked it shut and shucked off his leather jacket, tossing it on the back of the sofa.
My pulse thrummed a rapid beat with every step he took toward the kitchen. His eyes were locked on mine, but I couldn’t read anything but the heat in them. Fury or desire, I didn’t know. He looked exhausted, that much I could tell.
He swiped the glass from my hand and drained half, making a disgusted face when he handed it back to me. “How do you drink that stuff?” He grimaced and went to the fridge, grabbing a beer and twisting the top off.
“Like this.” I made a show of putting the glass to my lips, slowly tipping it back until the dark liquid flowed into my mouth. “Delicious,” I said once I’d swallowed.
His throat bobbed as he watched me. His eyes slid down my body when I lowered the glass to the counter.
“Nice dress.” His gaze lingered at the V where just a hint of cleavage peeked out.
I’d worn the red A-line dress for him. To get his attention. Pathetic.
“That what people who work at a magazine wear?” He pointed his beer toward me, heat burning a trail where his eyes wandered down my body all the way to my heels.
“Only the easy ones.”
“I already explained that,” he said with a hint of impatience.
“Iknowwhat easy means.” He had explained and I loved his nickname, but I was still pissy after he hadn’t come home last night. “Apparently you’re well acquainted with the definition.”
He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
I lifted one shoulder to my ear. “Nothing.”
He set his bottle down and closed the distance between us, though he was careful not to touch his clothes to my dress.
“You’d better clarify, Easy. This grease monkey isn’t following.”
I barely heard what he said, blindsided when the scent of motor oil wafted into my nostrils. I gripped the rounded edge of the counter and pressed my lower back into it to get away. It was useless. I was dizzy with the combination of sweat, garage, and Holt.
