9 MACEYI’m standing in the bathroom arranging my toiletries on the little shelf above the sink when my phone rings for the third time.
“Uh. Fine, I’m coming,” I say to no one in particular, stomping across my new apartment to hunt for my cell phone. I find it underneath a pizza box that sustained me for the last two days. I’m tired and irritable considering all I’ve done over the past forty-eight hours is unpack boxes, scrub floors and wash windows, and stew over the memory of my awkward session with Reece.
When I strutted into his club New Year’s Eve looking for a good time, I never envisioned what could have happened. The Reece I remembered was a diligent, kind and thoughtful lover. Not the kind of man to just walk away when it was over, leaving me to unbuckle the ankle restraints he’
