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“It was nothing.”
He opens the door, flicking on the light and helping me into my room. It’s just like it always was. All traces of her gone. Packed into a suitcase that’s sitting in the hallway downstairs.
“Get some sleep.” Dad sits me on the bed and pats my shoulder.
I watch him leave, then unbutton half of my shirt, getting annoyed when it’s taking too long. I rip it over my head instead. I undo my pants, pulling them off and tossing them onto the floor. Then I collapse onto the bed, turning onto my side and burying my head into the pillow.
I inhale.
Nothing.
I toss it out of the way and try the one underneath instead.
Laundry detergent.
I toss that one too and pull the covers back, sniffing the sheet on the mattress.
Lavender.
“Fuck!”
I stagger to my feet, lurching across the room and into the dressing room. I yank open the top drawer so hard that it almost breaks away from the runner.
I stick my head inside and breathe in.
“Useless fucking—”
I slam it shut and stagger back into the bedroom, over to my suitcase I dropped off on my way to meet Logan Rich after landing from LA this morning. I throw out my neatly rolled clothes, hurling them all over the floor until I find what I’m looking for.
I clutch the cool glass to my chest as I sink to the floor, resting my head back against the bed behind me. My heart hammers, sweat breaking out across my hairline as I ease the cap off and lift it to my nose.
“Goddamn,” I groan as I inhale waterlily and caramel.
I inhale again, my nostrils flaring wide as I fight to get enough. I curse. It’s not enough. No matter how many times I suck hard through my nose, taking in enough air to make my head explode,it’s not fucking enough.
I put my finger over the gold pump and squirt.
One. Two. Three….
I keep squirting until all the hair on my chest is doused in enough perfume that I’d go up like a cheap nylon suit on a barbecue. Then I slam a heavy palmagainst my skin, rubbing it in, her scent finally filling my nose, reaching my senses.
I tip my head back and stare at the ceiling as I inhale, remembering the way she smelled when her head was resting against my chest in bed. Remembering the way her perfume clung to her hair, scenting the strands that I’d run through my fingers as she slept in my arms. Back when sleeping with me kept her nightmares away.
Before I became one to her.
I let out a pained groan. The dark-haired woman with the pink lipstick smelled like wine and oranges when she whispered flirty things in my ear that most men would kill to hear, before trying to kiss me.
I threw another couple of fifties on the bar and told her it was my time to go. I could have taken up her offer. But I’m not sure I’d have even been able to get hard. The only way I’ve been able to since walking into my father’s kitchen that day and finding a bratty guest barefoot at the fridge is if I pictureher.
Only her.
No one else comes close.
If it’s not flame-haired with a fiery attitude to match, I don’t want it.
If it’s not berry-flavored lipstick, I don’t want it.
If it’s not waterlilies and caramel, I don’t want it.
