I can’t tell her.
It’s selfish as hell, but I don’t want her to stop looking at me the way she does.
Averting my gaze, not wanting to see the hurt expression, I say, “You’ve gotta get back. Before they notice anything…”
It’s even meaner. I pull her out of a place of passion and pleasure, and remind her of the bullshit life she has to go back to.
She keeps her head down for a moment, and when she looks up again, her face is clear. Expressionless.
Guilt wallops me. I want to rewind the moment and keep going. I want to fuck her. Who cares if I feel guilty afterward? I should. It’s not as if my betrayal will be any easier for her just because I stopped.
I don’t want to be one more person who’s betrayed her. I don’t want to finish the job.
If I don’t, someone else will. No matter how I feel, no matter what I want, I can’t save her.
I don’t let her see how twisted up I am. My face as blank as hers, I get in front of her and lead the way back to her yard. I try to help her inside, but she swats my goddamn hand away like I’m Paul.
I don’t climb inside with her. It’s like there’s a pit of acid in my gut, seeping out and eating away at everything it touches.
And I was so goddamn distracted I didn’t realize I couldn’t speak to her once we made it back to her house, so I can’t even say goodbye.
I don’t even know if I’ll see her again.
She closes the window and turns away without so much as another glance. I feel a sliver of what Paul must feel every day, and it burns in my gut. She stops beside the bed, with her back to me, and pulls the t-shirt over her head, dropping it into the floor. She unclasps the bra and lets it drop, then pushes her panties down.
I don’t look away, and she turns around, giving me one last look at her, fully naked. She meets my gaze, still blank, and then turns and goes back to the shower.
It’s stupid and reckless and pointless, since she hates me right now, but I try the window. If she didn’t lock it, I’m going to climb in the goddamn window and get in that shower with her, and if the dipshit with the cell phone puts a bullet in my head while I’m fucking her, so be it.
It’s locked.
Regret rocks me and I wait another minute before I turn and make my way back to my car.
Annabelle
Paul doesn’t kill me, which I guess is a good thing.
He comes home late that night, but I’m already in bed. The stun gun remains hidden in my bedside drawer, but I lack the energy to reach for it. Turns out I don’t need to; he goes to sleep.
I wonder if there’s any chance he doesn’t know I’m being watched.
I close my eyes and try to sleep, but all I can see are flashes of Liam. I touch the breast his fingers squeezed hours earlier and look out the window. I know he isn’t out there now. I don’t even want him to be, not if Pietro’s guys are watching the house, but no matter how good I usually am at guarding my feelings, I can’t seem to ignore the burn of rejection. I don’t understand it. I know he wanted me, I could feel the physical evidence. Literally held the hot, hard proof in the palm of my hand.
I sigh and go to roll over, bu
t I remember Paul is there so I stay put. Looking at his gross face isn’t going to make me feel any better. In fact, it only makes me think how amused he would be if he knew that my grand love affair was with a man who wouldn’t even fuck me.
I finally drift off to sleep, but it’s broken and full of bad dreams. Come morning I’m exhausted, and not at all prepared for my mother to call me and tell me today’s the day we go dress shopping.
As much as I want to say no, I also feel like a prisoner in the former sanctuary of my own home. I don’t know if they’re listening or watching. It makes me paranoid, because I don’t even know why it’s happening.
“Perk up!” my mother says from the driver’s seat, making me cringe.
“There’s not enough coffee in the world.”
A moment passes before she says, “You must’ve been up late last night.”
“I went to bed early, actually.”