Crap. Please don’t be broken. That feels like bad karma on top of already questionable decisions.
The screen lights up. Silent. A text comes in.
From Lydia.
Who the hell is Lydia?
The message is short. Need you now.
Two cookie emojis.
Two.
Is that code for boobs?
Because it feels like code for boobs.
Dread slams into my gut. I mean, it’s not like Harrison Evans and I are exclusive, but still.
And I’m not sure what I expected from the king of condoms, but a come get your cookies summons sure as hell wasn’t it.
For God’s sake, it’s not even dawn.
Ugh. Just the thought of him with another woman?—
Nope. Absolutely not. Do not go there.
He isn’t yours, Ava.
So why does it hurt like he is?
I take a breath, shove my stupid feelings aside, and resist the urge to toss his phone straight into the fire.
I’ve got to get out of here.
I ease out the door and start down the path. Instantly, my footing slips out from under me.
I land on my ass.
Ow.
Because apparently, the universe feels the need to kick a girl when she’s already down.
I scan the path. No wonder I barely survived the walk up. Damp stone and icy dew coat every inch, a quiet little obstacle course for the tragically uncoordinated.
Determined, I push myself up, careful this time.
And immediately slip again. “Argh!”
“Going somewhere, Pix?”
Oh, no.
This is very much not the conversation I need right now.
Not while he’s shirtless in jeans, all broad shoulders and lickable abs while I’m scrambling to my feet like a newborn gazelle.
“Aren’t you cold?” I ask, as our breath fogs the air.
