Shooting Star by Jeffe Kennedy

Author:Jeffe Kennedy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: new york city, rock star, amputee, service dog, dark romance, army vet, employee boss
Publisher: Jeffe Kennedy

~ 16 ~

Ava took stock of the damage, examining herself in the unforgiving fluorescent light. More of that harsh reality for her. Her hair was totally out of control. And the makeup—Cinna would have a total meltdown if he saw her like this. The smearing of her eyeshadow revealed the way one of her eyes tilted down at the corner. And the lines around her mouth—were they deeper?

The rest didn’t show so much. Funny how that worked. She looked like she’d been thoroughly fucked, as she had, but no more than usual. Kind of laughable to feel so wounded as plenty of guys had treated her far worse. It wasn’t like Joe had hit her or treated her like a slut afterwards. He’d even been all gentlemanly, which was weird right there. Maybe that’s why it had hit her so hard. She’d gotten lulled into forgetting who she was. Seduced by a warm washcloth of all things. So what if Joe thought she was so shallow and vain that she couldn’t handle the sight of a few scars?

Probably a fair assessment. She was hardly the poster child for internal beauty.

She clearly wasn’t any good at the whole not-having-actual-sex part of sex. Not a role she’d ever played beyond a few kisses. Always that good-girl image. Who could blame her for being a rank amateur at the rest—where the hell did people learn this stuff? Somewhere in with dealing with wet dogs and grocery stores, probably.

“Sparkle, Shirley,” she said to the mirror and pasted on the smile she could generate no matter how she felt inside. For some reason this time, though, it looked all wrong, so she let it drop away.

She needed to shower. Polish up that surface so Joe would forget being peeved with her. So he’d want her again with that delicious rawness of his. Thankfully the shower had shampoo and stuff in it. Not her special ones that Cinna had blended for her, but hopefully Joe’s Italian mother who hated icky mattresses wouldn’t mind her son’s shallow mistress copping her bath goodies. But she couldn’t face seeing Joe just yet, so no venturing out to raid her suitcase for the little travel bottles.

It’s not pretty, Ava.

Because that’s what she was all about, wasn’t it? Pretty, pretty, ballerina. Dress me up, keep me in the box. Mint condition. Don’t show me anything else.

The words ran around her mind as the hot water soaked over her skull. A tune teasing with it, echoes of the gospel choir winding through, bright notes of hope, threaded through with grief over the past. It actually felt good, despite all the turmoil. She hummed a little as she shampooed, surprised that she wanted to. Good sex maybe. She let it roll around and just be. Don’t scare it away by seizing hold. Don’t overthink.

Once she would have jumped out of the shower and written it down, or recorded it on her phone, not caring about the suds and the dripping. That was before she’d lost the spark.

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