He fixes his hands to the towel at his waist and stares down at me.
He goes to say something, but I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He smirks. “Okay.”
“And this doesn’t change anything.”
His smirk turns into a grin. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I let out a deep breath and take another step back. I motion to his body and say, “I believe you’ve got it from here.”
“I do.” He’s still smiling and it’s taking everything in me not to kiss that smile right off his face.
“Okay, then.” I straighten my shirt, the fabric pulling on my tight nipples. “Well, I’ll be going back to my room, then.” I thumb toward my room.
“Sounds good.”
I nod and then slowly start to back away.
“Hey, Cora?”
“Hmm?” I glance up at him.
“I love you, baby. So fucking hard.”
Dead.
I.
Am.
Dead.
Cora: S.O.S. I gave him a hand job. I REPEAT, I gave him a hand job.
Greer: Wait . . . what? Like an actual hand job?
Stella: Did he come?
Cora: Yes, and yes. God, what is wrong with me?
Greer: How did this even happen?
Cora: I had to give him a bath, and then I was shampooing his head, one thing led to another, his cock was hard, and I couldn’t resist. One touch was all I needed, and then there I was, jerking him off in the bathtub. I can still hear the low groan of his orgasm.
Stella: That’s soooo hot. I jerked Romeo off in the bath once. The water sloshing around still plays in my head.
Greer: I would tell you about the time Arlo and I did it in the bathtub, but I shall spare you. Let’s just say—some of the best sex of my life.
Cora: I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m slipping up every second I get.
Stella: Or you’re finally giving in to what’s meant to be.
Greer: She’s right.
Cora: I can’t. I’m not ready. I’m not healed.
Greer: Maybe you need to lean on him to heal.
Cora: What happened to “we hate Pike”？
Stella: We’ve seen you with him and we’ve seen you without him. He makes you happy. There’s no debating that. And he’s trying. He’s always tried with you, Cora. That right there should tell you that he’s a good man.
Greer: Give him a chance. You deserve to be happy.
Pike is on the couch, doing a crossword puzzle in a book his brother sent him, while I sit at the dining room table, getting some work done. Ever since the “hand job incident,” I haven’t really interacted with Pike at all.
I’ve reverted back to not talking to him, getting away with the bare minimum of making him meals, eating quietly, and then taking care of any needs he might have. And when I say “need,” I don’t mean the erotic kind. He took another bath this morning, but I prepared properly this time. I lined things up that made it easy for him to do it himself. I was only in attendance when he needed help getting in and out.
Greer and Stella might be on the side of reconciliation, but for some reason, I can’t seem to find it within me to cross over. There’s something missing, and I can’t figure out what it is. Him speaking the truth, acting kind, getting me flowers, showing me how much he cares for me around the house—yes, it’s all great, but it still makes me wonder . . . has he always felt like that?
How long has he actually loved me?
Was any of it a show?
“I hope it’s okay, but I invited Keiko over,” Pike says from the couch. “She has wedding photos and she wants to show them to me.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s fine. I can give you guys privacy.”
“I’m sure she’d want to talk to you too,” Pike says. “She’s told me in her own way that she misses your friendship.”
Guilt swarms me.
“I didn’t want her to have to choose.”
“So you chose for her?” he asks.
I look up at him over the top of my computer. “Why did you say that in that angry tone?”
“Because she’s your friend, Cora. You might be mad at me, but you can’t be mad at her.”
“I’m not mad at her,” I say. “I’m just—I don’t know. I don’t want to put her in the middle of it all. I don’t want her to feel like she has to defend you. So, I just talk to Greer and Stella about it all.”
“What do you say?” he asks.
I shut my computer. “That’s none of your business.”