Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

Of course he’s a generous tipper.

Of course everyone fucking loves him.

I give the driver a tight smile and climb out.

My feet throb with every step, but the pain has nothing on the ache between my thighs.

Or the one in my chest.

After what happened in my office, I got off on a random floor on my way down to the lobby. I didn’t allow myself to break down because there wasn’t time for that, but I did clean myself up as best I could.

The inside of my nose starts to tingle as I climb the steps to my house.

Not. Yet.

Not yet. Not yet. Not yet.

Putting a blank expression on my face, I open the front door.

Mom and Chelsea are in the living room, with an open pizza box on the coffee table.

“She’s home!” Mom calls, like I’ve been gone for days, not just the day.

“How was the party?” Chelsea asks, looking away from the TV screen.

“Fun,” I reply, then make a show of prying my shoes off. “But remind me never to wear these again.”

“I’ll take them.”

Mom snorts at Chelsea’s excitement. “Pretty sure it’ll be three years before your feet are big enough to wear Hannah’s shoes.”

“That’s about how long it’ll be before I’m willing to wear them again.” I wiggle my toes and sigh.

“The price of conventional beauty standards is often pain.” Mom repeats a phrase we’ve all heard before. She’s not wrong. “Did you eat? There are a few slices of Hawaiian left.”

I place my hand on my stomach. “The food at the party was actually pretty good, and I ate plenty. I’m gonna go take a shower and give the toes a little pampering, then I’ll come back out and veg with you guys.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Mom lifts her mug, which I know is filled with peppermint tea.

I head down my little hallway and into my bedroom to grab my comfiest pair of sweatpants and my softest T-shirt. Then I cross the hall to my bathroom.

I don’t let myself think about Maddox as I strip.

I don’t let myself think about what we did as I pull back the shower curtain.

I don’t let myself remember how eager I was, how much I wanted to please him, as I turn the water on.

I don’t let myself think about how good he felt as I open the music app on my phone and select my shower playlist.

But when I set my phone on the edge of the sink and step into the shower, and the noise of music and running water fills the room, then I remember.

Lowering myself to sit in the tub, I remember the way Maddox called me his Little Bunny.

I remember the way heat filled my belly when he called me his good girl.

I remember the feeling of his hand on my throat. The control he took. The relief I felt giving it to him.

I remember wanting to let the past go. Wanting to take what he was offering.