Page 7 of Hung Up

“Um,” I stalled, trying to figure out what I was going to tell her. “I may have plans already.”

“What? With who? Your only friend is me.” Her tenor was teasing but also inquisitive.

She was also right.

“I may have met someone last night. And he’s still in my condo waiting for me to bring back coffee.” Not totally a lie. I wrenched my thumb from my mouth.

“How the fuck am I just now hearing about this, then?” Her voice turned sharp. Amelia was all bark and all bite, so I should’ve been ready for her third degree, but somehow, it still burned.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.”

I could picture her now: perfectly sculpted, deep auburn eyebrow raised in challenge.

I sighed, and spilled everything.

Fifteen minutes later, I hung up the phone, thoroughly not sure why I told her. I’m not sure if she even believed me, anyway. She probably thought I’d had too many glasses of wine last night, and was still drunk. I still wasn’t totally convinced I wasn’t laying somewhere unconscious, either. Maybe she’d call an ambulance for me and I’d wake up in the hospital.

That probably wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to happen to me today.

The sun climbed higher in the sky, sweat prickling the nape of my neck as I sat with my thoughts. And as the final sips of my drink melted in my hand, I made a decision: If life gave me Pierce . . . I was going to make the shit out of some lemonade.

Or whatever, close enough.

I nodded to myself, resolved in my decision. Pulling out my cell, I forwarded my landline number to my cell.

There.

Now I wouldn’t miss any of my regulars while I dealt with the demigod currently occupying my home.

My cellphone chirped, and my eyes bugged at the notification.

Ezra sent me an extra three-hundred for last night.

Why did I feel guilty?

Note to self: Figure out how to start a religion.

Make her the deity.

My feet slowed as I approached my front door. Keys dangled unceremoniously from my fingers as I held an empty coffee cup in my other hand. The only trace of its caffeine now coursed through my veins.

What if he was gone?

What if he was still here?

A knot lodged in my throat. I shook off the anxiety—or, at least, the stiff limbs—and unlocked the door. With a careful gait, I crept into my home, each step slow but steady, gently placing my purse and keys on the side table.

Across the tidy room with its leather couch, glass coffee table, large flat screen, and a bookshelf filled with far too many—and not nearly enough—smutty books, Pierce was nose-deep in a mass market paperback with a horrible (read: iconic) western clinch cover. It was actually sort of adorable. He still wore nothing but the pink boxer-briefs, and my eyes landed on his firm ass.

Shit, pink might be my new favorite color.

Blood rushed in my ears as sunlight streamed through the large window next to the television, casting his pale skin in golden light. Somehow my home looked the same, even though it felt like I had been launched into a parallel universe.

The light wood floors were clean, with a white, fluffy, circular rug under my glass coffee table. Decorative books and a half-burned candle were placed ornately atop it, which sat a couple feet away from the dark leather couch. The mounted television on my cream-colored wall had an oil painting setting to make it look like art when it wasn’t turned on. Large windows on either side of the television let in light from the midday sun, and the desert landscape in the distance remained unchanged.

My small kitchen was off to my right, which led to my garage, and my bedroom was off towards the back of the living room, the door mostly open, and I groaned internally at my unmade bed. I hated when I left it like that; it always made the space feel messier than it actually was. But alas, I didn’t see my princess phone.

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