Page 34 of Before You Go

“Just annoyed, but that’s nothing new.” She walks across the apartment as I close the door and lock it.

“You two still own a property together?” I ask her back as she walks to a stack of boxes and disappears behind it.

“Yes, a three-bedroom condo near Germantown. We got it before the housing market boom and the price of real estate skyrocketed. When we split up, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to sell or buy my half from me so I moved in here.” She steps out from behind the boxes that are taller than her holding a piece of fabric in her hand. “But now it’s become a whole thing, and I can’t exactly complain about it because I was an idiot for not forcing him to make a decision before I moved out.”

“Maybe it’s time to talk to a lawyer.”

“I know but I hate the idea of having to hear my dad or Phillip say I told you so.”

“Phillip?”

“My family’s lawyer.” She drags her fingers through her long hair sweeping it over to one side. “My dad told me that I needed to give Matthew a strict timeline for the sale and Phillip didn’t say it, but I know he was annoyed that I didn’t get things with Matthew in writing before we finalized our divorce.”

“You might not want to hear ‘I told you so,’ but it would be better than dealing with this situation for the next year.”

“You’re right.” She looks around and her shoulders slump. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I frown.

“Wasting your time, I don’t think I’m going to be able to take a nap now. I just…”

“You need sleep, Franny.”

“I know.” She whispers sounding exhausted and I imagine a lot of that exhaustion has to do with her ex showing up likely unannounced in an attempt to get her attention. How often does he do that, just show up out of the blue without calling?

“Come upstairs with me, if you fall asleep great, if not at least you tried.” I tell her and she rubs her lips together before she gives in with a nod.

“I just need to change, I was going to do that, but Matthew showed up.”

“I’ll wait for you.” I tell her softly and with another nod she disappears into the bathroom and shuts the door. When she comes out a couple minutes later, she’s wearing a dress with thin straps that hits her mid-thigh, the cut of it is loose but still it clings to the tips of her small breasts and without a bra I can make out her nipples through the fabric. My mouth actually waters at the sight. I quickly lift my eyes to hers, hoping like fuck that she can’t see the thoughts running through my mind. “Ready?”

“Umm yeah.” She shifts on her feet.

Shit

I don’t know if I was any good at hiding what I was thinking seconds ago, but every thought is displayed across her pretty features as her eyes wander over my face.

“What do you need me to carry?” I ask, cutting through the sexual tension I can feel building in the air between us. This situation between us is already complicated enough, I don’t need to add to it by giving into my desire to kiss or touch her.

And I really fucking want to do both those things.

CHAPTER 8

Franny

Swimming up through the fog of sleep, I blink my eyes open. It’s so dark that I can’t make out anything around me, and it takes a moment to remember I’m in Dayton’s guest room. I honestly didn’t expect to fall asleep earlier when he brought me in here, but I knew he was right. I needed sleep, so I slid between the silky-smooth sheets and under the big, fluffy duvet. This bed is a million times more comfortable than the one I bought for a few hundred dollars from a small furniture store with same-day delivery.

I must have only laid awake for just a few minutes in the dark before I passed out.

Placing my hand against my stomach when it grumbles, reminding me I need to eat, I wonder what time it is. I probably fell asleep around three, and I’m still tired—just not as tired as I was earlier. Reaching over to the side table, I pick up my phone, and the screen lights up.

No way. My eyes widen when I see that it’s after ten in the evening. I thought I had slept for an hour, maybe two, not seven!

Tossing back the duvet and sheet, I sit up, and my head spins. I need water and something in my stomach, but first, I need to use the restroom and apologize to Dayton for pawning my pup off on him for so long. When I get to my feet, I shuffle to the door of the bedroom, slowly opening it, before I scoot across the hall to the bathroom he pointed out before he showed me his guest room. Turning on the light, I close the door and quickly use the bathroom, then wash my hands.

As I’m hanging up the white fuzzy towel I used to dry my hands next to the sink, I realize how clean the bathroom is. I know it’s an odd thing to notice, but before I moved in with Matthew, I would spend time at his place, and his bathroom was always a mess. There would be toothpaste or grime in the sink, and the toilet always had that gross mark around the bowl, like he never cleaned it.

I should have known then that he wasn’t the kind of guy to clean up after himself—something I despised finding out after we moved in together and realized that if I wanted our apartment clean, then I had to do it myself. And sure, Dayton could be the same way, and I just happened to come over after his housekeeper was here. Or maybe he just never uses this bathroom. But when we came upstairs, even though I didn’t spend much time in his place before he showed me to his guest room, I saw his home was tidy. There weren’t any random clothes tossed on the back of his couch nor unread mail out in the open. Everything seemed to have and be in its place, and it smelled good—and not like he had just sprayed something to mask the smell.

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