I laugh. “Fine. I guess I’m just wondering if it was all a part of the fucking.”
“I guess we’ll see. Men are pigs. I’m sorry, babe.”
I don’t bother texting Dante. He’d told me to take the rest of the week off, so I have no reason to communicate with him. But since we’d been in near-constant company for the past ten days, it feels strange to be away from him and tonotupdate him.
But if he wants to contact me, he can contact me.
It’s a thirty-minute drive back to my house, and after I thank Ari for picking me up, she drives back to work.
I spend my day unpacking and staring longingly at the baby blanket supplies I’d ordered before the business trip, but my heart isn’t in it today. I mope around the house and make ramen for dinner. When it starts to rain, I curl up on the couch and read a murder mystery book with zero romance, because I don’t think my heart can take it.
Around nine p.m., my phone chimes with a text.
Doctor Devil
I assume you made it home safely.
His text doesn’t reassure me at all. It’s formal and stuffy, just like I’m used to.
Yep. Sorry, got distracted.
Doctor Devil
Good. Are you enjoying your evening alone?
I’m full of ramen and reading about dismemberment, so sure.
Doctor Devil
You had ramen for dinner?
…yes?
Doctor Devil
Open your door.
My heart skips a beat as I look at my door and then down at his text.
You’re outside my house?
Doctor Devil
I am.
I quickly stand up and look around at the mess. My ramen bowl is still on the coffee table, and there are several blankets flung onto the floor from jumping up so abruptly. The boxes of baby blanket materials are stacked in the corner, and I’m pretty sure I had some cheese go bad while I was away, so despitelighting a candle earlier, my house smells like moldy cheese and roses.
Not to mention, I’m wearing my rattiest pajamas—a pair of leggings with holes in the knees and an oversized t-shirt with no bra.
Quickly pulling my hair into a messy bun, I tidy the blankets and drop my ramen bowl in the kitchen sink before I pull my front door open.
Dr. Kincaid is standing there with his arms crossed, one brow arched. He’s wearing the same thing as earlier today, complete with his suitcase.
And a potted orchid. Apinkorchid.
I open my mouth to ask why he’s here, but he takes a step forward into my house.
“My driver pulled up to my house and I didn’t even go inside,” he explains, looking tired all of a sudden. “So I told him to drive to your house.”
