Page 89 of Sex Coach

Abruptly, a kernel of rage exploded in me, all of it directed at myself. Why the hell couldn't I say just that? Why couldn't I let myself get angry, hurt, and upset? He had hurt me .

"Michelle?"

"Come on up ."

Shoving away from the speaker, I stormed into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of wine .

Maybe some liquid courage would help .

It seemed like it took him forever to get up to my floor, but in reality, I knew it could have only taken a few minutes. Somehow, though, I managed to both open the bottle of wine and drain the majority of my first glass before the knock came .

Leaving the bottle open and out on the counter, I carried my glass into the living room and checked the Judas hole to make certain. Then, not letting myself think about it, I opened the door .

Jake stood there, one forearm braced on the edge of the door frame. His hair was mussed, he hadn't shaved, and he looked tired .

Turning on my heel, I strode back toward the kitchen, leaving the door open for him to follow .

He did .

I couldn't hear him, but I heard the door shut quietly behind me, and when I circled around the counter, he was standing just a few feet away .

"I'm not offering you a glass," I said, surprising myself with my rudeness .

I was also surprised at how good it felt .

Tears were thick in my throat, and I tossed back the rest of the wine to flush them away. I wasn't crying. And if he was here to yell at me ...

"I understand ."

He stood there in a pair of jeans and t-shirt, looking more...normal. Usually, he was one in his slick suits, all dressed to thrill and delight the feminine senses .

Today, he looked like he'd dragged on whatever came to hand. The jeans had a rip in the right knee. The shirt was wrinkled. He wore a leather bomber jacket that looked like it had seen better decades .

"Are you here to say something?" I had to tear my eyes away from him. He was always particularly yummy, but the sight of him in a pair of ripped jeans and a t-shirt made him look...approachable. Almost like somebody who could believe me .

The idea hurt .

I shouldn't have to force the truth on anybody. I'd had to deal with that before .

"Whatever you need to say, just...say it." I poured more wine into my glass and shifted my attention to it. The pale blush liquid swirled as I gave the glass a twirl. "I'm tired ."

"I'm sorry ."

I'd been raising the glass to my lips when he said it. The words, far from what I'd been expecting, came out in a quiet, rough voice, and he watched with turbulent eyes as I slowly lowered the glass back to the counter .

"What did you just say?" I asked softly .

"I said I was sorry. I..." He blew out a breath .

One of the knots inside me might have started to untangle. It immediately jerked back into a knot, though, when he continued .

"I should have given you a chance to explain. I should have listened to you and I didn't. I'm sorry for that ."

"Oh, I just bet you are," I said, the words popping out with more heat and venom than I realized I could ever carry inside me. Tossing back more wine, I turned my back to him and leaned against the counter. "Okay, you apologized. You can leave now, Jake. Thanks for stopping by ."

Oh,shit! Is that me ? A huge part of me cringed at the sheer rudeness in my tone, but that part of me that had been demanding I not call him, that I not try to make him believe me when he never should have accused me to begin with was dancing. This...it was freeing . Almost like what I told Aunt Blair. I was used to trapping everything inside, but it all wanted to come out .

"Michelle, please ..."

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