day.
My arm with the tattoo hurt, so I clearly couldn’t work on pipes.
Also, I might be developing a fever because open wounds and plumbing didn’t mix—
Cough. Cough. I’m burning up.
And awesome, now I was a liar as well as pathetic.
I stared down at my cell, my message about not feeling well trailed rapidly by Tig’s response telling me to stay home. Which had then been followed by one from Delia telling me she was going to bring over soup and my favorite artisan grilled cheese sandwich—brie, apples, and fig jelly on sourdough bread was where it was at.
But no, I was pretending to be sick, and so I didn’t deserve any treats.
“Pathetic,” I muttered, texting them both back—thanking Tig for understanding, but side-stepping Delia’s offer. They’d done enough for me over the time I’d known them and plus, Tig had bought me more than enough food over the last week. Luckily, they bought my excuse that I was just going to sleep it off and believed me when I promised I would call or text if I needed anything at all.
Sighing, I tossed my cell to the mattress and flopped back onto my sheets. In truth, a sick day wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I was exhausted and had been working too much. Then add in the letter from my grandmother, its legal implications, Garret, the most mind-blowing, emotional sex of my life . . . and yeah, I was due for a day off.
Except, I owed it to Tig to finish the job.
Especially when I probably had only one day of work left before everything was completed.
But I’d already lied, so I would look like an inconsiderate A-hole if I showed up now, potentially spreading my contamination everywhere, and plus I didn’t think I could handle seeing Garret in that moment. Not when I felt so flayed open, not when the aching image on my arm was reminding me of every moment of the previous night.
My bed was laid . . . or rather I’d been.
I’d set wheels into motion that I couldn’t undo at this point, so I just had to ride it out.
Ride. It. Out.
Like Garret had ridden me? Or like I fantasized riding him?
“Neither,” I muttered, tugging the covers up and over my head. “Both.” Another sigh. I was in for a day of Netflix and naps.
Oh, the humanity.
Snorting, I ignored my phone, ignored the guilt I was feeling about the job and Tig and Delia, and just let my eyes slide closed.
And because I’d canceled out my karma points by lying to Tig, sleep wouldn’t come. Instead, I just lay there thinking about my parents, wishing things were different, wanting to be the kind of woman who didn’t need walls to keep people out, but who could instead recognize a good thing in front of me and just leap.
For the record, the good thing I was referring to was Garret.
My lids might be shut, but that didn’t stop the memories from flashing behind them, how earnest he’d been as he’d sketched, the gentle way he’d held my arm—despite the fact his other hand had held a needle that was digging into my skin. The way he’d held me when I’d melted down, the kindness on his face when I’d told him about my parents, how he’d shared what had happened with his ex, somehow understanding that I’d been feeling uncomfortable and raw from revealing my past and providing me some common ground in return.
Freely.
Not wanting a medal or gold star in thanks.
Just him being a decent guy—
And . . . I’d run.
Ugh. Enough.
I threw the blankets back and strode to the kitchen. If I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, then at least I could caffeinate, sit down at my table, and go over my schedule. I’d build in some more time off, make sure I wasn’t going to head for another meltdown—
“Yeah, like fucking a gorgeous, sexy, incredibly talented, and perfectly endowed man is the typical definition for a meltdown,” I muttered, shoving the pod into the coffee maker and then waiting as my mug filled. And maybe me being interested in Garret, me sleeping with him couldn’t be considered a meltdown. But, running off afterward could be, and breaking down into sobs in his arms then sharing the sordid details of my past definitely should be.
Sigh.
Coffee first.
Berating could continue afterward.
Once my mug was full, I carried it over to the table and set about the arduous task of syncing my