Big Bad Boys A Romance Collection - Penny Wylder Page 0,219

naughty student headed to the principal’s office. For a while, it’s nice. A good distraction. Normal problems that normal people have, which I’d be dealing with if I didn’t have such a colossal issue weighing me down instead.

But there’s only so much distraction I can take before I have to face reality again. That moment arrives a hell of a lot sooner than I’d like it to when we all lean around to the bar to pay our tabs, down our last margaritas, and head our separate ways.

“I’ll see you guys…” I pause, then bite my lip. I don’t even know when I’ll see them next. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed back into the office again, or how long it’ll be before I can get back to my career and the things that truly matter in my life.

Andy pats my shoulder. “Friday,” he promises. “Happy Hour still stands, no matter what else is going on.”

I force myself to nod and smile. Right. “Friday,” I agree, even though it sounds like a death sentence. If I don’t see them until Friday, that means I haven’t been allowed to work until Friday, which means that this whole mess is still dragging on. That’s more than I can handle right now.

But I keep that forced, fixed smile on my face as I bid my friends farewell and catch my train back uptown. Andy is right. There’s nothing else I can do right now but rise above.

Zayne isn’t behind the desk when I get back. He’s standing at the doors, opening them for every person who enters the building. Normally the doormen only do that when it’s pouring down rain or when high winds are whipping along the street, making it difficult for residents to peel open the doors themselves while negotiating heavy coats and umbrellas.

The reason he’s being so extra nice today becomes clear the minute I step up to the building, and he rests a hand on the doorknob, not opening it for me yet, barring my path.

“Clove, you’re right,” he says, all in a rush.

I cross my arms and lean on one leg, catching his eyes as I wait.

“I should’ve been more straightforward with you. I should’ve warned you right away, and when all this hit the fan, I should’ve explained what was going on. Let me do that now. Tonight. Please?”

I raise an eyebrow.

“I’ll cook,” he adds. “I’ll do anything you want. Just let me make this up to you.”

“I don’t know that you can,” I reply.

He frowns, his face falling, though to his credit, he does step aside and open the door for me, despite the upset on his face.

“But I guess you can try to start,” I add as I cross the threshold into the building.

“I finish at 10,” he calls after me, and it hurts to see the bright hope in his eyes, the way his expression transforms from despair into joy. He honestly does seem to care about me, about how I feel. About the mess he’s thrown me into. “I’ll come by your apartment then, if that’s okay?”

I nod. I don’t trust my voice to work in response. It’s too worn, too frayed. Then I walk past him, into the elevator, and shoot up to my floor. It takes every ounce of energy I have left not to collapse in the elevator and let the tears that have been burning at the back of my eyes all day fall.

Back at home, I head straight for the shower. I need to wash today off of me, need to wash all the sweat and fear and anger off before I talk to Zayne tonight. I’m going to give him this chance to explain. One chance, to be straight with me, honest about what he clearly doesn’t want to share. Then, we’ll see.

Then, I’ll probably be alone again, my darker side points out.

I ignore it and climb into my shower. Bury my face in the stream of hot water and let it wash over me.

But I’m not safe even here. Not protected from my memories. Especially not when that hot stream of water trickles down my chest, my stomach, past my navel, straight over my hips where it sears against my pussy, wet and reassuring and warm.

My hand strays toward my mound again, remembering the frustration earlier, the way I’d been fingering myself thinking about Zayne, but forced myself to stop.

Specifically, I remember the memory that made me unable to resist touching myself. The bet I