Page 40 of Keeper
I got up and staggered into the shower, hoping the pain would soon subside, and I’d be good to play tonight.
14
Ainsley
Marta’s apartment door was wide open. On the way in, I had to dodge a duo of hulking men in back braces as they carried a wooden dresser out the door and down the hall.
Confused, I stepped inside and followed the sweet aroma of coffee into the kitchen, where Marta sat with a mug of coffee at the dinner table.
“Good morning!” Marta said, beaming.
Something about her smile I didn’t like.
“Morning,” I said curtly.
Still in her pajamas, she jumped out of her chair and squeezed me in a tight hug. “So glad you’re okay. I was worried.”
“I’m fine,” I said, blowing out a heavy breath.
I couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed with her, even if last night was partly, or even mostly, my fault. But I didn’t want to bring it up because I knew it’d lead to a fight.
“What’s with the movers?” I asked.
She gestured down the hall at her roommate’s door. “The bitch is moving out.”
“She is? Why?”
“I don’t know. Because she’s a bitch?” Marta gave an exasperated shrug of her shoulders. “Anyway, who cares about that—the farmore interesting topic right now is what you did last night. Or maybe I should saywhoyou did.” She waited a beat, fully expecting me to start spilling the details. “So? Aren’t you going to tell me about him?!”
I was a little tiffed that Marta could switch so easily from concern about my well-being to needing juicy gossip about the guy I spent my night with.
“There’s not much to tell,” I said dryly. “Nothing really happened.”
“Bullshit,” she said with a sharp laugh. “You look like some really good dick kept you up all night long.”
I frowned. “Gee … thanks, I guess.”
“Trust me, I mean that in the best way possible—honestly, I’m jealous.” She grinned. “Did he have a big dick, at least?”
“I don’t know how big his dick was, Marta. I just told you, nothing happened.”
“Ainsley, you spent the night with a guy youjustmet at the club. You can’tseriouslyexpect me to believe that nothing happened.”
My jaw tensed as I struggled to hold back all the things I wanted to say:
I spent the night with a guy I just met because youabandonedme, not because I wanted to.
I had no idea where you went or if you’d be back.
I had no idea how to get back to your place.
But I knew I had to bite my tongue, because our arguments never went anywhere productive—they only led to both sides lashing out.
With a heavy sigh, I rubbed my puffy eyes, still caked in last night’s makeup. “How about we talk after I take a shower? I need to get out of these clothes.”
“Fair,” Marta said, growing quiet and distant herself. “I’ll brew you some fresh coffee.”
I grabbed a change of clothes from my backpack and headed to the bathroom. I needed a long and steamy shower—not just to wash off the grimy feeling that always followed when you slept in last night’s clothes (on a stranger’s couch, no less), but also to purge whatever lingering resentment I had towards Marta for putting me in last night’s situation.
