Page 69 of Dirty Damage

Another rep. Sweat stings my eyes. “Meaning?”

“Be her friend.”

I drop the weight into the rack with a laugh that comes out more like a snarl. “Herfriend?”

It tastes wrong on my tongue.

Afrienddoesn’t think about bending someone over every available surface.

Afriendwouldn’t have felt the crush of her orgasm on his fingers.

Afriendwouldn’t know the sound she made as she came or imagine all the other sounds they could draw out of her with a little time and the toys in my closet.

“Sutton and I can’t be friends,” I say, only a little hoarse.

“Start simple.” Artem shrugs, unfazed by my reaction. “Have dinner with her. Maybe ask her about the engagement announcement. She’s getting engaged, too. I bet she has some thoughts.”

I grab my towel, wiping sweat that’s not entirely from exertion. “Her opinion doesn’t matter. She signed a contract.”

“If that’s the philosophy you’re gonna take into parenting, God help you both.”

“Gym time should be silent time,” I grit out.

But my thoughts aren’t silent. My head is a fucking riot ofher.

One day in my house and Sutton has chipped away at walls I’ve spent nineteen years building.

So I need to do some reinforcing—build them up stronger.

Artem’s eyes flare when I increase the weight again, but he doesn’t argue.

Maybe he can see that I need the weight.

The pain.

Anything to stay focused on the task at hand.

I retreat to my office later, but even here, I can’t escape her. I itch to grab my phone and comb through the security footage of Sutton in my house.

Just as I’m about to give in, Candace messages me about engagement announcement layouts.

I scan them without really seeing, mind stuck on Artem’s words.

Should I send them to Sutton? Let her have input on how we tell the world our carefully crafted lie?

That would be the “friendly” thing to do.

I’m staring at the screen, debating, when her name flashes on my screen.

SUTTON:Hey, I was thinking of making a little risotto tonight. Care to join me?

I do care. More than I should.

Something twists in my gut—sharp, visceral. A feeling I haven’t let myself experience in nineteen years.

My chest constricts, lungs fighting for air that suddenly tastes like smoke and saltwater.

I close my eyes, but that’s worse. They’re there instantly—Oriana’s laugh, Elise’s smile, both gone to ash because I dared to dream of happiness.

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