Justified doesn’t mean I sleep through the night. Justified doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten the look in her eyes when she realized I wasn’t going to stop.
That door stays closed now. Locked. Welded shut with everything I refuse to feel.
I promised myself I’d never circle that particular drain again.
Seven days with Ember. That’s the arrangement, the only promise that matters.
Parade her around, help her escape the husband who treats her like a punching bag, collect my political advantage when Gale capitulates, and walk away clean.
Simple. Uncomplicated. The kind of transaction I’ve perfected over a decade of meaningless f***s with women whose names I forget before I finish getting dressed.
Except nothing about Ember is simple. And I’m not forgetting her.
Not the curve of her hip. Not th
