Screwed
Page 45
My groggy attempt at thought is interrupted by a second text.
Hayden : Or would you rather I taste your taco? ;)
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I snort in half amusement, half exasperation and text him back.
Emery : Seriously? Are you twelve years old?
Hayden : I hope not, or you might get arrested.
Emery : No taco eating allowed . . . the food kind or the other kind. I have to memorize all this shit and get at least four hours sleep.
I tried going to work on two hours yesterday. It didn’t end well.
Speaking of stuff I don’t have time for, I should stop texting Hayden. I stand up and barely catch myself before I stumble. Whoa . . . head rush. I must have gotten up too fast. I blink the blurriness out of my vision and stretch my stiff muscles. Then I pick my way through the minefield of paper and put my phone back on my nightstand where it belongs.
Just as I get settled again, someone knocks at the door. I groan and drag myself across the condo to look through the peephole. It’s Hayden, holding a brown paper box labeled Taco Farm: One Dozen Fresh under his arm.
Wow, that was quick. I glance at the clock. Wait, no . . . it’s been half an hour. I’ve just lost all ability to keep track of time. Terrific.
I open the door and sigh. “I said no tacos. That includes coming over, not just going out.”
“You have to eat sometime. I won’t hang around too long, I promise.” He looks over my shoulder into the condo. “Holy shit, what happened here? Did a library explode?”
“No, just my brain.”
He makes a sympathetic noise. “So are you going to let me in or what?”
I give up and stand aside. Maybe some food will help me find my second wind . . . and even though things are still a little uncertain between us, I miss Hayden. I haven’t had much time to spend with him over the past few days. Not after that day I skipped work and we had mind-blowing sex all afternoon.
As he gets out plates and arranges our midnight snack on the dining table, he asks, “Anything I can help with?”
“Not unless you’re secretly an expert in dignitary tort law. But thanks for the offer . . . and the food.” My stomach is already perking up at the smell of spicy tempeh and grilled vegetables.
“I have no idea what the fuck that is. Something about serious cakes?” He returns my tired smile. “And you’re welcome.”
We sit down to inhale our second dinner. Before I know it, I’ve polished off all six of the delicious little bastards. I lie back in my chair, feeling fat and happy. My blood sugar is singing my praises. This little break definitely helped. But Hayden looks more pensive than satisfied, and he’s left two of his steak tacos uneaten.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I say.
He blinks. “Huh? Why do you ask?”
I point at his half-full plate. “I know you. When you don’t finish your dead cow, it’s gotta be serious.”
“Okay, fine. I did want to ask you something.” He chews his lip for a second. “Are you still going to move out?”
Now it’s my turn to blink at him. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. I only wanted to move out in the first place because I thought that Hayden had returned to his old asshole ways. When I found out why he left me in Omaha and why Roxy was in his condo so late, I realized that Hayden has always been my friend. He just panicked and acted like an idiot. Not like I’ve never done that before.
With that issue out of the way, though, I’m left with my original problem: how to handle my own feelings for him. On that day when Hayden bared all his scars to me, so open and brave, I let my pussy call the shots. Once again, I fell into his bed without knowing or caring what it meant in the long run. But I have to make our relationship crystal clear—to both of us—before we end up tripping and falling on top of each other again. Does he still think of me as a friend with benefits? And would I be happy in that arrangement?
I shake my head. “No, I’m staying here,” I reply. “I already went to the building manager and told him to forget about my termination request. But I do want to know . . . where we stand.”
He takes a deep, slow breath through his nose. “You mean, are we dating?”
“Yes. And are we exclusive?” I study his face for any trace of expression, any hint about what’s going through his mind right now.
After a minute, Hayden nods thoughtfully. “I can do that,” he says in the same tone he agreed to trying yoga, when we first met in June. Barely two months ago—and yet it feels like we’ve known each other for years.
I raise my eyebrows in an urgent stare. “Are you sure? Don’t say yes just to avoid hurting my feelings. I need to know what you really want, not just what you think I want to hear.”
He reaches over the table to take my hands in his. My heart flutters at what I glimpse in his sea-blue eyes. The honesty, the vulnerability, the pure need . . . the love.
“What I want is you,” he replies, before pulling me into a hot, tender kiss.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emery
Leaning into the mirror, I dab on my last swipes of eye shadow, careful not to let any powder fall onto my red satin cocktail dress. I love that I can dress for a five-star restaurant without freezing to death; my first autumn in Los Angeles feels like a Michigan summer. I guess that’s a fair trade for the hellish weather I endured when I first arrived.
Just as I finish my makeup, there’s a knock at the door. I put down my brush and hurry out of the bathroom to answer.
Hayden : Or would you rather I taste your taco? ;)
Oh, for fuck’s sake. I snort in half amusement, half exasperation and text him back.
Emery : Seriously? Are you twelve years old?
Hayden : I hope not, or you might get arrested.
Emery : No taco eating allowed . . . the food kind or the other kind. I have to memorize all this shit and get at least four hours sleep.
I tried going to work on two hours yesterday. It didn’t end well.
Speaking of stuff I don’t have time for, I should stop texting Hayden. I stand up and barely catch myself before I stumble. Whoa . . . head rush. I must have gotten up too fast. I blink the blurriness out of my vision and stretch my stiff muscles. Then I pick my way through the minefield of paper and put my phone back on my nightstand where it belongs.
Just as I get settled again, someone knocks at the door. I groan and drag myself across the condo to look through the peephole. It’s Hayden, holding a brown paper box labeled Taco Farm: One Dozen Fresh under his arm.
Wow, that was quick. I glance at the clock. Wait, no . . . it’s been half an hour. I’ve just lost all ability to keep track of time. Terrific.
I open the door and sigh. “I said no tacos. That includes coming over, not just going out.”
“You have to eat sometime. I won’t hang around too long, I promise.” He looks over my shoulder into the condo. “Holy shit, what happened here? Did a library explode?”
“No, just my brain.”
He makes a sympathetic noise. “So are you going to let me in or what?”
I give up and stand aside. Maybe some food will help me find my second wind . . . and even though things are still a little uncertain between us, I miss Hayden. I haven’t had much time to spend with him over the past few days. Not after that day I skipped work and we had mind-blowing sex all afternoon.
As he gets out plates and arranges our midnight snack on the dining table, he asks, “Anything I can help with?”
“Not unless you’re secretly an expert in dignitary tort law. But thanks for the offer . . . and the food.” My stomach is already perking up at the smell of spicy tempeh and grilled vegetables.
“I have no idea what the fuck that is. Something about serious cakes?” He returns my tired smile. “And you’re welcome.”
We sit down to inhale our second dinner. Before I know it, I’ve polished off all six of the delicious little bastards. I lie back in my chair, feeling fat and happy. My blood sugar is singing my praises. This little break definitely helped. But Hayden looks more pensive than satisfied, and he’s left two of his steak tacos uneaten.
“Penny for your thoughts,” I say.
He blinks. “Huh? Why do you ask?”
I point at his half-full plate. “I know you. When you don’t finish your dead cow, it’s gotta be serious.”
“Okay, fine. I did want to ask you something.” He chews his lip for a second. “Are you still going to move out?”
Now it’s my turn to blink at him. The possibility hadn’t even occurred to me. I only wanted to move out in the first place because I thought that Hayden had returned to his old asshole ways. When I found out why he left me in Omaha and why Roxy was in his condo so late, I realized that Hayden has always been my friend. He just panicked and acted like an idiot. Not like I’ve never done that before.
With that issue out of the way, though, I’m left with my original problem: how to handle my own feelings for him. On that day when Hayden bared all his scars to me, so open and brave, I let my pussy call the shots. Once again, I fell into his bed without knowing or caring what it meant in the long run. But I have to make our relationship crystal clear—to both of us—before we end up tripping and falling on top of each other again. Does he still think of me as a friend with benefits? And would I be happy in that arrangement?
I shake my head. “No, I’m staying here,” I reply. “I already went to the building manager and told him to forget about my termination request. But I do want to know . . . where we stand.”
He takes a deep, slow breath through his nose. “You mean, are we dating?”
“Yes. And are we exclusive?” I study his face for any trace of expression, any hint about what’s going through his mind right now.
After a minute, Hayden nods thoughtfully. “I can do that,” he says in the same tone he agreed to trying yoga, when we first met in June. Barely two months ago—and yet it feels like we’ve known each other for years.
I raise my eyebrows in an urgent stare. “Are you sure? Don’t say yes just to avoid hurting my feelings. I need to know what you really want, not just what you think I want to hear.”
He reaches over the table to take my hands in his. My heart flutters at what I glimpse in his sea-blue eyes. The honesty, the vulnerability, the pure need . . . the love.
“What I want is you,” he replies, before pulling me into a hot, tender kiss.
Chapter Twenty-One
Emery
Leaning into the mirror, I dab on my last swipes of eye shadow, careful not to let any powder fall onto my red satin cocktail dress. I love that I can dress for a five-star restaurant without freezing to death; my first autumn in Los Angeles feels like a Michigan summer. I guess that’s a fair trade for the hellish weather I endured when I first arrived.
Just as I finish my makeup, there’s a knock at the door. I put down my brush and hurry out of the bathroom to answer.
