Chapter 5
Asshole
WINONA
“Asshole.” I’d whispered the word as I sped through that grim forest, toward an already-open gate. I could have finished that job in five minutes if he hadn’t been such a dick. I wouldn’t have asked for more money.
I replayed the interaction with Mitchell William Franklin Harrington (I sneered his name every time I thought it). I kept seeing different parts of it. Coming up with better comebacks. Hating that I was still thinking about it and trying to understand why I even cared.
“Asshole,” I whispered to myself two nights later as the words blurred on the name registration form I’d been filling out.
I rubbed my burning eyes. I’d stayed up too late, not wanting a repeat of the night before.
He’d ruined the whole day yesterday. I even missed a call from Calvin because I’d been outside furiously mowing the lawn, shoving the machine around like it had been the one to so deeply offend me.
“Asshole,” I said out loud the following night when I dipped lower into the bubble bath I'd poured when I couldn’t sleep. Only my face was above the surface, the rest of me consumed by scalding water.
I’d had plenty of interactions with assholes. Of all stripes. Of all backgrounds.
None had affected me like this.
But that night was the very worst.
Because in the dark, with the scent and slickness of my bath oil floating around me, I thought about how his demeanor had shifted completely when he saw I was about to cry.
I rolled that back a thousand times, trying to find some fault in the way he’d reacted in that moment.But all I could see was that he wasn’t scared of my tears the way some men are.
He didn’t act like I was crazy. He knew he was the source of my distress, and he’d acted swiftly to make me feel safe.
The fact that he’d seen that at all was disturbing. I was good at hiding my emotions. Or so I thought. But this stranger had seen right through me.
While pondering this, my hands drifted over my floating body, grazing the softness between my legs.
My breath echoed through the steamy room when I paused there, pressing a pulse against my center.
And in my mind, I saw a robe that had opened up just a little too wide, the soft layer of dark hair peeking through underneath.
I saw an unexpected sharpness in the muscles below.
I saw a face duck smoothly as a wrench sailed past; heard the way his hand had caught the flashlight with a hard slap.
I sat up with a splatter.
Was I actually going to touch myself thinking of this absolute asshole?
Cher was right. I needed to get laid.
“Asshole,” I whispered, yanking out the plug. I stepped out of the bath, jerking a towel from the shelf, furious this time only at myself.