K.I WON’T TELL YOU
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NOT WAT I MEANT ANDYOU NO IT
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If the typos were anyindication, I’d succeeded in getting under his skin at least a little.
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YOU’RE A LAWYER.YOUOUGHT TO BE BETTER AT COMMUNICATING.
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The pause before myphone vibrated was so long I’d almost convinced myself he’d given up.
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IDO NOT WANT YOU TOHAVE ORGASMS WITH ANYONE ELSE.
NOT OPEN FOR NEGOTIATION.HARD LIMIT.
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His commander-in-chieftone would have pissed me off if I wasn’t so sure I’d riled him.That was still no reason to let him get away with it.
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IDON’T WANT TO SPENDTHE REST OF THE DAY CLEANING MY APARTMENT.DUST BUNNIES DON’T CARE ABOUT THE LIMITS HARD OR OTHERWISE.SAYING A THING DOESN’T MAKE IT SO.
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DON’T TEST ME, KITTEN
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Again with the kittenthing.Yeesh, I ought to accuse him of being some kind of crazy cat man.I was working out how to phrase it for the maximum amount of burn (and actively ignoring the way my pulse kicked up whenever he said it because I wasn’t anybody’s pet) when I shifted on my seat and almost fell off the stool.I overcorrected and had to grip the counter to stop from landing on my ass and put a sizeable dent in my smoothie cup.Taking it as a sign not to poke the sleeping tiger, rile Nicholson, or tempt karma in any other way where Jensen was concerned, I ditched the cup and shoved my phone back in the handy pouch without responding.
I got out of the club as fast as my abused legs could carry me.The last thing I needed was an overzealous personal trainer catching me on the way out to try to schedule more weight-induced torture.I needed food you had to chew.Smoothies were beverages, not meals, and I hadn’t been lying to Erik when I said I had to clean my apartment.I wasn’t obsessive about it, at least not in a clinical way, but I needed to keep my spaces orderly.My life worked better that way.
I lived in an older building just outside the district, a couple of blocks from my studio.With its cast-iron railings and long plantation shutters, I’d fallen in love with the place the first time I saw it.It was so unlike where I’d grown up and practically oozed Creole charm.It was also dusty, a little cramped, and it went from charming to hovel fast if I didn’t stay on top of it.I’d been so preoccupied with the threat of the lawsuit and work worries, it had been too long since I’d given it a good cleaning.I could probably write notes to myself in the layer of dust on the old dresser I used as a hall table.
Technically the gym was in walking distance of my place.Walking was the one exercise I didn’t normally shun but given the way my legs felt after all the lifts the polo-clad drill sergeant made me do, I figured I’d be dragging myself the last few blocks to my apartment if I tried to walk, so I splurged on an Uber.Erik hadn’t sent another text, and I spent way too much time rationalizing in my head the fact that there was nothing for him to respond to since I hadn’t replied to his last one and I didn’t care anyway.Lies, all of it, but there was a reason denial was a thing.
Sometimes the best way to preserve mental health was to avoid looking too closely at things.Okay, that was a total crock of shit and I knew it but it didn’t stop me from using it to quiet thewhat’s Erik thinking/who’s he doingwhirlwind blowing through my head.I hated it when women spent all their time thinking about men.The last thing I wanted to do was become one of them.Iowned my power, not some guy with an exceptional ass and the kind of mind that took sparring to a new, sexier level.
I made a quick stop at the bakery on Bienville.They didn’t have a storefront.The bulk of their business was supplying bread for po ’boys to local restaurants, but if you knew which door to bang on, they’d sell a loaf or two if they had leftovers.Leftover bread from the bakery was better than any bread I’d ever had before I moved to New Orleans.Crusty on the outside and lighter than air on the inside.My mouth started to water, thinking about it.I didn’t have to knock on the ancient painted wood door.It was open when I got there.I handed the older man standing in the shadow of the doorway a couple of dollars and he handed me a paper-wrapped loaf like some kind of clandestine yeasty drug trade.
Clutching my score to my chest so I wouldn’t be tempted to rip it open and shove chunks of the crusty deliciousness into my mouth while I was still out on the street, I hobbled the last half a block to my apartment.I climbed the narrow wooden stairs to the second floor, certain my legs would give out any minute and I’d be left sprawled in the stairwell with nothing to sustain me but a loaf of bread until one of my neighbors took pity on me and called for help.
I heard bumping and what sounded like furniture being dragged over the floor above.Mr.Roulaine lived in the only other apartment on my floor.He was every bit of seventy, and I hated the idea of him trying to move furniture by himself.The idea of the sweet old man dropping from a heart attack gave me a second wind, and I managed to hoist myself the last few steps to the top of the stairs.I glanced from his closed door to mine and back again.
The noise was coming from my apartment, which didn’t make any sense at all.I stood in the hallway close enough to the top of the steps to make a run for it—controlled fall would be more like it—if I needed to, and tried to figure out what to do.I’d never been one of those women who hear a noise in the creepy basement and go investigate.I was more of thewait outside on the porch for the cops to comekind of woman, but calling the police in this case felt like overkill.I clutched my bread, debating my next move when my apartment door opened, and a pleasant-looking woman emerged, carrying the biggest vacuum cleaner I’d ever seen.It looked like a jet engine with a handle and bag attached.
“Oh hello,” she said, pausing in her attempt to wrestle the vacuum to the top of the narrow flight of steps.“You must be Ms.Smithson.We’ll be finished up and out of your hair in just a minute.”
“I’m sorry.Who are you?Finished with what?”Maybe the post-workout endorphins were messing with me and I’d forgotten I’d invited a group of people to my apartment, but I didn’t think so.
