Chapter Twenty-One

Raisa

I knew Durga was a good cook, but when did he learn to bake? I put today’s succulent offering on one of my sills, coupling it with one of my plants because they both have powder blue pots. There are seven couples living at my house now.

As I eat my breakfast and look at the plants in the sunny window, I try to remember exactly why I’m here in my apartment while he’s in the Zone.

I relive the entire conversation I had with myself as I cooked that galamash. Shit. Did I just walk out and leave his kitchen a mess? I’m a bigger bitch than I thought.

Somehow, I was certain he was only tolerating me, had only invited me to stay because I wasn’t safe and had nowhere else to go. I’d assumed that the moment I left, he’d be dating some pretty orc female. Why did I think that?

Maybe the swiftness and intensity of our lovemaking was the problem. I assumed anyone who was that good in bed, and who seemed to have no qualms about having sex morning, noon, and night, was a player.

By that logic, it means I’m a player. Which I’m not. I fell into bed with him because our connection went from spark to flame in a heartbeat.

So why did I give myself the benefit of the doubt while thinking he’s a manwhore? Because he’s the most perfect physical specimen I’ve ever seen? A gorgeous, tatted, green god who would only be with me because he’s…

Many words of self-hatred fly through my mind, but I don’t allow myself to repeat any of them. Durga is a good male, not a manwhore. Although he’s a perfect specimen and I’m decidedly… not, it’s perfectly believable that he’s as wildly attracted to me as I am to him.

What is there about his daily trips to deliver me a hot breakfast that says he’s happy to be rid of me? And cleaning my car? He’s a busy male. He’s not doing that for his health. It’s because he wants me back and is honorable enough to do the one thing I asked in that horrible note I wrote—not contact me.

I’ve been so emotionally fucked up this last week that I got behind the eight ball on a contract deadline. It will take all day to render on my slow computer, even if I jump on it now. The moment those illustrations are done, I’m going to get into my car, which is now cleaner than it’s been since I bought it, and drive to the Zone.

I consider texting him to see if he’s willing to see me, but that’s cowardly. I need to arrive with or without his permission. This must be done in person.