to get up in the middle of the night for water. What the hell did I do last night?
A pair of yoga pants, a t-shirt, and some running shoes are the outfit of the day. Nothing special. There’s no one to impress while I take my dog out to shit. My hair goes into a ponytail and I’m ready to face the day. I vow not to let Evan’s betrayal ruin everything. I don’t love him, I decide. I probably never did. I’m certain of that now. If I loved him, I would be devastated right now. I’m not. Not at all. What I am, is pissed. I’m so fucking mad I could rip out his throat with my teeth. How dare he? I was faithful to him every step of the way. Believe me, I had plenty of chances not to be. Every time I went out to a club with my girlfriends, there was no shortage of men at my heels, trying to get me to go home with them. Every single one was better looking than Evan. But I respected Evan far too much to ever betray him like that.
I have to take a deep calming breath to keep my rage from bubbling back up. A drink sounds good right about now. Hair of the dog. I’m not going to do that, though. It will only make me feel worse. Fuck that guy. I’m not going to let him ruin my day further than he already has. I refuse to let him turn me into someone who’s bitter and suspicious. Today I’m going to take care of me, and get back to being myself. The confident, happy girl I was before I met Evan.
As soon as I open the door to my room, I’m hit by the smell of bacon and … is that pancakes? Whatever it is smells delicious, and my stomach rolls with hunger. The neighbors must be making breakfast.
I walk down the hallway. When I turn to go into the kitchen, I see a strange man standing in front of my stove, shirtless, his back to me. My breath freezes in my throat, legs refusing to move, shoes adhered to the floor. At first I think it’s Evan, and wonder if there’s a knife nearby so I can stab him in the back with it. But Evan isn’t that tall, he doesn’t cook, his hair isn’t that light of a color, and his back doesn’t look like that—not unless he somehow managed to exchange his pasty dad-bod for a golden God-bod. Somehow I doubt he could pull that off in the month that we’ve been separated. Whoever this man is standing in my kitchen has smooth tan skin over thick muscle.
My dog sits beside this stranger, waiting for food to drop. My heart is hammering in my chest. It’s hard to breathe. I don’t know what to do. Neither my dog nor the man has seen me yet. How could Hercules let a stranger into the apartment? That’s kind of the whole point of owning a Great Dane. They’re supposed to protect you from random strangers who break into your place.
I desperately look around for a weapon. All I find is an empty wine bottle on the coffee table. I pick it up by the neck and wield it like a sword. But hitting him with it means getting close. If I don’t knock him out right away, he could turn around and grab me. I decide to sneak toward the door instead. My keys are in the kitchen, and so is my phone and purse, so I can’t call 911, but if I can get out of the apartment without being seen, I could run to a neighbor and get help.
I take a step toward the door. The floor squeaks. Both the man and Hercules turn around and see me. I imagine I look like a deer caught in headlights. I blink. Without thinking, I throw the wine bottle at the guy’s head. I miss and it shatters on the cupboard next to him. His eyes grow wide and he ducks as glass shards rain down around him. When he stands back up and looks at me, he looks confused, and a little angry. Shit.
“What the hell?” he says, his eyes narrow, voice a deep rasp that is both frightening and hot at the same time. The thought of his sexy voice is both jolting and fleeting. How can I possibly be thinking