scorching heat through the denim of my jeans. “Do you—?” He cut himself off with an abrupt shake of his head, his words disappearing into a sigh of frustration as he stood, walked over to my toolbox, and hefted it up.
I stayed there, eyes glued to him. “Do I what?”
Something dark crossed his face, but it was there and gone so fast that I couldn’t decipher it. “Were you done with everything here?” he asked. “Want me to carry this”—he lifted the toolbox slightly—“out to your car?”
“I’m good,” I said, reaching for it, closing the distance between us. “I’m used to carrying stuff on my own.”
Another dark flash that disappeared just as quickly.
He nodded, stepped back. “I know you are.” A pause. “So, it’s agreed then. We’re just pretending it didn’t happen, going back to one very talented plumber and one semi-reformed asshole?”
More silence, of the awkward variety this time.
Probably because my heart felt like he’d just taken a sledgehammer to it.
But what was I going to say? No? No, we’re not going back? No, let’s move forward together, skipping over the hump of a rainbow and diving into the cloud of happily ever after?
That was fucking bullshit.
I dropped my chin to my chest, eyes burning, wondering how we’d gone from Plan C being a possibility—at least in my head—to this. Awkward, hurt, pissed . . . alone.
And maybe that was the problem. Maybe this whole thing was one-sided and just in my head, and Garret had just been being nice because I was—sort of—broken . . . or at the very least, dinged all around the edges.
I lifted my chin, saw him still standing there, though now he appeared to be looking down at me in pity.
Cool.
My heart sank, my stomach curdled, and I mentally took a step back, even as he took a physical one.
Time to get the hell out of here. Time to stay gone until he’d moved on and I didn’t feel like such a wounded, desperate female . . . or perhaps, more apropos in the movement, like such a dumb fuck.
“I’ll—”
“Well, you should go,” he said, his voice noticeably distant now. “Make sure you’re not late for your appointment.”
Something dark crossed my face.
Or rather my heart.
Steady, now. He’d been kind to me when I needed it, and I knew from personal experience that it didn’t always work that way. Sometimes those who were let in could be the ones able to wound the deepest. He couldn’t give it now, and that was probably less about me and more about him. Maybe two nights ago had triggered something with his ex, maybe it had made him miss her.
I didn’t like that thought at all.
So . . . temper those expectations, keep things in perspective.
No Garret, no Plan C, but I could take his kindness at face value. I could chalk up the most emotional, incredible sex of my life as a lovely, pleasurable experience and leave it at that.
Moving on.
“Thanks,” I said, glad I had plenty of experience tucking things down, gleaning the happy from the sad and protecting my heart. That meant I could be neutral when Plan C clearly wasn’t happening, when I felt like a total idiot for thinking and wishing it could. “I should let you go. I’m sure you have stuff to do.”
“I do.” He handed me my toolbox.
Right.
Clear expectations didn’t mean I was going to hang around being pathetic, and it certainly didn’t mean I was going to bite my tongue or hide my spikes.
“Thanks for the orgasms,” I said with a salute, spinning around and heading for the door. “They were in the top—” I made a waffling sound, wanting to hurt him just a little bit after he’d cut so deep. Yes, it was childish. No, in that moment, I didn’t give a fuck. I just kept walking, hmming and hawing. “In the top maybe hundred—thousand?—pleasurable experiences of my life.” I shrugged. “Still, it’d been a while, and you definitely scratched an itch.”
I tossed my key on the reception desk and my ponytail over my shoulder, intent on my exit, wanting him to feel just a bit of the burning humiliation I did. But because I’d turned my back, I missed his expression turning from unreadable to readable, longing now evident.
I missed the step he took after me.
Missed his hands clenching into fists at his side as he stopped himself.
I missed all of that as I walked out, lamenting about a Plan C that was never meant