Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
I wake with a stretch, my limbs jutting into the cold, empty space beside me.
Normally, my lonely bed is not somewhere I care to linger, but I’m reluctant to open my eyes and leave such wonderful dreams behind.
The melancholy chorus of a Taylor Swift song flits through the back of my brain as I try to register what day it is—Sunday?
I have an interview to prepare for about the rise in graffiti art downtown, I need to order groceries, and .
. . something I’m forgetting. But when I blink my eyes open to find a shirtless, broody man staring out my window, I remember exactly what it is.
“Oh—”
I draw the sheets up over my naked form, going from zero to fully conscious as all the intimate details of last night flood back to my mind.
The storm. Rufus. The dead bouquet. Drew.
My cheeks warm as I study his tousled dark hair and glasses in the early morning light, and a pulse of desire echoes between my legs.
I drag the sheets with me across the bed, needing to be in his arms again, wrapped up where I was warm and safe.
“Good morning,” I say, leaning into his chest, breathing in the scent of bare skin and sex.
He doesn’t speak, just cups the nape of my neck in one big hand, pulling me close. There’s something urgent in the way he holds me, something careless, and I trail my fingers down his spine, relishing the way he shivers in response.
“Do you need to rush off, or can I convince you to stay?” I murmur.
He still doesn’t answer. And now my senses are perking up, taking in the rigidness of his posture even while our skin feels ready to ignite. I wait a full minute, watching the light change on his face as the sun fades behind a cloud.
“Drew?”
“This was a mistake,” he finally whispers.
A thick, familiar feeling creeps into my throat. I attempt to ignore it, sliding my hand down his torso. “I don’t think that’s a word I’d use to describe multiple orgasms. Maybe one more would change your—”
He closes a hand around my wrist—if I’m not mistaken, the one with the talented thumb. “This was wrong. We should never have done it.”
I blink at his words, but now I’m the one who can’t look him in the eye. “You . . . you didn’t have a good time?”
He pulls back, his gaze raking over my body as if there’s no sheet between us at all. “You know that’s not what I’m talking about.”
“No, actually, I don’t.” I step back, watching the lust fade from his eyes. And something fragments inside me. Because all I want to do is touch him again. “We’re two consenting adults. We had fun together. What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong,” he says, dragging a hand over his face, “Is that I slept with my brother’s fiancée.”
His words hit me like a slap. Like I’m being accused of something.
“But Kyle—”
“Is dead.” He glares at me. “So that makes it okay?”
“No, that’s not what . . .” I trail off when I realize that even now, I crave his touch. I want him back inside me—I want that feeling. Like he’d made me whole again.
It was like I’d come home.
But now my throat goes dry. Because is it Drew I crave? Or have I been trying to channel a ghost?
Drew rakes his hand through his hair and steps away. Leaving me by the window, staring at the still-pink sky. He pulls on his jeans and the sweatshirt that was always his. When he speaks again, his voice comes out low and broken.
“I just wanted to ensure everything Kyle loved was cared for. He loved Rufus. He loved you. I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to what?” I say sharply, folding my arms to protect myself from the pain in my chest. “It was just sex, Drew.”
His face darkens. He crosses the room in three strides, coming so close I have to tilt my chin up to look at him. We aren’t touching, but we will be if I so much as breathe. Then he leans down, eyes like embers as he whispers, “Was it, Caprice?”
I open my mouth.
But no sound comes.
He pulls away, and immediately the air cools. I watch as he jams his feet into his shoes, then picks up his backpack and keys. Rufus peeks his head over the couch, tail slapping against the ruined cushion when he sees us. Ready for breakfast and a walk.
I ball my fists.
“So, what does this mean?” I ask, voice low and controlled. “Because Kyle isn’t here to love, we’re all just supposed to suffer?”
Drew pauses on his way to the door, but doesn’t answer. I look at the dog, staring at me with those golden eyes, like some window straight to my broken heart.
And what’s left of it ices over.
“You know what?” I say, not giving myself time to think. “If that’s the case, you’d better take the dog with you.”
At this, Drew turns and looks at me. “I don’t want—”
“No.” I stop him. “We’re not thinking about what we want, we’re thinking about Kyle.
” I pick up the leash, the food bowl, and some random toys, piling them into Drew’s arms. “Kyle clearly wanted to punish me. He knew I loved him, so he abandoned me. He knew I hated dogs, so he fucking willed me one. He probably knew I’d care about you, so—” My voice gives out as hot, fat tears break free down my cheeks.
“Caprice—”
I pull away, whispering. “Just take him. You got what you wanted, Drew.”
Out the window in front of me, the mountains glow with golden morning light.
I wish it were still dark and raining and less dawn of a new day, but I’d rather suffer the beauty than risk looking at the man or dog behind me.
Drew says nothing, but after a moment I hear him moving around.
My throat closes up when I recognize the rattle of Rufus’s tags as he jumps off the couch.
The light click of his leash being clipped to his collar.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the sound of my door opening, two sets of feet passing through it.
And finally, when it clicks closed, all the air is sucked out of my chest.
I turn to face my empty apartment, with its giant dog crate, half-eaten couch, and half-assembled obstacle course. And me, standing alone, clinging to a sheet still fresh with sex and longing.
I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my body, trying to hold myself together.
The pieces of my heart broken three times over.