Not Just Friends (Hot in the City #3) - T. Gephart Page 0,90
his cup, not at all concerned there was no timeline for how long that was going to take.
I was glad someone wasn’t worried, because even if I didn’t admit it out loud, I was rattled.
And that wasn’t something I liked or aspired to be.
Great.
I was flying blind, hoping that at some point, my instincts kicked in and I’d know what to do.
Because the current, uncertain and indecisive version of myself, sucked.
Jared
IT HAD BEEN a week since Hayden had been shot.
Mack had proposed to Hayden the minute she was out of recovery, and we’d all packed into her tiny room to congratulate them. It was good to see her awake and smiling, Mack making it his job to make sure she wanted for nothing.
He was finally able to take her home to his condo in Midtown, taking some personal time to be with her while she recovered. It was good to see Chief so happy, his beaming smile, the kind of thing that made you believe that everything was going to be okay.
But for Presley and I, it was a different story.
I’d gone home with her that night after the hospital and stayed at her apartment. She’d spent most of the time in my arms, unable to sleep as she stared off into space. I knew what trauma looked like, having seen it firsthand on the job. And it didn’t present with visible scars.
She’d said she was fine, shaking off my concern with a promise that a decent night’s sleep and getting back into her routine would fix it. Because that was how it worked, her version of dealing with it as effective as slapping a Band-Aid over a gunshot wound.
Determined to keep my word and not push, I let her set the pace while keeping a close eye on her. With our relationship out in the open, it had made things easier, except for at the stationhouse where Cole was confused why I was allowed to date Presley, but he apparently wasn’t.
“You hear from Presley?” Tibbs was still wearing a towel, both of us having just returned from a house fire. “Don’t you think she should’ve taken some time off? Not like they couldn’t have managed for a couple of days without her.”
“Why don’t you tell her, Tibbs. I’m sure she’s itching to have someone else tell her what she needs.” I laughed, the suggestion she take a vacation shot down the minute I’d suggested it. “And no, I haven’t heard from her tonight.”
Presley didn’t like being told what to do.
That wasn’t anything new.
But I’d hoped the next day when she woke up and evaluated the amount of stress and shock she’d gone through, she might have taken a day or two. Or at least not taken off my fucking head for suggesting it.
Instead, she was right back at Diablo the next night, wearing a dress that made me impossibly hard and acting like nothing had happened. She was flawless, her smile almost looking sincere as she moved through the club, greeting everyone and letting them get their face time like it was business as usual.
She even let me tag along, pulling me into her office sometime around two a.m. and begged me to fuck her on that huge desk of hers. And while I’d never turn down sex with Presley, there was something about it that felt all wrong.
It was the first time we’d made love since the shooting, the night before spent in bed cuddling rather than fucking. So I’d wanted it to be special. Not like rose petals on the floor and fucking Bruno Mars playing on the stereo. But slow and considerate, making sure that every single part of her body got the attention it deserved.
Instead she’d unzipped my jeans, hiked up her dress and told me to fuck her.
Not make love.
To. Fuck. Her.
And because I wasn’t sure I could say no to her, even if I wanted to—and I didn’t—I did exactly that. Laid her down on the smooth wood of her desk and pounded into her until she was screaming so loudly I wasn’t sure where one orgasm finished and another started.
And that was about it.
She didn’t withdraw or push me away, it was really the opposite. Since we no longer had to sneak around, she loved me hugging her in front of her staff before the doors opened or kissing her when the last person left.
Instead she pushed it away.
The shooting.
Lewis.
The whole thing.
Digging herself back into her life like NOTHING had happened.