Page 75 of Killer Kiss

Water ran over my head and shoulders, the heat of it so pleasurable I wanted to sink down onto the tiles and stay there forever. But inevitably, the hot water ran out, and I dragged myself from the bathroom with a towel fitted around my waist. In my bedroom, I peered into the round mirror on the wall and shook my head at how bloodshot my eyes were still. My lungs ached, and I doubted I would be running a marathon anytime soon, but other than that, I was mostly unhurt.

A few scratches and a minor burn on one arm I hadn’t told anyone about because it wasn’t worth paying for medical treatment. I slapped some burn cream on it and wrapped it, not sure if that was the right protocol, but Willa wasn’t home to ask so it was going to have to do.

My chest tightened at the thought of the woman next door and how badly she’d been hurt. I glanced at the clock on my phone and tried calling the hospital again to get information on how she was, but was told she was in treatment, and they didn’t know anything yet.

I slammed my phone down on my dresser too hard, frustrated by the lack of information on the only mother figure I’d ever really had in my life. At least since the one who’d given birth to me had walked out all those years ago.

“Willa’s not going to die,” I muttered to my reflection. “Those burns weren’t that bad. She’ll have treatment, and scars, but she’ll come home.”

Except there was no home for her to come back to.

There would be no insurance that came in and built her some nice new place.

Shock punched me hard when I realized that even after she left the hospital, my time with Willa was over. If she didn’t live next door, she would disappear from my life as easily as Banjo had.

The thought left me so cold and empty inside I could barely stand it.

This house was so fucking lonely.

It had only been bearable because Willa was next door.

Now she was gone, there was nothing here. Not for me. Not for anyone.

Fucking Saint View. I hated this place with everything I had. If I got on my board and paddled out into the ocean and just kept going, not a soul would care. They wouldn’t even fucking notice.

I couldn’t blame them.

My phone rang, and I picked it up without paying attention to the caller ID. “What?”

“Will there ever be a day when you just answer the phone like a normal person? The words you were looking for are, ‘Morning, Eve! How’re you doing?’”

“How about, what do you want, Eve? I’ve had a shit of a night, and your positivity and optimism are making me stabby.”

She ignored my grouchiness, well used to it by this point, and being her nosy self, she turned the conversation into an interrogation. “What happened last night?”

There was no point lying to her. In fact, it was surprising she didn’t know already. Eve was not only the Queen of Saint View Strip; she was kind of the heart of the entire town. She knew everyone, and people liked her, especially after she’d saved the main street from developers who wanted to turn the town into some yuppie, vegan-eating, Pilates-attending sort of hip-ghetto-chic thing.

I still shuddered at the thought, though if I was being honest, maybe she should have let them. Couldn’t be any worse than what it was now.

“There was a fire next door,” I told her. “Everyone is okay, but I’ve been at the hospital—”

“Augie Mitchell! What the hell? Are you okay? Why didn’t you call me?”

I shook my head silently. “Because you aren’t my wife, my child, or my mother?”

I could practically hear the lasers shooting out of her eyes and destroying her house. “So what? Being your friend doesn’t count for shit? Stop dodging the question. Are you okay?”

I didn’t even know. All I could think about was getting on my board and paddling out, far away from land and letting the ocean do its thing.

“I’m coming over there,” Eve announced when I didn’t answer.

But I didn’t want her here. I didn’t even want to be here. “Don’t. I’ll be at work later. We can talk then.”

She tried to protest, but I didn’t want to hear it. “I’m tired, Eve. I’m going to bed. I’ll see you later.”

I hung up and put it on Do Not Disturb before collapsing onto my mattress.

Which was a mistake. The damn sheets smelled like Ophelia. Her shampoo. Her skin. Her sweet, slick arousal that had tasted better than any other woman I’d ever gone down on.

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