Page 45 of On a Fault Line

This time I try on the black dress that we first picked out when we arrived on the floor. My hands shake as I down my champagne, feeling my vision go a bit cloudy. Bracing myself on the frame of the door, I push it open and then?—

THUMP.

9

PENNY

An ache surges in my elbows as I crash onto the floor in a heap of black lace.

Well, that hurt.

“Penny! What the hell?”

I look up into Collins’s concerned eyes as mine fill with tears. My bottom lip quivers. “Ouch.”

His strong arms scoop me up as if I’m the weight of a feather. “Shh…I got you.”

And he does.

Gone is the frustration over most of the day with him not paying attention to me.

Gone is the look of indifference and silence.

And gone is the boundary he so carefully maintains when we are outside his apartment.

“I’m sorry,” I whimper.

Collins soothes me, his voice hushed, as he cradles my body like I’m the most precious thing to him.

His heat radiates through the thin fabric of my dress, and suddenly I feel very exposed. It’s one thing for him to be looking from afar while in public, but it’s a whole other thing for him to be this close and me looking so scandalous.

I try to wiggle from his hold. “Someone will see.”

“I need to take care of you.”

“I’m fine.”

“You arenotfine. What hurts?”

“My ego.”

His face is so gentle and full of concern. It isn’t the sourpuss expression he plastered on all day thus far. “Nothing else?”

“I’m not hurt-hurt, I don’t think. I’m just so embarrassed. I think I just drank too much. I’m not used to consuming alcohol, especially this early.”

“What’s the last thing you ate?” he snaps. “The Rose City Cafe sandwich?”

I shake my head no. Is he really this clueless about what went down this morning? “I tossed it in the trash.”

“What? Why?” Then realization appears to hit him, as he’s been with me all day and hasn’t been the most pleasant person.

I shrug. “It was really yucky.”

“Fuck. You should have had something to eat at my place before we left.”

Wonderful—his bad mood is back in full swing.

“Oh, no.” I hold my hands up in front of me in protest. “Don’t blame this all on me. We were a little distracted this morning to remember breakfast, hence why I suggested stopping at the cafe.” It’s the truth. “Then things got weird, and you rushed me out of there. Yet you still refuse to inform me of what actually happened.”

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