Hard(45)

If she’d just look at me.

If she’d take the fucking chance to think about what might have started.

Sure, I fucked it up in the beginning—built the inferno before we gathered the kindling. But stepping backwards was harder than getting her into the sheets.

“You okay?” I asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Lost your job. Douche-bag advisor. Graduation delays?” Listing her insecurities was probably a bad idea. Too bad I was her biggest one. “Fucking me.”

Her compact snapped shut. She closed her eyes. “Zach.”

“You enjoyed yourself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is?”

“That I need time to process what happened,” she said. “I need to…figure things out.”

“Why don’t we do it together?”

“Because I’m not sure if there is a together, Zach. Don’t you get it?” She tried to stare at my forehead instead of in my eyes. I wasn’t having it. I snapped her focus to me, and her voice softened. Progress, at least. “This is all so complicated.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“But it is.” She stood only to grab her purse. “I came to you for comfort. Twice. And you pulled me from my problems in the best way a girl could ask. I’m grateful, Zach.”

Grateful.

That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t fuck her so she could feel better about herself. I fucked her because I couldn’t imagine a world where I wasn’t inside of her, feeling her, experiencing her.

This woman was rapidly becoming the center of my goddamned universe and she didn’t even realize it. Worse, telling her would only ruin every chance I had.

But what if I needed to be fucking comforted?

My expression twisted. Shay backpedaled, but my disgust didn’t aim for her.

What the hell was wrong with me? So I got a fucking headache. Since when did I whine about it to the one woman I was trying to impress?

What did I think would happen? She’d listen? She’d care?

Shay couldn’t figure her own shit out. I wasn’t dropping mine on her too. Revealing any of my shame would blow my shot with her. I didn’t need her to help me feel better. I wasn’t a damned child.

Besides, she wasn’t ready to talk to me. Why would I unload on her? Obviously she didn’t trust me yet.

Christ, that hurt worse than the headache.

Didn’t matter. She was scared. It wasn’t worth fighting and frightening her more. If she wanted space, she’d get it. If she wanted fucked…

My cock stirred as she bent to grab her shoes.

There it was. Back from its fucking slumber.

That was a scare I didn’t need. The headache pulsed harder, but at least if Shay wanted comfort again, I’d give it. Then maybe she’s realize what a fucking mistake she made by not letting me actually help.

I surrendered. I needed a nap and a stiff drink. I waved a hand.

“Have a good time,” I said. “I won’t wait up.”

“Didn’t ask you to.”

No, she hadn’t. Whatever.

I turned, but she called to me before I made it to the door.

“Zach?”

“Yeah?”

She twisted her purse in her hands. Her curls bobbed, and her almond eyes widened.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

I didn’t believe her, but I wasn’t arguing. I nodded and let her dress in peace.

The headache kicked my ass. I crashed in my room as it shifted from annoying to agonizing.

If I had told her about the pain, she probably would have stayed.

I wasn’t ready for that pity-party yet. I’d sort out my own problems first before heaping them on a girl who filled a thirty-five thousand square foot mansion with her own troubles. No sense scaring off the best thing that happened to me since the injury. I was lucky enough to be alive. Now, I was lucky that she let me comfort her.

If only she’d let me do more.





The fruity drink stashed more umbrellas in the goblet than alcohol. Zach made a better martini though he’d sooner toss a couple olives in a bottle of vodka and call it a day. I liked his style.

And I think I was starting to prefer his company.

Azariah didn’t notice that my drink still sloshed with the peachy-strawberry mixture. She ordered another and waved to the three late-comers to our gals night out. Layna, Heaven, and Nikkole screeched their hellos and bounded to our table.

Layna flicked her manicured fingernails—complete with blue gems imbedded in the paint—at the passing waitress. “Cosmo and a water, thanks.” She scooted into the booth and pulled down her oversized sunglasses. Her dark eyes scolded me with a single glance. “Girl, how’d you piss off Sweeten that bad?”