“Tenley, sweetie, don’t you think he should know?”
“I’ll tell him eventually.” But not until I absolutely had to. I didn’t know how Hayden would deal with that kind of information or the fact that I’d kept it from him. I didn’t want him to think I was using him as a rebound. It scared me how much I needed him now. I couldn’t risk putting any distance between us. “You’re sure he wasn’t upset with me?”
“No.” She shook her head vehemently. “He was beside himself when you broke down. He didn’t want to leave, but I told him I would stay. I kind of threatened to castrate him.”
“You did what?”
She waved her hand. “Figuratively speaking. Anyway, we reached an understanding, so as long as he holds up his end of the deal, he gets to keep his balls.”
“I’d be interested to know what kind of deal you struck.”
“Feel free to ask him,” Sarah said, her smile full of mischief. She grew serious. “You know, it might have helped if I’d known you were sleeping with the guy. I have some thoughts on that, but I’m not going to share them with you right now, since you look like you might beat me with that pillow.”
I tossed aside the pillow. “I never said I was sleeping with him.”
Sarah arched an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to. It was written all over Hayden’s face. That, and he told me he was staying here every night. I assume you’re not making him sleep on the couch.”
I laughed. I would have to be certifiable to relegate Hayden to the couch.
“I can see why you’re into him. He’s got that badass man-pretty thing going on.”
“I would advise you to keep that observation to yourself. Hayden’s not a fan of the word pretty when it’s applied to him, even if it’s preceded by badass,” I said, glad to move on to lighter topics.
“I bet.”
We lay there until the pain in my back became too much. I shuffled to the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. My skin felt tight, like a terrible sunburn. I took a regular painkiller and glanced at the anxiety meds. I couldn’t take any if I wanted to function, and I needed a clear head when I talked to Hayden today.
Before Sarah went home, she helped remove the plastic wrap. She was stunned by the intricacy of the design. I remembered little of what Hayden said about aftercare, but I did recall his chastising me over leaving the gauze on too long last time. The cool air functioned as both an irritant and a balm. Unable to bear the abrasiveness of fabric, I donned an apron to cover my chest and allow the tattoo to breathe.
Sarah promised to come back with coffee, so I left my door unlocked. The only new messages on my phone were ones I was evading. Trey continued to call, and I continued to ignore him, hoping eventually he would get the message and leave me alone. So far it hadn’t worked. I tried to work on my thesis, but I couldn’t focus enough to accomplish anything. It was still too early to call Hayden, so I decided to bake.
I pulled out my mixer and assembled the ingredients. Baking was a passion I inherited from my mom. Most of the time it relaxed me, but today it made me miss her more than ever. When the cupcakes were in the oven, I started on the icing. I was almost done sifting sugar when Sarah knocked on the door.
“Come on in.” I turned the speed down on the mixer and sifted in a little more sugar to improve the consistency.
The door opened and closed.
“Holy fuck.”
Hayden’s deep voice was unexpected. Icing sugar puffed out of the bag, a fine dusting settling on the counter and my skin. I flipped off the mixer and turned to find Hayden staring at me, slack-jawed, a tray with three take-out coffees in his hand. He set it on the edge of the counter, his eyes never straying from my body. My outfit was ridiculous. To complement the apron, I wore a pair of black shorts that covered too little to be good for anything but sleeping. And I had on leg warmers, because I liked them and they were comfortable.
“I thought you were Sarah,” I said meekly.
I feared the conversation we needed to have. From Sarah’s perspective, he’d seemed more shocked by the revelation than upset. Or maybe she was wrong. With a glower, Hayden stalked across the kitchen to stand over me. I tilted my head back. He looked tired, but he was freshly showered, his hair still damp. He skimmed my arms with his fingertips, barely touching me, a juxtaposition to the hard line of his mouth. “You took the cellophane off.”
“W-was I supposed to leave it on?” I stumbled over my response, taken off-guard. I’d expected immediate confrontation, not this.
“Did you do it by yourself?”
“Sarah helped me.”
“That’s my job.” His lip twitched.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t let it happen again.” I felt like we weren’t talking about the tattoo anymore.
“About last night—” I started.