Page 58 of Fool Me

“Not a single fucking one.” I close the door behind us and Echo trots to his bed, circling until he finds the right spot to lay his head. “You might think you’re okay, but I wouldn’t sleep tonight without knowing you’re okay.”

“You’re probably not going to sleep great tonight, anyway. I’m not exactly set up for slumber parties.”

I look down the length of the space she calls home, toward the kitchen and the loft. It’s the first time it’s felt as small as it is. “I can take the couch.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “How very chivalrous of you.”

She has no idea how chivalrous I want to be right now. If I had things my way, I’d follow her into what I’m certain is a bathroom built for one, strip her out of her climbing clothes and wash this day off of her before tucking her into bed and pressing myself to her so I can feel the rhythm of her heart beating all night.

That, however, would cross many lines. Flirting occasionally doesn’t equal consent for me to be a menace because I need to know she’s okay. That’s my burden to carry and can do it from behind the closed door of the bathroom and the couch.

“Do you want to shower while I make us something to eat?”

“You’re going to cook for me?”

“Let’s get one thing straight: I’m going to do all the hard work tonight. The most I’m comfortable with you doing is rinsing off. And the only reason I can concede that is because I’ll be just a few feet away, at the stove, while you do it.”

She reaches up and pulls her braid free from its elastic, raking her short nails over her scalp. Her eyes squeeze shut when she gets close to the gash. “Has anyone ever told you you’re overbearing?”

“Actually, my therapist and I talk about it regularly.”

“It’s even more annoying that you’re aware of it.”

“Thank you?”

“I went shopping yesterday. Go nuts.”

I dig through her fridge, pulling out broccoli, bell peppers, carrots, spinach, some thawed chicken, eggs, butter, lemon, and parmesan cheese. Shuffling footsteps drift toward the bathroom and I can’t help imploring her, “Not too long and not too hot. I don’t want you getting dizzy.”

“Such a fucking pain in my ass.” I can’t see her face, but I can hear the smile in her teasing voice.

“Seems like you like me bossing you around,” I retort, opening the cabinets in search of more ingredients and finding garlic, jasmine rice, and soy sauce.

“Nah, I liked you better when you were being a good boy.”

“I can be both,” I say over the sound of the closing door.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

HARLOWE

His deep, teasing voice follows me into the bathroom. It’s the first time my cozy little home has felt claustrophobic. And hell, my clothes feel too tight right now as I shuck them off. He’s worried about me getting dizzy in a hot shower. To hell with that. I need a cold shower.

I can be both.

What was I thinking? Calling him a good boy and baiting him like that when we are spending the night in such close quarters.

And this is not all my fault. No, sir.

Why does he have to be so damn imposing? And how come I find this domineering side of him just as enticing as the sweet side of him? Pick a lane, buddy, you’re getting my ovaries all tangled up as they chase you around, begging for attention from both sides of you.

Adjusting the knob so the water is cold but not unbearable, I peel my underwear and sticky sports bra off. Then, when I remember Atlas is just feet away, I nudge the handle back a little more, just to be safe. Can’t be turned on and frozen—that’s just common sense.

I’m giving myself ten minutes in this shower to get my shit together, because this flirting is going to be the end of me.Goosebumps immediately spring up across my skin when I step into the shower.

But it doesn’t wash away the self-deprecating monologue running rampant in my head. I’m angry with myself because Atlas keeps making me want to kiss him when no one is around, like that’s a solid option.

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