Page 56 of This Wild Heart

As it turned out, really great sex was exactly what one needed to take an epic nap. It was three hours later when I sat up, eyes bleary and my body already feeling the effects of Parker screwing my freaking brains out. He was still sound asleep next to me, and I lightly traced the skin underneath his eyes, hoping this would help those dark circles disappear a little.

I exited the bed carefully, not wanting to wake him up. It was still light out, and after peeing, I slipped on some of his joggers, rolling them a couple of times at my waist, and an oversized T-shirt that I found draped over the arm of a chair in the corner of his room.

It smelled like Parker, and I pulled the neckline of the shirt up to my nose and inhaled. Just a little.

Lord. I could get high as a kite off that man’s smell, and I wasn’t even mad about it.

Spike was sitting on an ottoman when I walked into the family room.

His eyes were so judgey.

“Oh, you knock it off,” I whispered. “Believe me, you would’ve slept with him too.”

Meow.

Spike hopped off the ottoman and wandered toward the laundry room where I’d put his litter box. I shook my head and got a glass of water, then sat at the dining room table in front of my sketch pad.

I bit down on a growing smile and decided not to think too deeply on what I was going to draw. It wasn’t for any book ideas—Vida had sent me a few new scenes, and I hadn’t touched them yet. This was just for me, to help me make sense of what was happening in my brain. I just let the pencil skim across the fresh, new page.

Someone else might have dove into their own thoughts, dissecting past choices and the things they did and didn’t regret, but I didn’t want to do any of that. I was sick of doing that. Of wondering why my normally strong gut instinct failed me so spectacularly. Of wondering why things with Parker felt so different. By nature, I wasn’t an overthinker, but I think I’d forced myself to be one as I got older. It felt safer than the alternative, and look where that fucking got me.

No. I didn’t want to wheel those things through my head again and again and again.

Instead, I slammed the lid down on all those thoughts and just … felt.

It was him, of course. The sharp line of his nose, the strong eyebrows and intense eyes. The razor-sharp line of his jaw took shape next, and warmth crept into my cheeks when I moved to his lips. Before I knew it, I’d spent a solid hour sketching Parker’s face. And Parker’s chest. And his abs. And his arms.

Ohhhh, this was bad.

Spike had returned at some point while I was drawing and stared down at the paper, then he looked back up at me.

“Don’t you start,” I whispered. I set the sketch pad down and shoved my fingers into my hair. It wasn’t like anyone set out to be cliché, right?

Have good sex, fight against ooey, gooey, heart-eyes feelings about the man who delivered an axis-tilting orgasm. I ripped the pages out of the sketch pad, realizing I was losing my light anyway. After I threw them away, my phone dinged from where I’d left it in the kitchen when Milicent arrived.

A text from Vida had me shaking my head.

Vida: Ummm, HELLO HOTNESS. What is this eye-fucking we’re doing over at the Wilder house?

Me: What? How did you know?

Vida: Wait. How did I know what?

Me: … Nothing.

Vida: WHAT? WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? I meant the Instagram videos, but your ass is about to confess something good. I can feel it in my bones.

My phone rang, and I was laughing as I answered. “Oh my word, you are relentless.”

“Did you have sex with your hot husband? Please say yes.”

I covered my eyes with my hand and took a steadying breath. “Maybe?”

The sound she let out was borderline inhumane, and Spike’s head tilted to the side.

“And?”

I missed my friend so much, and I desperately wished she was sitting in front of me. “Really, really good,” I whispered like his cocky ass might hear me.

---