Page 56 of All Twerk, No Play

“Time to re-hydrate,” he handed over a bottle of Gatorade. “Red for the redhead, unless you prefer blue or purple flavor.”

“Purple is not a flavor,” I croaked before taking a sip.

“Your throat must be sore as hell after that much puking.”

“Puking?!” I screeched, my throat raw. “What happened last night?”

“I was hoping you’d tell me, but first you should eat something.” He handed me a plate with two slices of buttered gluten-free toast. “This brand tastes like cardboard so I added cinnamon sugar for flavor, but it shouldn’t upset your stomach too much.”

I took the plate gingerly, like a butterfly that would escape.

When was the last time somebody took care of me? The first time I’d gotten my period, Beverly sent a heating pad. And when the lawsuits began, Dad hired me the best lawyers, but that was just as much about his reputation.

My mom. I caught the flu and she made me soup and let me lay on the couch and watchThe Price is Rightwhile she drafted listings.

But nobody ever made gluten-free food taste better without bothering my stomach. When I visited Dad in New York, his housekeeper adjusted my menu, but she never stayed to make sure it agreed with me.

But Eric stayed.

Why was he here? He somehow knew I was a mess, but he didn’t just put a bucket next to my head and go home.

He assembled my outdoor sofa. He cuddled my cat. He brought me toast.

I sniffled, blinking back unexpected tears. I took a bite of toast, then tilted my head towards the extra pillow, giving him permission to relax.

With a soft smile, he leaned on the headboard, his legs stretched out over my covers, the soft morning light casting a warm glow on his cheekbones. “Tell me what you remember, I’ll try to fill in the gaps.”

“I went to Alexander’s house for dinner. Ruby sang about ice melting. Grace made enchiladas. We drank way too much wine, and that’s when he told me … he’s engaged.”

When my stomach churned again, I filled my mouth with toast. I closed my eyes, simultaneously trying to remember and forget. Neither worked.

I’d been so frustrated about starting over. I ticked the box with somebody who didn’t worship my grandfather. I found somebody with the same career goals, and I chose him instead of having him chosen for me. Somebody who I didn’t hate, and who didn't use me for my wealth. It had been shockingly hard to find.

I picked at my fingernails to avoid Eric’s curious gaze. “I don’t blame him for choosing her. And if she’s perfect for him, how could he ever want me? It’s like choosing between a sweet little bunny and a … a cobra. Nobody wants the cobra.”

“Fuck that,” Eric responded with so much power that the bed jolted. “I’d one hundred percent choose the cobra.”

I frowned. “Yeah right.”

“Cobras are fucking awesome,” he said. “They can swim and climb trees and digest venom. A cobra bite can kill anelephant. What can a bunny do against an elephant? Sniff angrily? Hop away? They’re totally defenseless.”

“You sure know a lot about cobras."

“I like animals—and people—who aren’t reliant on anybody else for their survival.” He drummed a rapid rhythm on his legs. “You remind me of my mom.”

Just what every woman wants to hear in bed from a man ten years her junior.

He laughed, nudging my shoulder. “She's my favorite person. She never complained about being a single mom, working two jobs to support us. I had an explosive temper and she scrimped to afford martial arts classes to help me control my anger. Life has knocked her down, and she gets back up, stronger every time.”

He tilted his head, an admiring smile on his lips. “I was wrong when I called youCobrita, because you’re so much more than your hair. You’re a little cobra, aCobrecita. You decide what you want, wait for the right moment, strike without mercy, and eat your prey alive.”

My neck felt itchy at his admiration for my coldblooded ambition. Most people called me an ice queen … but his face gleamed with respect.

Nobody had ever compared me to their favorite person. I took another sip of Gatorade to collect myself.

“Do you remember when I got here last night?” Eric asked. His smooth voice was a cashmere blanket I wanted to wrap around my shoulders.

I racked my mind through blurry snapshots. His arms around me. His soft beard. How safe I’d felt.

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