Page 81 of Caught from Behind

My anger fades.

My guilt boils over.

He heard the vitriol that proves I’m a shitty person.

That I’m?—

“I need to go,” he whispers, crouching and picking up the bottle of shampoo that exploded when he dropped it. “I’ll get a towel and clean this up and then I need to go.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

“Kit,” I say, moving toward him, bending to help him clean up the mess. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I just…I’m really in a messed up place, and?—”

He shifts away from me. “I need to go.”

Fuck.

I reach for his hand, not surprised when he jerks it out of reach, when he slides back so I can’t touch him.

I deserve that.

I deserve so much more than that.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“I need to go,” he says again.

Tears are flooding my vision as guilt slices through my middle over and over again. One burst of pain after another until I’m ready to beg the universe to intervene again, if only to help me feel nothing at all.

“Go,” I tell him softly. “I’ll clean this up. Just…do what you need to do.”

He doesn’t look at me when he nods, but I don’t miss the tear sliding down his cheek, don’t miss the way his shoulders have curled in on themselves, don’t miss the ravaged expression when Nova takes his arm and guides him toward the door. “I’ll drive you home,” she murmurs, pausing on the threshold and looking over at me. “I’ll be back,” she says quietly.

I nod, but I’m already on my feet and heading for the storeroom.

Grabbing a towel and quickly disposing of the mess.

I ring up the bottle and pay for it, and then I spend the next fifteen minutes canceling and rebooking my clients, and somehow doing it with an even tone and plenty of apologies.

I manage to do all of that before Nova returns.

Which means that I’m able to make a clean getaway when I turn off my phone and leave the salon.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Riggs

The last thing I want to be doing is stripping naked with a bunch of dudes.

If I had a nickel for as much dick as I’ve seen in my life—mine excluded—my retirement account would floweth over.

But that’s the job, spending far too much time with other dudes, bonding over stupid shit, pulling stupid pranks, and then going to bed alone.

Or going to bed with someone but then waking up alone.

I went to the salon earlier, found it empty—no sign of Kit or Nova, though one of the stylists working had been nice enough to tell me she didn’t have any clients booked for the day.

Something that would have been enough to make me worry even if I already hadn’t been near panic because of last night’s little shit show.

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