Page 30 of The Crowned Garza
I fling the covers off me and sit up, then pause at the unfamiliar surroundings. A groan leaves me when the memories of last night come rushing in. “Shit.”
What on earth was I thinking last night? At the party with Dom, I’d taken a shot of whiskey for liquid courage, but I have a high alcohol tolerance, so I most certainly wasn’t drunk. Yet it’s the only thing I can point to for what could’ve possibly clouded my judgment enough that I thought callinghimwas a good idea. The last person that I, of sound and sober mind, would’ve wanted to see me in such a vulnerable and pathetic state.
Holding my breath, I listen for signs of life. I don’t have to check the time as Sunny calls me at ten on the dot every morning. There’s no chance Saint would be home at this hour, not when he’s so heavily needed at Red Cage, the grease to its wheels. He might be in the building, but not in the loft.
On that thought, I exhale and self-chastise, “Ugh. Such a dumb idiot move. Sostupid.”
“Oh no, I know that tone,” says Sunny. “That’s the tone you use when something’s gone down with the mysterious X. What foolish thing did you do this time?”
“Shut your face hole, you twatty know-it-all.”
“Wait, what about your pop-the-cherry plan with Dom? Did you do it?”
I put the call on speaker and drop the phone so I can face-plant into my palms as I fill her in on last night’s events, wincing with every other sentence.
“Oh, T, I’m so sorry you had an awful experience,” she sympathizes when I’m done. “My first time was painful, too, but Howie took the time to make sure I was comfortable all throughout, then gave me proper aftercare. You’re definitelynotthe problem.”
“Nah, I’m all talk and no bark,” I say. “I think I’m the shit and can’t even take dick.”
“Hey, stop it! You’re a bad bitch.”
“Or a dumb bitch.”
“Well, maybe a tiny bit for calling X,” she agrees. “What did he say?”
“Verbally, nothing. Demeanor wise, definitely pissed.”
“Hmm. I’m still trying to figure out you two’s relationship, so I don’t even know what to make of that.”
“Trust me, to him, I’m just a thorn in his side.”
“And to you?”
I shrug before remembering she can’t see me. “I don’t know. I think I just... I dunno. Being around him does things to me, you know?”
“Nope. Can’t relate.”
Of course she can’t. She’s dead inside. “Hey, this is all your fault, you know. If you didn’t live so damn far away, I wouldn’t have called him.”
“Something tells me that even if I lived right next door, you still would’ve called him.”
Something tells me she’s right.
“Anyway,” she says, her fingers snapping in the background, “since you have no workout gear there and your coochie is sad, we’ll do some lazy Pilates instead. Come on. Chop-chop. I’ll video call you in five minutes.”
That’s Sunny. She never lets me wallow or feel sorry for myself because she can’t relate emotionally to anything. My precious little stone-hearted sunshine. Her inadvertent apathy gives me strength.
Jumping out of bed, I get ready for Pilates.
~
AFTER ANOT-so-lazy Pilates session with Sunny that leaves me drenched in sweat, I call Mom and update her on my fake whereabouts then take a cold shower. Starving by that point, I get dressed in another T-shirt and boxers from Saint’s dresser then head to the kitchen.
And…why, oh, whydid he have to have a fully stocked fridge and pantry? This is so damn sexy to me. Why couldn’t he be that guy with one beer, one sprouting potato, a jar of expired salsa, and an empty pizza box in his fridge? Why did he have to bethisguy? The guy with a fridge full of fresh, healthy produce. A fancy spice rack loaded withallthe spices. A stocked pantry that offers endless options.
What this tells me is that he eats at home more than he eats out. There’s nothing hotter than that to me. A self-sufficient man who knows his way around the kitchen? Pinch my head like a clothespin and watch me spread open.
I whip up a hearty breakfast, all while muffled sounds can be heard from Indy’s room. Seems she’s having a blast in there. Got to love a gal who can enjoy her own company.
