Page 126 of Melt for You (Slow Burn 2)
I rest my forehead against the door. “I can’t. I’m too busy kicking myself.”
“Are you fucking serious? Open the goddamn door.”
He sounds mad. I look through the peephole
only to find a pair of hazel eyes glaring at me.
“I can see your head, lass. We’ve already been over this.”
I take a few deep calming breaths, then crack open the door. Cam pushes right through it, knocking me out of the way in the process. Halfway to the living room, he spins on his heel and glares at me in person.
“Tell me I’m wrong and you didn’t sneak out without saying good-bye after we had sex four times and some intense, soul-baring afterglow. Tell me you just came over to feed the cat and were on your way back when I knocked.”
I wince and wrap the blanket tighter around me. “Um.”
He looks astonished, offended, and totally angry. “You fucking ghosted me.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did!”
“No, ghosting is when you’re dating someone and you break up with them and disappear from their life without any explanation. Me leaving earlier was just . . .” I struggle to find an appropriate word. “Expedient.”
A flush creeps up his neck. His eyes glow with anger. “Expedient?”
“Practical, I mean.”
That only makes him look angrier.
I pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. I’m feeling queasy and like I might be getting a migraine. “Cam. We already went over this. You’re leaving in a few days. You live in another country. You have a life there, I have a life here.”
“Really?” he says, his voice dripping sarcasm. “How’s that life goin’ for you, Joellen?”
Now he’s not the only one who’s mad. “Ouch, prancer.”
“You’re goddamn right, ouch. Now you know how I felt when I woke up alone. I’m surprised you didn’t leave money on the dresser for services rendered.”
I swallow around the sudden lump in my throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to feel bad. It was just a mistake.”
He reacts like I’ve kicked him in the stomach. He steps back, the blood draining from his face, his mouth open and his eyes wide.
“A mistake?”
I realize instantly that the real mistake was using that word, which was obviously an incredibly bad choice. “No—Cam, listen, I didn’t mean it like that—”
“I know exactly how you meant it, lass,” he says bitterly, blowing past me. He’s out of my apartment, across the hall, and slamming his door before I even have a chance to get another word in edgewise.
I stand there for a long time, fighting the urge to run across the hall and throw myself into his arms, but eventually I give in to the inevitable reality of the situation and go back to bed, dragging the covers up over my head.
Mr. Bingley jumps down, wanting nothing to do with me.
I’m still in bed at five o’clock that afternoon when the phone rings. I pick it up with a dull “Hello?”
“Hi, honey! Merry Christmas!”
“Hey, Mom. Merry Christmas. Eve.”
She laughs. It sounds like California: bright, beautiful, breezy. “I know I’m a day early, but we’re going over to your sister’s tomorrow morning and staying over. You know how crazy it gets over there with the kids. We probably won’t get a chance to call.”
