“Mm-hm,” she hummed, and somehow ithurt. “I’ve just never seen you hold someone like that.” She paused, as if for dramatic effect. “Not even that one woman who convinced you to marry her, Anse.”
I buried my face in my hands.
“She must be special.”
I pressed a hand over my face. “Yeah. It was a nice event.”
“Oh, stop. You’re blushing, I canhearit.” A brief pause. “Tell me about her.”
I swallowed. My throat was dry. “She, uh… her name’s Juniper.”
“Pretty name. You looked like youreallylike her.”
I laughed. A little too loud. “I — yeah. She’s great.”
Another beat of silence. Then, sweetly, “You look smitten, honey.”
I said nothing. Just lay back on my bed, trying to breathe through the visual of Juniper's hips rocking against mine, her mouth open, that little gasp in my ear —
“I’m happy for you,” Mom said gently. “You’ve always been such a romantic.”
I nearly choked. I’m too fucking old for this.
“Anyway,” she went on, blissfully oblivious to my slow, aching demise, “just wanted to say hi. You should bring her by sometime. I’d love to meet the girl who made you lookthatdreamy.”
“Sure,” I said faintly. “Someday.”
My dick twitched justthinkingabout Juniper. About her smile, her laugh, the terribleterribleglint in her eyes when she’s won.
My entirebeingtwitched.
I was going to die.
CHAPTER 22
Iwoke up grinning.
Like stupidly grinning. Cheeks-hurt, pillow-bitten, teen-girl-in-a-romcomgrinning.
Because last night? Oh, last night had been…fun.
I stretched, luxuriating in the ache of muscles that I haddefinitelyput to use. Not for swimming. Not really. Forwrithing.Forgrinding.For ruining Ansel Barlowe in the most deliciously gentle, chlorine-scented way.
He’d lookedwrecked.Properly flushed and frantic and trying so hard to pretend he wasn’t falling apart from the inside out. He’d actually hissed when I’d brought him water.Like a feral cat.
I hummed to myself as I padded into the kitchen, pulling my curls into a high, wild knot. I poured coffee, opened my phone, and grinned as I typed:
We should talk about yesterday…
Sent.
And then? Nothing.
I didn’t send another. Didn’t clarify. Didn’t check if it even delivered.
In fact, I tossed my phone onto the couch, flipped on a documentary about haunted theme parks, and settled in with my mug like a smug little demon. Let himspiral.Let him sit with it. Let him spend the whole day wonderingwhatI meant by that — byanyof it.
I wasn’t ghosting him, exactly. I just… needed a minute.
