Page 29 of Shot Taker

9

NOVA

Ican’t remember the last time I woke up with a hangover. But sure enough, a headache and dry mouth greeted me this morning like an old friend.

I wish I could say I remembered everything that happened last night, but some parts are blurry.

Putting on a fierce dress? Check.

Dancing with Brooke? Check.

Flirting with Clay and possibly crossing a line in the attempt to piss of his Kodashians?

Very possible.

Unfortunately.

By noon, the hangover was mostly gone.

The unease about how I acted lingers.

I’m getting ready to head out to meet Mari and Harlan for dinner when there’s a knock on the apartment door.

I look through the peephole, and all I see is a riot of pink.

Tugging the handle, I cock my head at the delivery guy who peers around his parcel.

“These are for Nova.”

No dozen roses, but a hundred ranunculus and gerberas in every shade of pink. They look soft and lush and smell divine.

What the hell?

The bouquet fills my arms, and I carry it over to the kitchen table before pulling out the card.

Forgive me.

CW

My stomach dances.

This wasn’t the first gift that arrived today.

Near the end of a day of painting, a nail technician showed up with a portable setup to redo my manicure but wouldn’t tell me who sent her.

Clayton Wade isn’t the kind of guy to ply a girl with gifts. Especially not fragrant pink ones.

He goes around living his life, giving a hot broody nod to one of the thousands of women ready to drop everything to be on his arm or in his bed for a night.

But the cut stems exploding across the table beg to differ.

How many walls do I need to paint?

The stubborn longing I hoped I’d kicked starts up again.

Last night, I swore he was only trying to soothe his guilty conscience.

But this feels like something else entirely.

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