Work Me Up

My chest only aches worse, watching this. Because I know how much I’m still hiding from him. How much I can’t talk about, because once we do, he’s going to know how screwed up I am.

I can’t stand to see that. I can’t stand to wait around for the moment his expression will shift, the same way everyone’s always does when they learn about it. I don’t want to see him look at me with pity, the way everyone does afterward.

On tiptoe, so as not to make a sound, I steal into my bathroom and pull the door shut tight behind me. There, I step into the shower, turn it on hot enough to scald my skin pink, and stand under the stream, scrubbing at my skin until it goes darker pink, then almost red. Only then do I step back out, towel myself off, then root through my closet until I find what I’m looking for.

Another work outfit. This time it’s a pair of old jeans from back when I used to actually paint, stained and spattered with evidence of those classes. I tug those on and add another old fraying T-shirt. Perfect work attire.

That done, I head into the kitchen and start to fry up some eggs.

Antonio wakes around the same time I start on the bacon. I can hear him in the bedroom, shuffling around for a little while, before he pads into the kitchen, stretching his arms so high over his head that the lower edge of his T-shirt rides up, grants me a peek at those washboard abs I ran my hands over yesterday.

My stomach tightens, and a little pulse of desire travels all the way down into my pussy. But I clench my jaw, turn away, and ignore it. “I’m ready to head in whenever you are,” I say, using a spatula to toss two of the eggs onto a plate, then adding a couple strips of bacon and passing it to him.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding about wanting to get in early and make up for lost time, huh?” He grins at me as he accepts the plate. “But where’s the fire?”

“No fire.” I finish plating my own breakfast, and then I sidle around my kitchen counter, taking a seat on the farthest stool away from his on purpose. As if putting counter space and miles of air between us will incentivize me to keep my hands to myself. Or make him do the same, whichever. “I’m just eager to get back to work. I shouldn’t have skipped it yesterday.”

“We’ve been over this, Selena,” he starts, but I raise a hand to cut him off.

“I appreciate you being understanding. But don’t worry. It won’t happen again.” I look down at my plate at those last words, because I can’t keep my gaze on his as I say them. Otherwise he’ll see how very badly I want it all to happen again—at least, the parts of yesterday where he showed up at my door and took me on a long walk down to the beach, or the part where we came stumbling back here hand in hand and he pinned me against that same door.

I finish eating without another word. When I finally look up, I notice Antonio doing the same, his forehead scrunched up as if in deep thought.

Good. At least he’s not trying to distract me this morning. Because god knows how easy it is for him to accomplish that, whenever he sets his mind to it.

I stick the dishes in the sink and wash them off while Antonio goes to pop into the shower. By the time he’s finished and redressed, I’m already standing next to the door, my purse over my shoulder. “Let’s get a move on,” I say, and he trails me out of the apartment, frowning a little.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re just eager to get this over with,” he jokes.

When I don’t respond, his frown deepens. But he leads me out to the parking lot anyway, the one attached to my apartment complex where he left his car parked overnight. My breath hitches when I see it, even though it’s not the car we’ve been working on. Even though I managed to get the Uber home from the garage itself two days ago all right. But that was two days ago, and I’ve been avoiding cars since then, and this time it’s not an Uber, I’ll have to sit in the front seat, and it’s someone I know so I can’t just shut my eyes and pray under my breath the whole time.

My whole body freezes up.

I catch Antonio watching, and I force a faint smile. It grows a little stronger and steadier, the longer I keep that smile plastered to my lips. “Well, come on,” I say, heading around his car to the passenger side. Faking a bravado I don’t feel.