Or maybe he was asking about the part where he so skillfully rolled my nipple that it felt as if he had found a direct line to my clit—a few minutes more and I could have come from that alone.
Or perhaps, just perhaps, he was asking about the way he’d pushed his long finger so deep inside me that I would have happily kicked any combination of men in the world out a window just to experience it with him again.
If that was what he meant, then my answer should have been: I can’t fucking forget it!
Blinking in mock confusion, I said, “Why? Did something else happen?”
He laughed without humor. “Yeah. Liv. Something else happened.”
After sucking in a deep breath, he held it as he sank down on the corner of the bed. With a fast exhale through his nose, he rushed out, “I guess I was dreaming about someone or whatever too.”
Uh huh. Mia.
“Really?” I breathed in fake disbelief.
Dropping his head into his hands, he continued. “Fuck, I don’t know what to say here. I just remember waking up—” He chewed on his bottom lip. “My hand…was in your pants and your shirt was pushed up. I’m sorry. I guess I’m not used to sleeping with anyone else.”
Since Mia. Yeah. I got that last night when you kicked me out of your room.
I laughed loudly, spinning toward a group of trophies. My vision swam as I pretended to read the inscription on each one.
“Shit. I kinda wish I did remember that. Most action I’ve had in forever,” I squeaked out around the lump in my throat.
“I’m serious, Rocky. It was seriously fucked up. I’m so sorry.” His voice shook.
My chin quivered.
It was seriously fucked up.
But that wasn’t his fault.
“It’s no big deal, Q. Stop apologizing. I’ll make sure I don’t drunkenly find my way to your bed again. We should be good.”
I felt him at my back, but I didn’t dare turn to look at him.
In a thick, jagged voice, he said, “About that. We need to talk.”
Actually, that was exactly what we did not need to do. I needed to get the hell out of that room. Sleep for a week. Maybe take a vacation…to Antarctica. Where I could figure out how to get my head straight on what exactly had happened in his bed.
And then figure out how to turn it off.
My Quarry Page switch had been in the off position since the day I’d met Mia. But one night with his hands on me and that switch hadn’t just been flipped—it’d been uninstalled. I had successfully harbored over a decade of feelings for Quarry, and last night, that dam had been broken, emotionally flooding me to the point of insanity.
I was not built to feel that much. Not all at once.
Definitely not for him.
And especially not when he was dreaming I was her.
I moved backward as I spun. He didn’t budge as I hid my face in his back and wrapped my arms around his waist. My heart sputtered at the contact and then shattered when it slowed.
“Stop freaking out. It’s fine. It was just a little grab-ass. I should be the one apologizing for all the crap I said last night. Let’s just say there’s a reason the government will never trust me with national secrets. Two drinks and I’d spill it all.”
“That was the fun part.” He laughed.
Oh goodie. That had been the fun part.
Stepping away, I pasted on a million-dollar smile. “It’s all good. So stop being weird and point me to my coffee. I’m dying!”
He sighed and reluctantly mumbled, “It’s in the kitchen.”
I slapped him on the shoulder as I hauled ass out of that room.
I didn’t go to the kitchen.
I went to the bathroom.
I didn’t cry.
I wept.
EVERY MORNING WHEN I’D WAKE up, I would swear to myself that it was going to be the day I finally talked to Liv about how I felt.
Three weeks later, I was still telling myself that lie.
My job was to fearlessly step into the ring with giants and dodge their merciless fists while attempting to level them with my own. But, somehow, talking to five-foot-seven, one-hundred-and-twenty-five-pound Liv seemed more terrifying.
Although it wasn’t like I got many chances. Liv had started avoiding me. It was subtle at first. But, as the weeks passed, I saw her less and less. Her work nights had started running later. She hung out with Eliza and Ash more than ever before. And, when I had to fly to LA for a few nights, she suddenly couldn’t make it, even though she had found an assistant to cover her. It was hard to tell if I was just being hypersensitive and reading into her every move or if she really was pulling away.
She still packed my lunch, answered my e-mails, and texted me occasionally throughout the day, but it was different. The levity that usually surrounded us had faded. Sitting in uncomfortable silence became our new norm on the nights she was home.
Together—completely alone.