Page 92 of Done with You

He did what he was supposed to do. What Joy told him to do and that was apologize.

Did he deserve a second chance?

She finally nodded, though her jaw remained tight. “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Then she smiled tightly and headed to her bedroom, then the bathroom, closing the door behind her. The shower started shortly after.

His jaw dropped.

That was it?

What else were you expecting?

He couldn’t answer that, but he was certainly expecting more of … something. More discussion between them. Perhaps an apology from her for …

What? What has she done? Everything she’s done has been in retaliation to your behavior. She’s never instigated anything.

That was true.

She remained classy as much as she could—until alcohol got involved at least—but either way, she was never the one to start a battle. But she didn’t shy away from joining it, either.

However, since the moment she found out he was her patient and said she couldn’t treat him, he’d been a colossal prick.

He said she was bad in bed.

He’d done nothing but make her life miserable. Because he was miserable.

If the shoe was on the other foot, he’d be mighty hesitant to give himself a second chance.

And even though he still didn’t know even half the story regarding Oona’s ex, it didn’t take a person with a PhD to recognize that his behavior had probably been pretty damn triggering for her.

His stomach spun as the shame he felt for even being remotely like her ex gutted him to the spine.

Eventually, he left his post, standing there staring at the door, and put the chips away, then started turning down his bed for the night. It was only ten o’clock, but he could put in his earbuds and listen to an audiobook for a while or scroll on his phone.

He was just tearing off his jeans when the bathroom door opened. He wanted to look up, to watch her walk away, but he restrained himself and remained focused on getting dressed.

The sear of her eyes on him made him look up, though. He was down to his boxers and long-sleeve shirt.

She was in nothing but a towel.

“Goodnight,” he said, not sure what else to say.

Her head cocked to the side and she blinked a few times.

He was like a bug under a microscope and she was deciding whether to set him free or squish him.

“Let’s fuck,” she finally said, turning to head to her room.

“What?”

She turned around. “You heard me.”

He scrambled around the pull-out bed after her and into the guest room. “Are you serious?”

She dropped her towel. “This doesn’t change a thing. But … I need it. Tonight was good, but it was hard. I just … I need the distraction. I need the dopamine and oxytocin. Need to get rid of the cortisol build-up.” She shrugged and climbed onto the bed. “I can get it from you, or I can do it myself.”

He shut the door, turned off the light and crawled onto the bed and over her, pressing her into the pillows. “Oh no, I can help you.”

“Good.” Her arms came up around his neck as his lips found her throat. “This doesn’t change anything, though.”

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