Page 60 of Fire in You

“Holy shit,” I gasped. “Holy shit.”

I was never drinking again.

Ever.

Like fucking for real, I could not be trusted with alcohol.

“Okay,” I whispered to myself. “Okay. Focus, Jillian.”

He was still out there. I was going to have to face him. I had no idea how, because I had no idea how to look someone in the eye after practically molesting them while they slept.

I mean, when he woke up he seemed to be a willing partner, but still, this was going to be awkward, so awkward.

Turning on the faucet, I cupped the water and splashed it over my face. When I lifted my head, my face was still hot. What was I going to do? I slicked my hair back with wet hands, fighting the urge to sit down and have a really good cry.

Heavy footsteps sounded out in the hall, and I pushed away from the sink, quickly locking the door. Then I stared at it, holding my breath.

“Jillian?” Brock’s voice was rough with sleep, and I turned my head so my left ear was to the door. “Are you in there?”

Clasping my hands together, I mulled over what to do.

“I hope so,” he continued. “Because your cat is staring at me like he wants to be fed, and I feel like if I feed your cat, I’m crossing some kind of line,” he added with a laugh.

That was crossing a line? Pretty sure riding his leg and then his hand in a drunken stupor was crossing a line.

“Jilly,” he called again.

I had to answer. “I’m . . . I’m in here.”

There was a stretch of silence. “Are you okay?”

No. No I was not. “Sure.”

“Do you need anything?”

“No.” Then hope sprung alive, because maybe, just maybe, I could get him to leave. “I’ll be fine. You can go ahead and leave.”

“What?”

Sliding my hands over my hair, I tugged on the ends. “Thank you for driving me home last night and making sure I got in okay. I really appreciate it. I’ll—I’ll see you on Monday.”

There was another patch of silence, and I strained to hear what he was doing out in the hall. I thought I heard Rhage meow pitifully somewhere.

“Jillian,” he said my name, and this time there was no lightness or teasing to his tone. “Come out here.”

I scrunched up my nose. “No, thanks.”

“Jillian.”

“Seriously, I’ll see you on Monday—”

“You are not going to hide in the damn bathroom,” he cut in. “You’re going to open this door and come out here and talk to me.”

Yeah, that was not going to happen, and when I didn’t respond, I saw the knob turn.

Brock cursed. “Jillian, come on.”

Nope.

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