Page 67 of Bound By Fire
14
Robyn
I lock the door and stand there, staring at the grain in the wood for a few seconds.
Why did I do that?
Why did I tell Ridge I had a boyfriend?
I walk back down the hallway, sighing.
There hasn’t been anyone in my life in years.
I shouldn’t have, but I’m an idiot, so I lied.
Maybe I said it because I didn’t want him sleeping over at my house. Surely that’s reasonable? I think so.
Forgive me for not wanting to have a sleepover with Ridge. Saying yes would have been…uncomfortable. He would have been right there on my sofa, and I would have tossed and turned all night.
So, yes, the boyfriend lie kept him out of my apartment. That is a perfectly good reason.
It’s not the real reason, though. Not if I’m being honest.
The real reason is that he stood in my bedroom, where we got down and dirty. He looked at a pair of my underwear and clearlyfelt nothing. He didn’t even flinch. He didn’t get tongue-tied. He didn’t shift his weight or look away or clear his throat. He carried on with his assessment. Cool and calm and so irritating that I felt like kicking him.
Then he asked me if I had a boyfriend who could come stay with me. He looked at the bag with all the condoms while he said it.
I panicked.
What was I supposed to say to that?
No boyfriend. I bought a hundred extra-large condoms and a box of banana-flavored backups to mess with you. I’m a lonely workaholic who hasn’t been touched since the night you came around.
I’m pathetic. I should get myself a cat…or ten.
Of course I lied.
If I had to do it over, I would lie again.
He doesn’t need to know. It’s not like he’ll ever find out. He’ll upgrade the security both here at my apartment and at the hospital, and then he’ll go back to Draig Security, and I’ll never have to see him again.
He was being a little unreasonable after what happened with that shifter asshole at the store. He is the kind of guy who takes his job seriously. That didn’t mean he had to stay over. It was overkill. If thinking I’d have a boyfriend over tonight puts his mind at ease, then a little white lie can’t hurt.
I open the freezer and pull out a lasagna. I peel back the corner of the film, slide it into the oven, and set the timer. The oven hums to life. The smell of tomato and garlic starts to build within minutes.
I head down the hall, take off my clothes, and step under the hot water. I wash my hair, soap up, and rinse off. I get out. I towel off, pull on a pair of soft sleep shorts and a thin tank, and head back to the kitchen with my hair wet on my neck.
I eat the lasagna straight out of the foil tray with a fork, standing at the counter, watching the lights of Draig blink in the windows across the street.
I yawn a few times between bites.
I’m finished…dead on my feet.
I rinse the fork, head to the bathroom, and brush my teeth, drinking some water directly from the faucet. Then I walk through the apartment one more time to check that everything is secure.
Once satisfied, I slide between my cool sheets and turn off the lamp.
It’s bliss.
