Page 43 of Wicked Heat

She tugs on my fingers, keeping me from walking away after I’ve swung off the bed. “Where are you going?”

“To the bathroom. I want to splash some water on my face.”

I can tell she doesn’t want to leave me alone even for that, but finally she nods. “I’ll make you some cocoa,” she says. “Meet me in the kitchen?” She looks me up and down as if she’s afraid I’m going to flush myself down the toilet to escape. But I’m back now. I’m myself again. At least, I think I am.

“Really. I’m fine. Just a little shaken. I’ll be okay.”

She hesitates a moment longer, then releases my hand. She follows me to the bathroom, and I think I’m going to have to push her away to keep her from coming in. But when I step over the threshold, she hesitates only a moment before continuing to the kitchen.

I sigh, then close the door. I stare at myself in the mirror, wondering who I am. It’s not the first time I’ve wondered that since the kidnapping. I don’t know why, but I haven’t quite felt like me since it happened. Teresa said it was because I’d been stripped of my autonomy. That I didn’t have any will of my own, and even though it wasn’t a long kidnapping, it still messed with my head.

She prescribed time and therapy, and the truth is that I am better. Not perfect, but better. I know my triggers. I understand what to avoid.

I should have avoided Ash.

Of course, the fact that some maniac is harassing me about the kidnapping and gaslighting me with video from those horrible days, could have something to do with it. But that’s not what I want to think about, even though I know that I should.

I look at my reflection one more time. “It’s not going away,” I tell myself. “You know that. You have to think about it. You have to do something about it. And you need to ask Ash for the money.”

That’s the kicker, isn’t it? That the only person who can help me is a man I don’t really know. A man I’m wildly attracted to. A man I stood up. A man who just today told me flat out that he wants me even though for months I’d been sure that he hated me.

And why wouldn’t he after the way I ghosted him at the hotel?

Except none of that matters because he’s also a man who will give me the money. I’m certain of that. But I’m equally certain that he’ll want something in return. And whatever it is, I’ll have no choice but to agree.

Since that’s not something I want to think about right now, I splash water on my face, ignore the fact that I’ve drenched the front of my sleep shirt, then pad barefoot to the kitchen where Aria’s made cocoa for both of us.

She’s perched on one of the stools that sit at our pass-through bar. Or what will be a bar after I finish studying YouTube videos to figure out how to finalize the wooden frame of this project that was abandoned by the previous owners. After that I’m going to have to figure out how to tile the whole thing.

Right now, that’s really not high on my to-do list.

Aria takes another bite of her bagel as I take my first life-giving sip of cocoa, then put a bagel in the toaster for myself. As the bagel heats, I gulp down a bit more of the warm treat, then top off my mug with what’s left in the saucepan.

Aria watches me silently through the ritual. She knows me well enough to wait until I’ve had a few sips before engaging in any social niceties.

“You’re talking to Ash today?” she asks as I rummage in the fridge for the cream cheese. “Also, I had the last of it.”

I poke my head out. “Seriously?”

“There was barely a tablespoon left. I’ll make a grocery run later. Have butter or jam and don’t change the subject.”

“Fine.” I pull out the tub of margarine and a jar of strawberry jam.

“Bree…”

“He’s crashing my interview. Of course, I’m talking to him.”

She cocks her head. “I mean about the money.”

“I know what you mean.”

She looks at me.

I don’t answer.

“Fine. Whatever. But if you don’t ask him, you better have a Plan B in place. Can you talk to your parents?”

I gape at her, my bagel only an inch from my mouth. “Are you nuts? You know they don’t have that kind of cash.”