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.
