Chapter 15

Shay

My heart froze at the wall of adventures waiting to begin.

I couldn’t bring myself to ask Jayce about the empty bookshelves lining the other walls. Upon closer inspection, dust covered the shelves, and books hadn’t disappeared from them before my arrival.

Boxes of books sit in my old bedroom at my parents’ house, looking for a home to lovingly display them in. My Agatha Christie and Nancy Drew collections would fill them with room to spare.

How is it possible? If only the perfect man for me could be my fate. I have to remind myself that a demigod like Jayce deserves a woman who will give him the children he’s always wanted.

“Have you asked him if he wants kids? Maybe he’s of the same mindset,” that nagging angel on my shoulder suggests. Then the devil reminds me, “He’s half bull. His nature demands he procreate.”

I need a stiff drink. Something stronger than the wine I usually enjoy.

“You might want to hire a housekeeper for all this dust,” I say, unsure of how to proceed with Jayce’s eyes watching my every move.

A look of shame passes across his face. My dumb mouth won’t shut up. “What? Bad idea.”

Jayce looks down and runs his foot against the cedar floors. He clears his throat.

“I obviously hit a nerve or something. Just tell me. I can take it.”

He inhales deeply. “My dates always cleaned up around here, trying to prove they were domestic material.”

My nostrils flare with jealousy. I have no business entertaining the green-eyed monster over the past. “I don’t have any domestic skills, and I have no intention of learning them. The only thing I can cook is eggs.” And my grilled cheese and tomato sandwich, but I only make that for Cill.

Jayce moves toward me. I take a step back to avoid contact. My back presses against the shelves.

He leans in. My retreat does nothing to deter his need for close proximity. His lips graze my ear. “I don’t want you to change anything about yourself for me.”

My heart races. I move sideways to get away. My arms tingle with the need to throw them around his neck and beg him to take me despite the physical pain it will cause my vagina.

“Can we take a raincheck on the show?”

He slinks back in disappointment. “Can I at least walk you home?”

I shake my head. “Please. Just let me go.” I race home without waiting for his answer.

I feel his eyes staring a hole in my retreating back as he watches me nearly run into Anjal’s house from his front porch.

Relief washes over me when I realize that I have the house to myself. I pour a double shot of whiskey over ice followed by diet coke before closing myself up in my bedroom.

“Alexa, play my playlist.” Wouldn’t you know Alexa plays Shaboozey’s, “A Bar Song (Tipsy).”

I slip my pants off and hop into bed. The urinary tract pain I’ve come to recognize as my tell when I’m stressed, flared up on my way back to the house.

With coconut oil all over my thumb, I shove the appendage into my vagina for my stretches. All the pressure points of my pelvic floor are spicy, as Dr. Lanny calls it. I hold my thumb in place along each point longer than the thirty seconds recommended. Deep inhale, clench on the exhale, and hold. I do this at least five times on each spot.

After I’ve stretched all seven zones and both layers that my thumb can reach, I grab my pelvic floor wand for the area I can’t. Dr. Lanny says a partner helping with that layer is more efficient, but since I don’t have a partner, I must settle for the curvy looking device.

Just as I finish, my phone pings with a text. Thinking it’s Cill, I turn it over to see what she wants. Only it’s not my sister.

Tomorrow night? I’d love to try your eggs.

How did Jayce get my number?

I toss my head back on my pillow. Leaving him on read, I climb out of the bed for a shower and another drink.