JJ
Havoc came home just after ten.
By then, I had showered, changed into one of his old shirts, and arranged myself on the couch with the television playing low enough to make the house look occupied without demanding my attention.
He barely looked at me when he walked in.
That should have felt like relief.
Instead, I watched him drop his keys into the bowl by the door and wondered whether wanting another man to kiss me had left some visible mark beneath my skin.
“Why are you still up?” he asked.
“I wasn’t tired.”
His eyes moved over me before he disappeared down the hall.
I waited until the bathroom door closed before checking my phone.
No new messages.
Ridiculous disappointment settled beneath my ribs.
The helmeted man had spent weeks inserting himself into the edges of my l
