Page 41 of Love is Blind

“How fitting,” she mutters. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened that night?”

I haven’t divulged much since Holly dropped me off yesterday morning and that’s mainly because I didn’t want to hear the whole‘I told you so’speech.

When Emmy questioned why the queen of the Satan’s Knights had taken me home and not the man I spent the night with, I simply told her that Holly and I had hit it off. I didn’t give her the chance to ask any other questions and took off for the guest room, claiming I was exhausted.

That much wasn’t a lie and when I woke up later on, she had left for work. She didn’t get back until early this morning and it was her turn to make a beeline for the bed. But I guess the two ships passing in the night act has run its course.

“You’re still wearing his shirt,” she points out.

“It’s comfy,” I defend.

“So if he comes in tonight should I tell him he’s not getting it back?”

I didn’t give much thought to what would happen when Ghost and Emmy saw one another. Would he tell her what happened? I doubt it. I mean what would he say—I fucked your cousin then sent my friend to take her home because some crazy lady—who wasn’t my wife—banged on the door and sent everything to Hell in a handbasket.

“Fine, keep the details to yourself, but if this becomes a thing—”

I cut her off.

“It won’t.” Realizing how abrupt that sounds, I try to backpedal. “I rarely ever go back for seconds. Besides, I’ve got to focus on nailing a job. I can’t live in your guest room forever.”

“Does that mean you’re staying in Knightdale?”

Another thing I don’t quite have figured out. Going back to Charlotte isn’t an option, not with Ralphie looking for me, but I’m not about to tell Emmy that either. The less she knows, the better both of us will be.

“It means, I’m figuring things out,” I say, taking another bite of my pizza.

She lets it go and finally presses play on the movie before disappearing out the door. Alone, I make myself comfortable and attack the rest of my pizza. I’m about to start on the breadsticks when I hear a knock on the door. I feel around the coffee table for the remote and count the buttons, finding the one I think is pause. Pushing it with my thumb, I silently cheer when the movie goes silent.

You got to celebrate the small victories.

I grab my cane and push up from the floor.

“Who is it?” I call out.

“Ghost.”

My mouth hangs open at the sound of his voice and I nearly drop my cane. After he completely ignored me when I left the clubhouse, I didn’t bank on ever hearing from him again. He didn’t have my phone number, and while he knew Emmy, I didn’t think he’d make any attempt to blatantly seek me out. In fact, I still don’t think so, that’s why I say, “Emmy left for work already.”

“Not here to see Emmy, Birdie.”

I pull my lower lip between my teeth. If he’s not here for Emmy, then I’m not sure why he’s here at all. He better not have come all this way to ask for his shirt back. After all, I lost a pair of panties and my favorite bra in his bedroom, not to mention my pajamas seem to have been a casualty of war and you don’t see me harassing him for any of that.

“Are you going to open the door?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” I admit.

If I open it, I’ll be setting myself up to feel more of those pesky little sparks and while they’re nice, they don’t last very long and the aftershocks suck.

“Fair enough, but if you don’t open the door then I’m going to have to break it down. Either way, I’m coming in and we’re talking.”

My belly does a somersault at those words.

Why do I find that so attractive?

Disgusted with myself, I march toward the door, my cane tapping angrily against the floor with every step. I pull it open, brace my free hand on my hip and lift my chin.

“What do you want?” I ask, trying my hardest not to lean in for a sniff. That cologne should be illegal.

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