“You wanna leave?”
“No!” she said, losing her battle with desperation. “No, I don’t. I want to stay. I want to make it up to you. I want to show you that I’m not the fool I made of myself last night. I’m a serious person. A quiet person. I would never… I have never… I…”
Dragging in a ragged breath, Shyla closed her eyes and tried to erase the horrible possibilities that were filling up her mind. She pictured herself doing what Fish had said. Maybe she had tried to kiss her boss. Maybe she had touched him inappropriately.
If he’d changed her clothes and put her in bed, they must have been in the bedroom together. It was possible that she’d propositioned him. Maybe he hadn’t been the one to take off her dress at all. Shyla had no idea that she could be a floozy. She’d never been loose before.
Apologizing for biting him and for rubbing her body on his seemed the least she could do. Except the words wouldn’t come. Just thinking of them conjured more images of what she might have done or said to him. She couldn’t handle the heat of shame. Biting him! That meant her mouth had been on him somewhere. She couldn’t even remember touching him with her hands and yet, her mouth had…
Pressing her palms to her cheeks, Shyla hoped her color hadn’t risen too high. Though there was no way to disguise her disgrace whether she was blushing or not.
“Shyla,” he said her name in a monotone. “Look at me.” Compelled by instinct to comply, her chin rose until her eyes met his. “Nothing happened.”
The weight of those words made her swallow hard. Although there didn’t seem to be a change in the way he looked at her, she got a better understanding of that gaze. Something had done it, she didn’t know what, but somehow the translation had been slipped to her. It was nothing to do with her getting drunk or puking, she couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Yet, in an odd shiver, she felt him. Even without touching, he got inside her.
Score said nothing else and turned to exit. Shyla stood there trying to figure out what had just happened. The previous night alcohol was an excuse for her actions, but she didn’t have that excuse anymore. Lightheaded, she felt tingly and sick in an excited way, like she was anticipating a treat or a holiday.
Something odd was going on in the apartment. She didn’t know what it was or how she fitted into it. Until she figured it out, her job would keep her occupied, and unless she was told otherwise, she’d try her damndest to do it well.
By the next afternoon, Shyla was only just beginning to breathe normally again.
“What’s it supposed to be?” Fish asked from his place on the stool at the end of the kitchen island.
Shyla scored her dough. “What do you mean what’s it supposed to be?” she asked, slipping the two trays into the oven. “It’s bread. You’ve never seen bread before?”
Sitting up from his slouch, he glittered with excitement. “No way! Bread? You’re making bread?”
After wiping down the counters, Shyla went to wash her hands. Catching the eye of his reflection in the mirror wall, she nodded just as another figure moved into her view.
“Good morning,” she said to Score who went to sit at the kitchen island.
It was nearly two in the afternoon, but she figured it would be rude to point that out. The previous night, Score hadn’t come home until after she was in bed. His routine was unusual, work at the club kept him out late. Beeks told her Score would return home late most nights. In her slumber, Shyla hadn’t even heard him come in, so she had no idea when he’d got to sleep.
“Hey, boss, guess what?” Fish asked. Bouncing on his stool, he leaned over to swat at Score’s chest. Their boss blinked unimpressed eyes down at the spot Fish assaulted, but the youngster was too excited to notice his boss’s disdain. “Guess what? Shyla made bread! She’s actually making bread? You ever hear that shit?”
“I hear you swearing in front of a lady,” Score mumbled, taking his phone from his pocket.
Shyla laughed. “That’s okay. Stan swore like a trooper when he had a drink in him… I’ve never seen someone so excited about bread before.”
“I never knew a person who could actually make it,” Fish said.
Shyla poured coffee and juice and took both to the island for Score. He looked from one to the other and picked up the coffee. Ah, a man after her own heart.
Before she thought too much about how mortifying it would be to say that aloud, Shyla retrieved eggs from the fridge. “I was thinking eggs benny or a Denver omelet?”
Score didn’t even look up. But she’d been told he was always hungry so decided to go with the omelet and left the eggs out while she gathered the other ingredients.
“Is Stan the guy who died?” Fish asked.
They’d talked some about him at dinner before the club, she had a vague recollection of that. “Yes,” she said, retrieving a chopping board and a knife.
“Did you tell Score about the asshole at your old place?” Fish asked.
Score lowered his phone.
Shyla hadn’t actually looked at him and his head hadn’t moved, yet somehow, she could tell she was the target of his focus. Ridiculous as it sounded even in her own head, she could feel him looking at her. That wasn’t the first time either. Even when he didn’t talk to her, she could feel his attention whenever
