Chapter Twelve
Silas
She’s trying to kill me.
It’s the only explanation for why she’s walking around in goat-printed white booty shorts and a pink braless tank while cleaning at eleven o’clock on a Friday night.
It’s taking every ounce of willpower not to stare and memorize every inch of her curves. She’s always been gorgeous but living with her these past two weeks and getting to know her again has stirred up those feelings I tried so hard to bury after we stopped talking.
I should ignore them considering we’re roommates and employee relations are prohibited, but it’s impossible when she makes me feel alive again after the past two years of feeling like I wasn’t enough. And if I’m reading her correctly, she’s fighting them too.
Bickering and taunting each other has helped me deal with the break-up and not dwell on the initial shock and pain. I’ve gone through whole days without thinking about Aundrea.
That never would’ve happened if Posey wasn’t distracting me with her house ghost and ridiculous yoga classes.
She’s picking up the pieces without even realizing she’s doing it. Instead of pitying me, she’s reminding me I deserve better and helping me start over without shame.
I find her in the bathroom and shout over the music she’s been blaring. “Posey, do you think we could turn that down a little?”
She’s on her hands and knees, scrubbing the shower floor with a fierceness I haven’t seen from her before. With an intense glare over her shoulder, I clamp my mouth closed.
Okay so…angry Posey likes to clean to loud rock music. Noted.
I walk away so my eyes don’t linger on her ass and stay out of her way.
Once I’m in my room, I strip out of my clothes and get under the covers, trying to think of what she could be this upset about.
I’m not sure what happened while I was gone, but I’m afraid to ask at this point. She was fine before I left.
After work, I showered and drove into town to look at an apartment listing that Warren told me about since he knows the landlord.
Then per my sisters’ demands, I met up with them for dinner at the Willow Branch Grill.
They’re still worried about me since tomorrow’s the day I was supposed to get married, but I’m honestly doing much better than I thought I’d be.
We ended up walking to one of the bars and having a few drinks, which is why I got home late. It was nice to chat and catch up without our mother interfering, but I’ll see her in a few days.
When I got home, Posey was already in her aggressive cleaning mode. I was tempted to ask if it was something I did or about what happened this past week but she didn’t seem to be in the talking mood.
After making me suffer through two yoga classes this week, videos of me half-naked surfaced on social media with the background sounds of a cat purring and other trending music with sexual innuendos.
She was less than amused when I showed her the comments of thirsty middle-aged women saying they wished they were a baby goat so they could climb me too.
Even though she purposely put me in hard positions, she blames me for removing my shirt when she told me not to, but I couldn’t help it. The humidity and heat were excruciating—mix in the poses she was making me do, and I couldn’t bear it any longer.
Even though Mila returned on Thursday to run the class, Posey volunteered me to keep demonstrating, and I once again removed my shirt when it got too hot—so honestly, she’s the one to blame for making me participate.
It’s not my fault someone recorded me without permission but she should be glad that it brought more attention to their goat yoga classes. The next several weeks are already booked out.
Warren’s been giving me shit about it, as are my sisters, but now they’re determined more than ever to find me a girlfriend.
Although I’ve been talking to Jamie and we’re getting along fine, I feel nothing besides friendship toward her. She’s beautiful and funny, and I’m sure she’d make a great partner—to someone else. I have a suspicion that kissing her would be like kissing my grandma.
Still, I’m going through with our double date for Posey’s sake. She won’t go out with Jackson on her own, but hopefully they’ll hit it off enough that they’ll make a second date.
Even if the thought of them together makes me sick to my stomach, it’d be good for her to find someone who treats her right and makes her happy. The guys she’s dated in the past have been residents of a flaming trash bin floating down a river.
When a loud commotion followed by a slew of curse words grabs my attention, I jump out of bed. The music’s no longer damaging my ear drum but there’s a mess of shattered glass on the kitchen floor.
“Shit, are you okay?” I kneel to where she’s picking up the pieces. “Let me do this. I’ll sweep it up.”
She groans, clearly frustrated and annoyed with herself. “It’s fine. I’ll do it.”
“I can help.”
When our eyes meet, there’s a fire behind hers, and I swallow hard at the way she’s looking at me. But then hers lowers down my body, and I remember I’m only in my boxer briefs.
My gaze drops to her finger.
“Posey, you’re bleedin’.” I grab her wrist and hold up her hand before more blood drips on the floor.
“I’m fine,” she insists. “The vase slipped and sliced me.”
Not wanting to risk her stepping on the glass, I lift her up and set her down on the other side of the island.
“Silas!” she squeals.
“Where’s your first aid kit?”
“Under the sink in my bathroom.”
“Stay here,” I order. “And keep your arm up.”
She sighs. “You’re overreactin’.”
Ignoring her, I rush to grab it.
“It’s really not that bad,” she insists when I return.
“Better to clean it and make sure no glass got inside,” I tell her. “Don’t wanna risk it gettin’ infected.”
Grabbing one of the antiseptic wipes, I rub it over the open cut that’s just below her knuckle before adding a little cream. Then I open a Band-Aid and wrap it around her finger. Once it’s secure, I bring it to my mouth and kiss it.
“There, all better.” I wink, then toss out the trash.
“Thanks, Dr. City Boy.”
I snort, unable to stop my smile at her unamused tone even though her breathing picked up when I pressed my lips to her finger.
“Wanna tell me what made you so upset in the first place?” I stand against the counter across from her.
“No…” She lowers her gaze to her hands in her lap. “It’s too embarrassin’.”
“Well, now I definitely wanna know. Is it about those videos and comments?” They shouldn’t bother her this much, but I can’t figure out what else it’d be.
She folds her arms and the movement pushes her breasts up, tempting me to look, but I don’t. “No, although now I gotta ban cell phones durin’ class. It’s gettin’ outta hand.”
“It was your idea to make me demonstrate.”
“Not half naked!”
“You’re basically half-naked there too.”
She rolls her eyes because we’ve already had this argument. She’ll say it’s different because it’s all women there and being the only guy meant I should’ve stayed clothed.
“If it’s not that, then what is it? Maybe I can help.”
She scratches behind her ear and fidgets with her earring. “I’m havin’…a woman issue.”
“Like what? You have your period?”
“No.” She blows out a breath. “While you were gone, I decided to participate in some self-care in the tub with one of my vibrators. And it wasn’t workin’.”
“The batteries died?”
“No!” Her cheeks flush while she looks everywhere except at me.
“I’ve always been able to finish on my own.
Either my fingers or a toy, even if it took a while, I could always get there.
But tonight, I-I just couldn’t and it pissed me off ’cause I feel more broken than usual.
It’s bad enough guys get mad about it, but how can I go on dates knowin’ they’re eventually gonna be disappointed? ”
The stress lines between her eyes are evident and her nostrils flare as she speaks.
“It’s completely normal to struggle when you’re already tense. You gotta be in the right headspace, too. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
I try to sound as sincere as possible because I appreciate how open and honest she is although she’s embarrassed about it.
“It’s hard not to when it’s already somethin’ I’m insecure about and now it’s all I’m gonna think about the next time I’m with someone.”
My jaw twitches at that thought, but I push it away.
“If it makes you feel any better, guys go through the same thing. We get insecure about performin’.”
“But y’all always finish, don’t ya?” She pins me with a knowing stare, daring me to argue.
“So…you rage clean to deal with your emotions?” I ask, genuinely wanting to know so I’m aware for next time.
She narrows her eyes.
“Not usually, but I’m sexually frustrated and it’s your fault, so yes, I was tryin’ to work through it by stayin’ busy since I couldn’t sleep.”
“Wait, what?” I point to my chest. “My fault?”
“Yes.” She crosses her legs, but I’m tempted to stand between them and demand answers.
“I don’t see how that’s possible.” I’ve stayed within her friendship-only rules.
“My vibrator used to do the trick but ever since your little I’m not vanilla speech in my ear the other day, nothing is workin’, and it’s like being edged over and over with no finish line in sight.”
I try not to laugh out of respect for her problem but I can’t help it. She’s seriously blaming me for this?
“It’s not funny!” She jumps off the island, closes the gap between us, and pushes against my bare chest. “It’s one thing when a guy can’t make you finish, but it’s torture when you can’t do it yourself.”
“And it’s my fault ’cause of what I said?”
“Yes ’cause you said things that my vibrator can’t replicate and my brain is no longer satisfied with a little buzz buzz action…now it needs words in my ear to get me there.”
“That’s ’cause you like being talked through it…and praised. I coulda told ya that.” I smirk, leaning back with my arms and ankles crossed. “And I assume your exes didn’t but now you’ve re-discovered that part of yourself.”