Page 40 of Eye of the Hurricane
I roll my eyes and slide off of him, back onto the mattress next to him.
“Right, of course. I’m a woman, so I don’t know how to balance happiness and success. Why don’t you let me know? You know, since you’re a man,” I snap. His face falls, the happy, boyish look he was wearing previously disappearing. Guilt gnaws at me but instead of relenting like I know I should, I brush the feeling off and decide this is the hill to die on.
“Kat, come on. You know it isn’t like that.”
“Do I?” I’m fully sitting now, looking down at him with a raised brow. I ask myself momentarily how we got here.
Two minutes ago, I was lying on top of him and we were both smiling. Then I remember that it’s me and my big feelings. Me and my sensitivity to how I go about my career.
“Yeah, honey. You do. I’m not sure what I said to upsetyou, but I’m sorry. I just don’t want the cost of your career to be your own happiness,” he admits.
“I can be happyandwork hard, men do it all the time.”
“I have no doubts you can do anything a man can do and then some. I just would also like to see you rest and have some fun.”
“I make time for fun! I specifically pencil it in on my calendar,” I say matter-of-factly. A laugh bubbles out of him and my backbone made of glass shatters. He’s looking out for my best interest and I’m biting his head off for it.
“You can’t schedule fun, Katherine.”
“I do it all the time.”
“Real fun. You can’t schedulerealfun,” he corrects himself. “Let me show you how to have real fun. And I promise you won’t miss a single second of work doing it.”
I scoff. “Let me show you how to be disciplined,” I joke. Itwasa joke. Except to my surprise, he agrees.
“Deal,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbow and pushing out his free hand to shake on it. I’m already making a hundred other horrible decisions when it comes to him, so what’s one more?
“Deal.” I place my hand in his and shake on it.
“Does this mean we can go back to bed?” he asks.
“You wish. It means we’re getting up. I have work to do and you’re going home.” I push my finger into his chest for emphasis.
“Why do I have to leave?”
“Because you don’t want to watch me work all day,” I answer honestly.
“Fine, do you have any ibuprofen? This headache is killing me.” He clutches his forehead with his hand.
“Yep, in the nightstand,” I start. Before I can even tell himwhich drawer, he’s reaching for the top one. “Not that one!” I exclaim. Damage is already done. He’s now face-to-face with my sex toys.
I want to sink into the mattress and let it swallow me whole when he picks one up, none other than my hot pink bullet, and turns to face me. The smirk on his face sets my cheeks aflame.
“You touch yourself?”
“Oh my God. We arenotdoing this.”
“You don’t want to tell me how yo—” I cut him off, covering his mouth with my hand. My cheeks are burning red and my heart is racing. I’m beyond embarrassed.
“Ares, please. I’m embarrassed,” I plead.
“Okay,” he relents. He sets it back where he found it and reaches into the next drawer down for the ibuprofen. He takes it with the water sitting on the nightstand and pretends the last five minutes didn’t happen.
I stand up out of bed and he follows suit. Ares walks to the doorway before realizing I’m not following him. He turns around to see me reaching for the comforter. A knowing smile pops up on his face.
“You can’t go on with your day until you make your bed, huh?”
“Don’t laugh at me, I’m just particular.” I frown. He doesn’t say another word. He just watches me make my bed from the corner with a smile on his face. When I’m done, he slips his shirt and sweatpants back on.
