Page 111 of Play Dirty (Brooklyn Dawn 1)

I sighed. No, that was very true. I’d been too busy stabbing out a very crude text rant to my…whatever Nash was. Asshole. That fit. Such a big asshole.

Jesus.

Barely any time away from each other and we were already defaulting to slashing insults and growls. Fucking wonderful.

Or I was defaulting. I didn’t even know what that message was all about.

Was he serious right now?

I ignored the faint rumbly buzz of his return text. Right now, I didn’t give a shit what else he had to say. I had to calm the fuck down for an interview. And of course Jamie wasn’t even hungover. My tongue felt like I’d left it parked on the roof of my mouth slathered in peanut butter for the four hours I’d managed to sleep.

Drunk sleep didn’t count as far as I was concerned.

I stalked into my bathroom and the mirror definitely backed up that claim. I flipped off the camisole I’d slept in and turned on the shower. Right now, scrubbing off yesterday was definitely in order.

Every last bit.

I hissed as I dragged the exfoliating mitt over my neck and shoulders. Reminders of Nash’s sharp, strong teeth that had made me burn yesterday were now more like battle scars. Wounds and abrasions from the enemy. I kept scrubbing until I was pink and every part of me throbbed.

I ignored the persistent ache between my thighs that no amount of alcohol last night could’ve erased. I washed there gently because that part of me had been abused enough.

You loved every moment of it.

I ignored that voice. It didn’t matter how good it felt when he fucked me. Obviously, it was just fucking for him. And I needed to remember that. We were too new, more like jagged glass than frothy sweet cream.

Nash wasn’t that guy. Would never be that guy.

Why I was getting upset about it, I didn’t know.

I lifted my face to the spray.

“Gonna tell me what crawled up your ass?”

I jumped, then sighed. Jamie really didn’t know the meaning of personal space. “It’s nothing.”

“You’re sending another phone to the crystal-fix-me-place again. It’s been at least three months since you’ve done that. Considering that was your favorite case…”

I tipped my head back. She knew me too damn well.

Methodically, I worked conditioner through my long curls. We still had a show tonight. I could cover up my skin, but my hair, not so much. Not without scalp-massacring braids by Genie. Today? No thanks.

“Do I need to go find the phone and check the texts?”

“No!”

Jamie sat on the toilet. “Then spill.”

“It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Quit fucking lying to me.”

The flat anger in her voice stilled my hands in my hair. “I’m not lying…ish.” The silence echoed in the room under the punishing water from the rain hood above me. Finally, I shut off the water.

Jamie lashed my towel over the glass door and left without a word.

“Dammit.” I tucked the towel around me and stepped out, then rushed after her. She was already out the door into the suite’s living room. “Jamie—”

“Look, you want to keep fucking secrets from me, whatever. I don’t care. We have an interview in less than an hour. Get fucking dressed.” She slammed the door to our suite hard enough that the room vibrated.

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