I lean over the sink, look in the mirror and fight a sudden wave of nausea. What the fuck—I didn’t think I drank that much last night. I splash cold water on my face and try to take deep, cleansing breaths. A second later she’s standing in the bathroom doorway. She looks calm and unbothered. I guess that’s a good thing.
“I’ll walk you out,” I offer and she nods.
She’s carrying her heels in her hand and when we reach the front hall, I open the door as she slips them on. She smiles and I try to smile back. I must look as incredibly awkward as I feel, but she leans in and hugs me anyway. I wrap an arm around her waist; my other hand stays on the door handle, gripping it so tightly that my knuckles are white.
“Last night was fun,” I offer lamely.
She nods, her hair brushing my cheek, and then she pulls back and presses a piece of paper into my free hand. “Let me know if you want to do it again sometime.”
“Will do,” I reply.
Thankfully, she leaves. I lock the door behind her and slowly head back up the stairs. When I get back to my room, I close the door, drop the piece of paper on the dresser and strip off my clothes as I walk to the bathroom. I turn on all the jets in the shower—the ones in the wall and the rain head above—and make it as hot as possible without scalding myself before stepping inside.
What the fuck did I just do?
I wasn’t into one-night stands even before I got married. That incredible but crazy moment in the barn with Callie was the closest I’d ever come to random, no-strings-attached sex. I know Jordan had done it—a lot. And Luc even made a relationship out of “just sex” with that model ex of his, but it just wasn’t something I ever wanted. It still isn’t, so why the fuck did I do it?
The fact that I don’t feel completely horrible about it is what makes it worse. It actually felt kind of incredible. Damn, I missed fucking. I missed orgasms that didn’t come from my hand. Ashleigh and I had sex once in the last seven months. But now I feel like it made me just like Ashleigh. All those horrible words I had called her over the last week apply to me too now. My stomach lurches and I place my hand flat on the marble wall as I hunch forward and puke onto the shower floor.
Chapter 12
Callie
Iskitter to a halt on the dark granite floor in the kitchen. Devin turns slowly from his seat at the kitchen island and gives me a half smile. He’s in jeans, no shirt and bare feet. I allow my eyes a moment to slide down his sculpted shoulders, rippled stomach and then linger on his dark blond happy trail. A ripple of desire skids down my spine and pools below my belly. Fuck, he’s sexy as hell, even all fucked up like he clearly is now.
“It’s seven in the morning. What are you doing up?” My eyes dart around the room looking for the source of the animal noises last night. Either she left or she’s still asleep in his bed. He looks a little sick.
“What are you looking for?” he asks me tentatively.
I shrug and make my way around the breakfast bar to the counter by the window, next to the stove. I pull two bananas and some apples out of the fruit bowl I filled yesterday and then head to the fridge and dig out grapes and the big tub of fat-free vanilla Greek yogurt. Then I grab the cutting board and head back to the breakfast bar and sit down beside him.
“I didn’t know we had fruit,” he murmurs, sipping his glass of water.
“We didn’t,” I reply, and start coring and chopping the fruit. “So I bought some—and some other essentials.”
“Oh.”
“So you never answered me,” I remind him casually. “Why are you up so early?”
He’s silent so I give him a sideways glance. His hazel eyes find mine and immediately look away. I guess he wouldn’t be Devin if he weren’t wracked with guilt, I think to myself and almost smile sadly.
“I couldn’t sleep,” he mutters and swallows more water.
I nod and finish chopping the fruit, then hop off the chair and walk over to the cupboard to grab a bowl. I swing by the pantry and grab the low-fat granola mix I also bought.
“I thought you’d be exhausted after last night’s workout,” I say simply as I scoop some yogurt into the bowl.
“WHAT?” he sputters, and I don’t have to look at him to know he looks horrified.
“Is she still upstairs sleeping it off or did you give her the boot?” I glance at him just long enough to give him a soft smile.
“She’s gone.” His voice is sheepish and slightly sad.
“Was she walking like she’d ridden a horse for four days?” I joke and wink at him as I pour some granola into the bowl on top of the yogurt. “Because your cock looks even bigger than it did when I was seventeen and it sounded like you were really giving it to her.”
“Holy fuck, Callie! Seriously?!” The words rush from him in an embarrassed whisper. I stare at him. His face starts turning crimson and he covers it with his hands, leaning his elbows on the black granite counter in front of him.
“And you were eighteen, not seventeen,” he reminds me through his hands.
