Once I’m home, I grab a cold pack from the freezer and kick back on the couch, resting the ice on my aching knuckles. I stare at my cell phone on the coffee table and contemplate calling Phina and apologizing for what I said to her at the gallery the other night. After a few minutes, I decide against it. The workout did nothing to take the edge off of my jealousy and anger at her attitude. If I call her now, I’ll either say some other stupid shit that will piss her off even more, or I’ll become the biggest pussy in the world and beg her to come over so I can finally fuck her.
It’s best for my sanity if I stay as far away from Seraphina Giordano as possible right now, even if my dick disagrees.
“Don’t give me that look, Phina,” Dax warns as he leans back against the wall in his office and crosses his arms over his chest.
For a moment, I wonder why I feel absolutely nothing when I look at this man, aside from a twinge of irritation. He’s a six foot five, well-muscled, gorgeous specimen with his perfectly styled, short black hair, hazel eyes and clean-shaven face. He looks like a goddamn GQ model in his Brooks Brothers charcoal suit and matching striped tie.
Shouldn’t I feel, I don’t know, some embarrassment that this man has seen me partially naked and watched me have more orgasms than I can count? I take a moment to reach deep down in my subconscious and try to feel something other than a weird sort of brotherly kinship with him. That thought immediately makes me feel dirty and slightly nauseous, but there it is. He feels more like a brother to me than a potential lover. I first met Dax in high school and we hung out a few times at parties and such. Being from the same town, we ran into each other every once in a while and shared small talk. I was actually a little relieved to see DJ bring him to my house that night. I felt safer having another man I knew in the room instead of a stranger who would judge me. Even so, I barely said two words to him that night and after no contact for almost a week, here I am in his office at the police station, wondering why I’m not attracted to him. Even though he’s getting on my last nerve with his flippant attitude about my problem, I can see us becoming real friends instead of just acquaintances. You know, friends who’ve seen each other partially naked.
Dax sighs, dropping his arms from his chest and shoving his hands in his pockets. The cheap florescent lighting in the room catches the detective badge attached to his belt and I stare at it for a moment before moving my eyes to the stacks of case files on his desk and the boxes on the floor filled with more files and a few knickknacks.
“Did you get fired, is that why you won’t look into this?” I ask petulantly, gesturing to the boxes on the floor.
He shakes his head at me and sighs, pushing himself away from the wall. I watch as he stalks around to the front of his desk and stands a foot away from me. Why don’t I feel any butterflies having him this close to me? I can smell his cologne and it’s pretty nice, a little more powerful than the subtle, earthy scent DJ wears…
Dammit! Stop thinking about DJ!
“For the last time, Phina, I didn’t say I won’t look into this. I said I can’t right now.”
I roll my eyes, digging the fingers of my right hand a little deeper into the fresh burn on my hip, letting the sting of pain calm my racing heart. I stand toe-to-toe with Dax with my hands on my hips, studying his eyes to see if I can sense that he’s lying.
“I was just assigned as lead detective on a very high profile case in the next county over. I still need to go over all of my current case files with the guy taking my place AND get up to speed on the new case before I hit the ground running tomorrow. I understand why you’re upset, but really, this could be about anything,” he states, reaching behind him to grab the note I threw on his desk when walked into his office.
He brings the notecard in front of him and flips it open, scanning the words one more time before extending it for me to take.
I take a step back, shaking my head from side-to-side. “I am not touching that thing again. And don’t tell me that note could be about anything. You know damn well it’s not.”
Three’s a crowd, don’t you think?
Whores always get what’s coming to them.
I can see the bold words printed on the card like they’re flashing in neon lights, still riddled with the anxiety that’s plagued me since I found it taped to my door last night. Dax was a little offended when I first walked in here and threw the note at him. I might have implied that he had something to do with it, even though I didn’t really believe it. I wanted to believe it, because the alternative didn’t leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.
“Look, I think you just need to take a breath and calm down.”
My face heats with anger and I rethink the notion that I could be friends with him. Has man really not evolved enough over the years to learn that you never, ever tell a woman to calm down?
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Dax. Someone left a note on my door talking about a threesome that only you, me and one other person had any knowledge of. You don’t find that the least bit concerning?” I argue.
“Answer me this,” Dax speaks softly, cocking his head to the side. “Did you go charging into DJ’s place of employment with the same accusations?”
My mouth opens and closes and I stutter a few unintelligible words. I told myself on the way over here that going to Dax was the obvious solution because he’s a detective. It’s his job to find answers to things.
When I’m unable to come up with a satisfactory response to Dax’s question, I realize the real reason I didn’t go to DJ first is because I fear what will happen when we’re in the same room together. After the other night at the gallery, it’s clear what DJ thinks of me. It’s exactly what I wanted him to believe…and I hate it. I hate myself even more because of it. I’m not a confused person by nature. I know what I want and I go for it. If things don’t turn out exactly how I planned, fuck it, there’s always another day to plot and plan. Thoughts of DJ and the way my body responds to his touch and the craving I feel deep down in the pit of my stomach have turned me into a bigger bitch than normal. I want to see him again. I want to touch him again. And I fucking hate that I want all of these things that I have no business craving.
It’s best for my sanity if I stay as far away from Seraphina Giordano as possible right now, even if my dick disagrees.
“Don’t give me that look, Phina,” Dax warns as he leans back against the wall in his office and crosses his arms over his chest.
For a moment, I wonder why I feel absolutely nothing when I look at this man, aside from a twinge of irritation. He’s a six foot five, well-muscled, gorgeous specimen with his perfectly styled, short black hair, hazel eyes and clean-shaven face. He looks like a goddamn GQ model in his Brooks Brothers charcoal suit and matching striped tie.
Shouldn’t I feel, I don’t know, some embarrassment that this man has seen me partially naked and watched me have more orgasms than I can count? I take a moment to reach deep down in my subconscious and try to feel something other than a weird sort of brotherly kinship with him. That thought immediately makes me feel dirty and slightly nauseous, but there it is. He feels more like a brother to me than a potential lover. I first met Dax in high school and we hung out a few times at parties and such. Being from the same town, we ran into each other every once in a while and shared small talk. I was actually a little relieved to see DJ bring him to my house that night. I felt safer having another man I knew in the room instead of a stranger who would judge me. Even so, I barely said two words to him that night and after no contact for almost a week, here I am in his office at the police station, wondering why I’m not attracted to him. Even though he’s getting on my last nerve with his flippant attitude about my problem, I can see us becoming real friends instead of just acquaintances. You know, friends who’ve seen each other partially naked.
Dax sighs, dropping his arms from his chest and shoving his hands in his pockets. The cheap florescent lighting in the room catches the detective badge attached to his belt and I stare at it for a moment before moving my eyes to the stacks of case files on his desk and the boxes on the floor filled with more files and a few knickknacks.
“Did you get fired, is that why you won’t look into this?” I ask petulantly, gesturing to the boxes on the floor.
He shakes his head at me and sighs, pushing himself away from the wall. I watch as he stalks around to the front of his desk and stands a foot away from me. Why don’t I feel any butterflies having him this close to me? I can smell his cologne and it’s pretty nice, a little more powerful than the subtle, earthy scent DJ wears…
Dammit! Stop thinking about DJ!
“For the last time, Phina, I didn’t say I won’t look into this. I said I can’t right now.”
I roll my eyes, digging the fingers of my right hand a little deeper into the fresh burn on my hip, letting the sting of pain calm my racing heart. I stand toe-to-toe with Dax with my hands on my hips, studying his eyes to see if I can sense that he’s lying.
“I was just assigned as lead detective on a very high profile case in the next county over. I still need to go over all of my current case files with the guy taking my place AND get up to speed on the new case before I hit the ground running tomorrow. I understand why you’re upset, but really, this could be about anything,” he states, reaching behind him to grab the note I threw on his desk when walked into his office.
He brings the notecard in front of him and flips it open, scanning the words one more time before extending it for me to take.
I take a step back, shaking my head from side-to-side. “I am not touching that thing again. And don’t tell me that note could be about anything. You know damn well it’s not.”
Three’s a crowd, don’t you think?
Whores always get what’s coming to them.
I can see the bold words printed on the card like they’re flashing in neon lights, still riddled with the anxiety that’s plagued me since I found it taped to my door last night. Dax was a little offended when I first walked in here and threw the note at him. I might have implied that he had something to do with it, even though I didn’t really believe it. I wanted to believe it, because the alternative didn’t leave me feeling warm and fuzzy.
“Look, I think you just need to take a breath and calm down.”
My face heats with anger and I rethink the notion that I could be friends with him. Has man really not evolved enough over the years to learn that you never, ever tell a woman to calm down?
“Don’t tell me to calm down, Dax. Someone left a note on my door talking about a threesome that only you, me and one other person had any knowledge of. You don’t find that the least bit concerning?” I argue.
“Answer me this,” Dax speaks softly, cocking his head to the side. “Did you go charging into DJ’s place of employment with the same accusations?”
My mouth opens and closes and I stutter a few unintelligible words. I told myself on the way over here that going to Dax was the obvious solution because he’s a detective. It’s his job to find answers to things.
When I’m unable to come up with a satisfactory response to Dax’s question, I realize the real reason I didn’t go to DJ first is because I fear what will happen when we’re in the same room together. After the other night at the gallery, it’s clear what DJ thinks of me. It’s exactly what I wanted him to believe…and I hate it. I hate myself even more because of it. I’m not a confused person by nature. I know what I want and I go for it. If things don’t turn out exactly how I planned, fuck it, there’s always another day to plot and plan. Thoughts of DJ and the way my body responds to his touch and the craving I feel deep down in the pit of my stomach have turned me into a bigger bitch than normal. I want to see him again. I want to touch him again. And I fucking hate that I want all of these things that I have no business craving.
