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“Yeah,” I say. “It was difficult.”
“Was? Or is?”
I think of the calls I’ve been ignoring, the texts that have been sending my cell vibrating on the regular, the voicemails she’s left often enough that I know I’ll just have to clear the entire inbox without listening to any of them. “Is,” I mutter.
Her fingers tighten around my thigh again, and then she’s moving closer, crawling over me, wrapping me in a sort of spider monkey type hug. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.
“Don’t apologize.”
She just squeezes me again, kisses my throat. “I’m still sorry.”
“Butterfly,” I rasp, winding my fingers into her hair.
“Shh,” she orders softly. “I’m being nice for once.”
She’s nice—morethan nice—but I like her where she is, so I just shut up, wrap my arms around her, and inhale her spicy cinnamon scent.
“Was she—” Nova breaks off, shakes her head.
“What?” I ask, stroking a hand down her back.
“I was going to ask…” She hesitates, voice dropping. “If she was the one who threw the knives.”
My heart pulses and I bury my face in her hair. “No, butterfly. She wasn’t. I’m…good at picking women who act like her, unfortunately.”
She tenses.
I stroke my palm up and down her back. “Not you,” I reassure her. “You’re…peaceful, I guess. Easy. It’s relaxing being with you.”
She pushes up and I watch as her face does that thing again, goes soft and warm, which means that my heart does its thing again, convulsing in my chest—or maybe, it rolls over, exposes its vulnerable underbelly, especially when she deliberately lightens the conversation after we’ve shared all this heavy.
“I mean,” she says. “I may not be the type to throw a knife, but Ididdrive my car into a snowbank and stab myself with pushpins, so…”
I tug a strand of her hair. “So long as you’re not stabbingme.”
A gasp. “Rude.”
I grin, steal a kiss, sliding my hand down, dipping it beneath the waistband of her sweats, cupping that lush ass. “I think you like it when I’m rude.”
I stroke a finger lower.
Dip it inside.
A gasp, her head falling back. “This is you rude?” she teases, but it’s more than a little breathless.
“Yup,” I say, stroking slowly through her slick heat. “It sure is.”
“Okay.” She rolls to her back, dislodging my hand, but she also shoves her pants down and spreads her legs, allowing me full access. A wave of her hand as she orders, “Commence with the being rude.”
I chuckle.
But I follow that order.
To the letter.
Thirty-Seven
Nova
