Page 156 of Divorced from Number Thirty-Eight
I won’t repeat past mistakes.
Won’t allow what happened to Courtney happen to Faye.
I won’t.
“I’m so glad you feel that way, honey,” she says, covering my hands with her own. “But I need you to know that I get I made a mistake too. That I should have—wait.” She frowns, fingers tightening on mine. “Why wouldn’t I be next door?”
“What do you mean? You told me that, baby.”
The furrow between her brows deepens. “I haven’t talked to you since that night last week. Something I’ve been beating myself up for. I shouldn’t have just?—”
“Okay, so we didn’t talk, but you texted.” I shrug. “Yeah, I was an asshole who didn’t text back, but that’s mostly because I was arranging the interview with the PR team and talking with Coach so I could come back and see you.” My mouth hitches up. “Of course, I thought I’d have to track you down at Luna’s or Kailey’s place and beg them to let me see you. I didn’t expect to find you in my bed, in my jersey?—”
My cock twitches.
Something she feels, if the way she rocks against me is any indication. “But I didn’t text you, Gray. I spent the week moping and hating that I wasn’t strong enough to reach out.”
“First, I think I’ve made it clear that you’re strong, Red, and I don’t want to hear you say differently.”
She opens her mouth, protest in her eyes.
“I’ll argue with you about that later,” I say cutting off what is sure to be an objection about my orders.
Right now, I need to figure something else out.
“You didn’t text?”
Guilt drifting across her face as she shakes her head.
“Then”—I scoop my pants off the floor, rifle around the pockets for my phone—“what is this?”
She stares at the screen for a long moment then her eyes come back to mine. “I didn’t send these.”
“Who—”
“Oh, my God!” She sits up so quickly, the sheet falls to her middle, and since the jersey is rucked up, I’m seriously distracted by that plump pink cunt of hers.
I haven’t gotten to spend enough time with it.
I need to make it pinker. Wetter.
Thoughts that admittedly sidetrack me from her next words.
Or word, rather.
“Luna!” she exclaims sharply, tossing the sheet back.
I shake myself. Focus. “What about Luna?”
“She had my phone last night, and when she gave it back, I thought she looked weird. Now I realize it’s because she looked guilty!” She snatches her phone off the nightstand, starts jabbing at the screen.
“Maybe you should wait until you calm down?—”
She jabs a finger in my direction and I don’t ever think I’ve seen that particular expression on her face.
And yeah, I know I haven’t known her all that long.
I just…
