Page 53 of Dirty Love

I raise my eyebrows at her. “That’s an interesting direction to take it.”

She rinses her hands, then slowly dries them on a towel hanging on her stove. “Come on. Let’s go to bed and watch a late-night comedy show.”

“How domestic.” I swat her bottom, and we do just that, but the exchange continues to sting at the back of my mind.

The next morning we make waffles, then workout together in her home gym. I teach her how to take me down to the mat, and she teaches me how to sing and run on a treadmill at the same time.

After lunch we’re being kind of nappy together on the couch when her phone vibrates, and I grab it off the coffee table and hand it to her. “Someone who doesn’t know how to make your phone magically ring wants your attention,” I whisper against her neck.

She giggles and takes it, but she kisses me first before looking at the message. A good, dirty kiss that gets me halfway hard.

But after she reads the message, she scrambles off me and starts to pace as she types a fast response. The scowl on her face deepens.

“What is it?” I stand, too, worry mounting.

She gives me a helpless look. “You have to leave for part of the day tomorrow. Grant’s flying in with contracts.”

It’s the last thing I expect to hear. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t know he was coming. He just told me.”

“How long will that take?”

“He’ll stretch it out. It might take most of the afternoon.” She has the good grace to wince, but I don’t like this.

I really don’t like this. “I’m only here for two more days.”

“I can’t tell him that.”

“Yeah.” But I don’t sound like I understand, because I don’t.

Fuck it all to hell.

She follows me into the kitchen.

I ignore her as I pour a glass of water.

“I couldn’t tell him no,” she whispers, and I nod.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.”

“You knew this was the deal.”

Reality has slammed back into me. We might be playing at domestic fun, but I’ll always be a dirty secret. “Right.”

“Wilson…”

I shake my head. “I get it. But I don’t have to like it. I’ll go out, it’ll be fine.”

But it isn’t fine, and when she takes my hand and tugs me back into the living room to watch a movie, I pull her into my lap. I hold on tight, so fucking tight, and it doesn’t make a difference.

I’ve fallen hard, stupid hard, for someone who can’t belong to me.

She fucking belongs to me, but she doesn’t at the same time, and I lost sight of that along the way.

The responsible, mature thing to do would be to get over it.

Instead, I stew all night.

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