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I’m not doing that again.
Not now. Not ever.
“No,” I snap. “I don’t want you to help me with my dick.”
Her face falls and I know I’m an asshole. Iknowit, but I can’t stop, can’t let this continue. Better to remind her how much of a jerk I am here and now.
“Oh,” she whispers.
“You’ve done enough,” I mutter and that’s theonlytruth in the bullshit I’m spouting. Because she’s rocked me to my fucking core, has exposed every weakness to the chilled, snow-filled air.
“Right.” Another whisper.
“My dick doesn’t like women who barely know how to fuck, who just lay there like goddamned pillow princesses”—I toss her a sneering look, dragging it down along her front, staring at the body I’m so desperate for I can still taste her skin on my tongue, staring at her body so I can avoid the pain in her deep, pine green eyes. “Trust me, I’ve had better than whatever shitty hand job you’re about to offer me.”
She gasps and now I can’t avoid looking up, can’t avoid looking into those eyes.
They swim with tears.
I. Am. A. Fucking.Asshole.
But I don’t apologize.
I just shake the damned dog off my ankle, turn away, and get the fuck out of there.
Nineteen
Nova
I watchhis back recede as he strides down the hallway, thinking it’s not nearly as sexy as the night before.
Thinking that this actually hurts—his words, his derision, the sight of him walking away—almost as much as walking in on Ashley and George had.
Thinking that I don’t give a fuck if it’s snowing outside, I need out of this house, and I need itnow.
I hop down, nearly landing on Steve, having to do some fancy footwork in order to avoid killing my precious pooch. But nearly committing pupicide is the blast of normal I need. I’m able to focus, to get a series of tasks together so that I can function.
“Breathe, Nova,” I whisper, nudging Steve back so I can pick up the towel.
I walk to the door, finish mopping up the puddles gathered there then carry it back and toss it into the washer. On my way back to the kitchen, I spy Steve’s bowl and remember hearing it clang to the floor distantly while Lake had—
Made use of skills that weren’t hisbranch.
But were as good—better—than the rumors Ella had shared with me.
The metal bowl is overturned on the floor, and I lift it up, revealing a few stray kibbles. For the most part, though, I see that Steve has made good of his vacuum skills.
He’s eaten.
Now he needs water.
And then he’ll need his vitamins and a walk to use the facilities.
Which is perfect. I’ll bring my camera, use it as an excuse to build my portfolio to pass some time, to pretend that what had just happened hadn’tactuallyhappened.
Step one in letting things roll off my back again.
Step one—or two, rather—in regaining myself, my spine, my confidence.
