Page 31 of Last Summer

Ella fires him a dirty look, shoves open the building’s glass doors, and stomps through the lobby.

Damien follows her inside. She stabs the elevator button.

“Ella?” he asks, cautious.

Screw it. She’s so over him not opening up.

She turns on him. Even drenched in sweat and smelling like a gym locker, she finds him breathtakingly gorgeous. She could jump him in the lobby and not have a care in the world who walked by. Except right now she’s pissed.

“You ditched me. What’s up with you? Is this just about work or is something else going on?”

“You know there’s a lot going down.” His tone has softened. She doubts he’ll admit it, but he must realize his speed burst up the hill was a dick move.

“Then talk to me about it. Don’t shut me out. Or run off with my music. Eminem sucks, by the way.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

The elevator doors slide open and they step inside. Damien presses the button for their floor. “Can we talk about this later?” he suggests, staring at the panel of buttons.

“Let me guess. You’re not ready.”

“No. I have to get to work and you have to drive to Sacramento.”

“Do you realize it’s been four months?” His brow furrows and Ella gets into his space. The elevator isn’t small, but she makes sure he can’t look anywhere but at her.

“Four months, two weeks, and three days. That’s how long it’s been since we lost Simon. And we still haven’t talked about it. We haven’t talked abouthim.”

He rakes a hand through his damp hair. “No memories yet?”

“You know they haven’t come back. Not talking about it doesn’t help me. Or us,” she snaps. “I think you’ve had enough time to process. Don’t put off your grief. It only makes it worse.”

Damien grinds his jaw. She doesn’t care. She’s feeling punchy and her patience is at an end. She wants her memories back, and he’s the only one who can help her.

The elevator dings and the doors open. Ella leads the way into their apartment. She doesn’t stop until they’re in the master bathroom. She toes off her shoes and kicks them out of the way. Damien peels off his shirt. He watches her strip and turn on the shower, but he doesn’t say anything. Ella tests the water temperature, and he’s still silent. He removes his shoes and tugs down his shorts. He stands there with his cut abs and the indents on the sides of his glutes, and she wants to forget about being pissed and have hot sweaty sex with him on top of the double vanity. But a quickie won’t resolve her frustration with him. Why won’t he talk with her? What’s his deal? Why is he biting his tongue?

Biting his tongue.

Ella doesn’t have the chance to dwell on where she’s recently heard that phrase before because Damien says her name when she steps into the shower and under the spray. Turning, she meets his gaze. It locks with hers.

“I’m sorry,” he says in a heartfelt manner.

She sighs, gives him one last look of frustration, then holds out her hand.

Damien doesn’t hesitate. In three short strides, he’s in the shower and she’s in his arms. Then he’s kissing her, thoroughly, and their hands travel everywhere.

She lets him work out his stress on her. He takes her hard against the tile, then again on the bed, their skin slick and wet, their hair dripping. He drives into her with the same ferocity he had during their run. This time, he doesn’t leave her behind.

When their heart rates steady and breathing evens, Damien rolls off her. He drapes an arm over his eyes.

“Damien,” Ella says. “What’s going on with you?”

He sighs.

“I want to help, but you have to talk to me.”

“Ben emailed me.” PDN’s legal counselor.

Damien rolls to his side to face her. He absently touches Ella’s hair, wraps a section around his finger.

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