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And she…was there, eyes glued on the TV, the show playing but she hadn’t absorbed as she settled in the fact that Jeremy hadn’t pushed.
He hadn’tpushed.
And she felt…
It didn’t matter. He’d done as she’d asked, what she wanted.
She should be happy.
So why did him walking away from her feel like shit?
“Fuck,” she whispered, knowing that she was so totally fucked up, so out of line. He was doing as she’d asked, and she was upset?
Fucked up.
“You good?”
She glanced at Melody and forced a smile. “Oh yeah, I’m good. I—” She straightened. “I just remembered something.”
Lame.
But Mel was too nice to call Teresa on it.
“Oh,” she said, smiling sweetly. “That’s…challenging.”
As challenging as Teresa’s fucked-up brain conjuring up some bullshit? No. But an excuse that was going to allow her to extricate herself from this couch, this house, this situation? Yes.
“Yeah,” Teresa agreed, and then excused herself, slipping into the kitchen and eyeing the plate of brownies.
She’d already had more than her fair share of them.
She walked toward the plate anyway, shoving one of the delicious chocolate squares into her mouth, and then another because she needed to medicate her fucked-up brain with cocoa powder and flour and eggs and a dash of salt and oil and…whatever the hell Kate put in these to make them taste good.
Weed?
The way she felt calm immediately settle into her veins made that a possibility, albeit one that was highly unlikely to be true.
Chocolate was medicinal, plain and simple.
That thought had amusement coiling in her belly, her lips turning up into a smile just as the slider opened and Jeremy walked in, his gaze behind him as he said, “No worries. I’ll grab you one—”
He cut himself off when he turned forward, saw her hunched over the plate of brownies.
“You good?” he asked.
“Chocolate,” she said unnecessarily.
His mouth quirked. “Right.” But then he didn’t engage further, just moved to the fridge, grabbing a couple of beers, and setting them on the counter.
Meanwhile, she shoved another brownie in her mouth.
The fridge closed while she frantically chewed and swallowed.
But he didn’t come near her, didn’t say anything. He wasn’t giving her the silent treatment, and there was no tension in the room (aside from the tension in her head that had her reaching for still another brownie). In fact, as he used the bottle opener to pop off the metal caps, tossing them in the trash, he asked, “Need a top up?”
“I’m good.”
“Okay,” he said easily, putting the opener back down in front of the rest of the bottles of alcohol, cups, and various mixers and accouterments.
