Chapter 9
SACHI
I have zero energy, and it has nothing to do with how much sleep I got, which wasn’t much.
Even a shower this morning did nothing to perk me up.
It took everything I had to run by the hotel and retrieve the bag I'd stashed away last night. I should be blissfully ecstatic about my multiple orgasms. I should be on the phone texting my friends all the details of my wild night, but instead, I’m hiding at home with my curtains drawn.
I’m not ready to share my night for multiple reasons.
First, I don’t want to tell my friends I slept with Dean—the man they know as Detective Malone. If I tell them about the sex but lie and say I never got the man’s name, they’ll demand to know why. It’s simply easier not to tell them about it at all.
Second, reliving the events only makes my heart hurt worse than it does already. The sooner I move on, the faster I’ll recover. Wallowing in the past, no matter how spectacular it was, will only bring me sorrow. To revel in the memory of the way I felt with Dean…
The spark.
The intensity.
The way he commanded my body like he knew exactly how to make it sing.
The way he manhandled me with such care.
I had no idea how incredible his brand of intimacy would make me feel, and now that I know, I’m not sure how to forget. Now I know what it’s like to truly connect with someone on another level physically.
I’ve tried all morning to reassure myself he’s not the only guy out there who knows how to make a woman scream. And that this sucky melancholy won’t last forever. It doesn’t do any good.
I feel like nothing will ever be okay again.
Dramatic?
Yes. Sue me.
Wrangling my turbulent emotions has been hard enough. The last thing I need is to tell the girls and have my spiraling doubts start from scratch.
What I fail to consider is the infallible intuition of a bestie.
When something is up with a soul sister, we know it in our guts.
That’s why Dani calls me and why I should have expected her call.
Instead, I’m so lost in my own head that I startle and spill water all over myself before answering the phone.
“Hey, how’s it going?” I try to sound normal, but my voice is deflated. Lifeless.
“I’m all good. I wanted to know about your night. How was it?”
“It was good. I danced a little, had champagne, then called it a night.”
Silence.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
Because you’re my best friend, and you know me.
“It’s nothing. I just have a bit of a stomachache this morning. Probably the champagne.”
“Well, that sucks, but I’m glad you had a good time!”
“Yeah,” I say wistfully. “What did you do last night?”
“I made Tommy watch The Holiday with me.” Her grin is somehow audible over the phone and manages to lift my spirits a fraction.
“And is it his new favorite movie ever?” I ask playfully.
“Oh, definitely,” she teases back. “Now, I have to watch Die Hard with him—that was the agreement.”
“Ah, yes. The not-Christmassy Christmas movie.”
“Indeed. Hey, before I forget, I also called to invite you to make Christmas cookies this afternoon at Amelie’s place. She’s baking now, so the cookies should be cooled and ready to decorate in a couple of hours.”
“That’s sweet of her!” I infuse as much enthusiasm in my voice as I can muster. It should come easily since I adore all things Christmas, but post-Dean, nothing has the same luster. “Does four o’clock work?”
“Yup. I told her Tommy and I would be around about that time, maybe a few minutes after.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you then.”
“Bye, babe.”
“Bye.”
I hang up and wonder when gravity in my apartment got so intense.
I feel like I can hardly hold myself upright, and I need to find a cure before I go to Amelie’s, or I’ll be in for an interrogation.
I considered using the fake stomachache as a reason to bow out of the decorating session, but the distraction will be good for me.
The sooner I get back on that horse, the sooner I’ll be ready to ride again.
My poorly chosen analogy brings to mind the vision of me straddling Dean.
His belt around my wrists.
The slap of his palm on my ass.
Lips like velvet tenderly kissing my temple.
Well, crap. Looks like it’s time to cry again.
Cucumber slices have done wonders for my puffy eyes, but I’m sure Dani will still notice once she gets here. Amelie may have already noted it when I arrived, but she was too kind to bring it up if she did.
“I was just mixing the last of the icing colors,” she says with a grin while I give her sweet dog a pet.
“Hey, Freya. You been a good girl?” I ask, wishing not for the first time that I had a dog or cat of my own. I lift my gaze back to Amelie and smile. “Thanks for doing this. The cookies smell delicious.”
The intoxicating aroma of butter and sugar permeates the air in her beautiful apartment.
The building is top-notch, and while her apartment is one of the smallest units, it’s large for Manhattan standards.
It was hers before she and Sante got married.
The two have boatloads of money, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they upgrade at some point, but her sister lives in the same building, so they’ve been content to stay.
“I’m just glad you could make it. I know this was last minute. The mood just struck, you know?”
“Absolutely, and I wasn’t doing anything else, so this is perfect.”
“Good. You get settled. I need to run to the restroom.” She sweeps gracefully toward the hallway. Amelie does everything gracefully since she’s a professional ballerina. She even sneezes gracefully.
Freya follows her. Where Amelie goes, Freya goes. They’re pretty adorable.
I’m about to head to the kitchen to peek at the cookies when a knock sounds at the door. It’s got to be Tommy and Dani. I spin back around and swing the door wide open, only to find Detective Dean Malone standing on the other side.
Time.
Stands.
Still.
He’s here. At Amelie’s apartment.
My shock is mirrored on his face. And what a beautiful face it is. He looks like a TikTok thirst trap in jeans and a snug cream-colored shirt, beneath a brown wool coat. And those eyes—they’re even bluer in the daylight, making them all the more cutting when they narrow with thunderous rage.
“The fuck?”