Page 83 of Cashmere Cruelty
I try to roll over. I fail. Sometimes, I forget the physical limitations of growing a human being inside your body. “It was the best sex I ever had,” I confess, defeated.
“Wow. Better than Carter Niles?”
“Waybetter than Carter Niles,” I confirm.
“Damn. Now, I’m thinkingIshould find myself a Bratva Pokémon.”
I groan into the back of the couch, dignity forgotten. “It was out of this world, Jay. Both times. Did I tell you about the tie?”
“Only over a million breakfasts.”
“Well, this time, there was no tie. No nothing.And it still blew my brains out my ears.”
“That’s graphic. Are you sure he didn’t just shoot you?”
“Believe me,” I whisper dreamily, letting my mind indulge in the memory of those big hands on me. “I wish he had.”
That’s the crux of the matter: it wasgood.Not just good, but spectacular. If it’d been like all the other times—a tumble in the dark with a random guy from the club, or a blind fumble under the bleachers—it would have been fine. Just me, a good shower, and maybe a round of vibrator to pick up where anyone other than Carter Niles left off. And even then, it’s not like Carter ever put his mouth where his money was.
Butthis?
How am I supposed to forgetthis?
Just the thought’s enough to get my body all worked up again. My treacherous, hormonal body and its streak of bad, bad choices.
Granted, I didn’t take many dips in the dating pool. Mostly I was just too overworked to do it. The shop, my projects, fixing a leak in the house every other week so that our sticky-fingered landlord wouldn’t withhold our deposit—I’ve been a busy gal. That’s not to say I’ve grown cobwebs.Just that I haven’t had much… experience. So maybe that’s what’s blinding me here.
But man, thosehands.
I slap myself on both cheeks. “No,” I scold my body sternly. “Bad girl. We don’t chase after pant hems in this house. Even if they’re covering a truly spectacular?—”
Someone clears their throat behind me.
I jump. I fall right off the couch and onto the rug—back-first, luckily. Or, well, luckily for Nugget. I can already tell I’m gonna be needing a cane.
Above me, Petra smiles innocently. “Caught you in the middle of something?”
Fantasizing about your future husband, actually. Funny you should ask.
“Not at all.” I smile back. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
Which she’s clearly already done, if the fact that shelet herself inis any indication. Did Matvey give her a key? I swear, if he gave his psycho fake girlfriend a key…
Petra perches gracefully on the back of the couch. Way less gracefully, I pull myself up. I look and feel like some sad, floppy sea creature.
“What brings you here?” I ask, using my best customer service voice. The one that meansI can’t tell you to fuck off but I’m blinking it in Morse code.
“Just dropping by to check on your precious cargo,” Petra replies amiably. “Which… Is it me or is it getting bigger by the day?”
You-huge-bitch.“Guess it’s you!” I chuckle, brimming with rage.
“Hmm, pretty sure it’s you!” she sing-songs back, chuckling just as warmly. God, is this what it’s like to catfight? Please, somebody give us swords. “That’s gonna be rough, isn’t it?” Petra adds, mock-wincing. “I hear pregnancy weight never really goes away.”
Ha-ha-fuck-you.“I’ll manage,” I say with a strained smile. It takes more than some snow globe gnome calling me fat to shake my pride. Besides, her fiancé didn’t seem to mind the extra pound or two.
I’m shaken out of my high school regression to catty-as-fuck when Petra rises, her cropped cream blazer fluttering with the motion.
“Wait. Is that a tear?”