I was right—living with Nick was a bad idea.
22
ABIGAIL
Exhaustion pulls at my lids as I drive home. It’s after midnight, and I smell like chicken-fried steak and Italian dressing. I love Moe to pieces, but I’m not sure how many more shifts I can handle. Juggling classes, taking care of Hazel, and tutoring is plenty. The extra money for my trip would be nice, but not if I die of exhaustion first.
I park on the street. Nick’s house is dark except for a small light in the kitchen that we leave on at night.
I’d love to march straight to my room and collapse in bed, but if I don’t take a quick shower, my bedding will smell like Moe’s, and I’ll have to wash the sheets. So after I get a drink of water, I grab my pajamas and clean undies and set them on my bed.
My phone buzzes with a text.
Moe: Did ya get home okay?
Me: Yes, thanks! Goodnight! :)
He texts all of the staff who work late to make sure we get home safely, which I appreciate.
Yawning, I head to the bathroom, close the door, and crank the shower. After I strip out of my clothes, I toss them in my compartment of the hamper, which has three sections, one for each of us. Then I step under the steaming hot water and groan. It feels so good. I lean against the wall and let the water pummel me. I’d give anything for a back massage right now.
After I wash off, I grab my towel that’s hanging on a wall hook and dry off. Once I’m done, I glance at the counter.
Wait. Where are my pajamas? Didn’t I just grab them out of the dresser?
Dang it. I think I left them on my bed. Frustrated, I wrap the towel around me, flip off the light, and head back down the hall.
Oof.
I bounce off something hard.
Heart pounding, I somehow manage not to scream.
Big, calloused hands wrap around my shoulders. “Shit. Sorry, Abby.”
I barely manage to keep the towel wrapped around me. “You scared me, you big oaf.”
He chuckles. “Maybe if you were looking where you were going…”
I’m tired and cold and confused and in no mood for his flirty smile.
I poke him in his hard chest. His warm, hard, bare chest. I whisper-yell at him, “Listen, mister. You don’t get to be mean to me all week and then break out the charm when you feel like it. One minute, you’re making me dinner and we’re friends, and the next, you’re growly and irritable and ignoring me. Are we friends or not? I get that I’m your employee, but that doesn’t mean you can be a beast whenever you feel like it. Because I don’t like getting whiplash.”
It’s dark, so I can barely see him except for the light coming down the hall from the kitchen, but I think he’s frowning.
I sigh. “Do you want me to move out? I don’t want to be a burden. I’d rather us get along.”
“Fuck,” he mutters.
“I… I can move my things tomorrow night. That motel wasn’t so bad.” I swallow down the hurt.
His paw moves to cup my jaw. “That’s… No. I don’t want you to move. I’m sorry, Abby. I’ve been an asshole.”
“What’s going on? Why are you mad at me?”
He tilts my head up.
That’s when I realize how close we are. How his chest is heaving. How he’s looking at me like I’m an ice cream cone he wants to lick up.
