Page 35 of Not That Complicated

He shoved his hands into his hair.

“I can’t help it. You’re intense! I’m not used to this kind of—” I flapped a hand between us. “’This is not as straightforward as I’m used to.”

Adam froze. “I didn’t mean are you scared ofme!”

“Oh.” Awkward.

“Christ, what do you think of me?” He firmed his jaw. “Are you scared to be alone, Ray?”

“Sometimes. I suppose. Everyone gets lonely, though. I don’t need to be with someone to be validated. I’m an independent—”

Adam made a strangled sound of frustration. “Right now. I meant right now. Here, alone in your murder house at night! Not for the rest of your life, what the fuck.”

“In that case, no! “I yelled it at him. “I’m fine!”

“Are you sure!” he yelled back.

He closed the distance between us. I was up on my knees on the mattress. We were inches away from each other. “Yes!”

“Then sleep well. I’ll see you around. Maybe.”

“Wait—”

“If you get scared,” he ground out, “call me. If you want to finish this—” he reached out and grasped my erection. I gasped and bucked my hips into his hand. He gave me a vicious smile, “—you’re on your own.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a drama queen?” I said. “Anyone? Ever?”

He dragged his lower lip in between his teeth and bit down. His nostrils flared.

“Because you are.” I shoved a hand down the front of my sweatpants, holding his gaze. I gave myself a hard stroke. I didn’t even mean to make the questioning moan that came out of me. I didn’t hate it.

Neither did Adam. His sex flush darkened.

I stroked myself again, and I made it showy. “Are you going to watch?” I said politely.

Adam’s burning gaze flicked up from my dick to my face. “No, thank you. I’ll leave that to the ghost.”

He stalked out.

I reached back, grabbed a pillow, and winged it at the back of his head.

I missed.

CHAPTER TEN

Denial. Sometimes, it’s the onlyway to go.

This was definitely one of those times.

I wanted to put this whole nightmare behind me and pretend it never happened. It was proving impossible to do when there was a hole in my bedroom floor and the carpet I’d spent a fortune on—it was from John Lewis, but it wasn’t cheap—was still rolled up nice and tight in its plastic shroud.

Wrapping.

In its plastic wrapping.

At first, once I’d grabbed a week’s worth of clothes from my drawers and carried them into the guest room where I now lived, I kept the door to the master bedroom shut.

That just drew my attention to it whenever I was upstairs, achieving the opposite of what I wanted.

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