Page 4 of Contrition

I groaned. “Hijo de puta.”

“Well, that’s rude.”

My head snapped to face him again as I stood up. I stifled yet another groan, and I was actually surprised that my knees didn’t pop considering I must have slept in a near coma-like state. Oh, the joys of getting older. “You know Spanish?”

“Well—no. But I was an immature child who would always Google curse words in foreign languages for my own shits and giggles. I only know ‘puta,’ and considering the context, I’m not loving it falling from your mouth.”

“Huh.”

His green eyes rolled. “Go do your thing so that we can have round five, fireball.”

I shook my head as I picked up my discarded clothes on the floor, refusing to feel any sense of shame regarding my nudity. Between the hours of time I somehow managed to carve out at the gym, the thousands of dollars’ worth of tattoos that decorated my flesh, and the way this man wanted yet another round—I certainly wasn’t going to be shameful at this point. “No can do. I need to start editing these photos, and you need a shower.”

“Wow. You really know how to kill the mood. I thought it was fantastic sex that was worthy of more rounds. Why can’t the photos wait until tomorrow?”

The more I moved, the more clarity began to flit through me.

Along with myextensiveto-do list.

God, I really needed Tylenol for the day ahead.

And my goddamned bra.

I shook my head as I finally found it, somehow slung against what probably should’ve been a dining table of some sorts.

Why did I have the distinct feeling I was the one who was eaten there instead?

“Because you’re playing at a music festival in five days, and your social media manager—ya know, the makeup artist who made me look actually hot—wanted these as additional promo. Not that youneedit, but hey, this is my job. I’m doing what I was hired to do.”

“You were already very hot. And I can hire you to do something…”

“Nope. Try again.”

“Uh…yeah, okay. I guess you’re right. I need to go pick up my daughter from the babysitter. Does that give me any brownie points, though? Single dads are the hot new rager, ya know. Especially when the mom is dead and you’re not a deadbeat.”

My eyes rolled as I stomped to the bathroom and nearly slammed the door. Though, a smile was somehow on my face at his persistence. It felt good to bewanted. Even if…that had to be the weirdest clutch. “I love your music, but I hardly remember last night, and I have bills to pay. My answer is no. Go be a dad,bicho raro.”

He groaned softly, and I chuckled at how boyish and childlike it sounded. “I don’t know that one.”

I doubt he meant any harm. But regardless of his intentions—sexual or otherwise—it was me who would still be dealing with at least some form of emotional guilt in the next few minutes, regardless of how well I hid it.

His voice was louder now; I could hear him on the other side of the closed door. “Can I at least get your number?”

My smile dropped.

And there it was.

Shame.

“Sure, yeah!” I shouted back.

It’s not like it would go anywhere, though.

Because I was still fucking married to a man that refused to sign divorce papers.

A man that Derek would be playing with at one of the largest music festival events in the United States.

My hands came up to rub my temples furiously.

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