“Baby…” he moaned drunkenly. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. I was fine. He was between my legs with his hands on my thighs. The air crackled between us. His hands drifted up to my big belly and I saw the torment in his face as he looked at it. His fingers slid over the roundness and he stared as if he was mesmerized by it.
“It’s my baby,” he whispered. He lifted his eyes and they focused on mine. “And you’re my girl.”
In that moment, I wished that were true. More than anything in the world.
But the simple truth was, he was wrong.
CALEB
I woke up in a world of pain.
Jesus Christ.
I sat up and squinted. I was in the studio, on the couch, a painful pulse rocketing through my skull. Across the room, an empty bottle of bourbon lay on its side on my desk. I couldn’t remember fuck all about the night before, and I had a fair suspicion that empty bottle had something to do with it. I stood up but had to pause and wait for the wave of nausea to pass before heading out of my office and down the hall to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, I splashed water on my face, rinsed the stale taste of the night before out of my mouth, and took a moment for the dust to settle in my head. I looked at the mess looking back at me from the mirror. Bloodshot, tired eyes. Stubble. Messy hair. I was a wreck.
Last night was a mystery. But as I stood there, bits and pieces began to shift and move into place. Led Zeppelin on the stereo. A bottle of bourbon in my hand. The portrait of Honey in my sketchbook. Pandora turning up and telling me—
My head shot up.
—she was in love with me. Her straddling my lap and rubbing herself against me. Her grabbing my hand and shoving it into her wet, shaven pussy.
I straightened, feeling unsettled by the memory. All this time Pandora was the one sending me those gifts and carrying on like a psycho. The decapitated doll heads. Breaking into Honey’s apartment.
It didn’t make sense.
I looked at my watch. It was ten past eight. She would be arriving to work any minute and I needed to confront her and put an end to this behavior straight away.
As if on cue, I heard the key in the lock and the front door open. I splashed more water on my face and ran a wet hand through my hair, desperate to waken up and control the thumping pulse in my head before facing my secret admirer.
Pandora was at her desk when I walked in, her dress tight, her hair perfect, her makeup immaculate. She looked like the perfectly put-together ice queen she’d always been, except her shoulders were slightly slumped, and her expression was sad as she put items from her desk into the box on her chair. When she heard me walk in, I saw her skin flush and her eyes fill with tears. I wasn’t used to seeing her look so contrite, so… humiliated, and the empathy I felt for her caught me off guard.
We stood across the room from one another. An awkwardness hung in the space between us as I looked at her and she pretended not to notice I was there.
“We need to talk about last night,” I said hoarsely.
She looked up and dragged her white teeth over her bottom lip. “I don’t know what to say. I’m so embarrassed. I suppose you want me gone straight away.”
I felt sorry for her. I was prepared to be angry. Prepared to fire her on the spot for what she’d done—not for hitting on me, but for sending Honey the doll heads and for breaking into our apartment. But seeing her standing there looking nothing like the confident, outgoing woman I knew her to be, it tugged at my heartstrings and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She would have to go. But I wasn’t going to throw her out on her ass. Years of loyalty demanded a kinder tactic.
“What happened, Pandora? I thought you were in love with Roger?”
“I am.” Her chin quivered and she couldn’t look me in the eye. “I just love you more.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“That’s the thing, Caleb. I do.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d known Pandora for years. She was always the tough-talking ball breaker, the one who could handle a room full of foul-mouthed, uncouth bikers with one look.
She was only ever a friend.
And despite her love of the unusual, I never picked her to be a psychopath.
I sighed and dropped the anger as I approached her. “I could live for a million years and I would never have seen this coming. You know I care about you—”