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Back Love Fast
Chapters (85)
  1. BOOKS BY LOUISE BAY
  2. ONE
  3. Rosey
  4. TWO
  5. Byron
  6. THREE
  7. Rosey
  8. FOUR
  9. Byron
  10. FIVE
  11. Rosey
  12. SIX
  13. Byron
  14. SEVEN
  15. Rosey
  16. EIGHT
  17. Rosey
  18. NINE
  19. Byron
  20. TEN
  21. Rosey
  22. ELEVEN
  23. Byron
  24. TWELVE
  25. Rosey
  26. THIRTEEN
  27. Byron
  28. FOURTEEN
  29. Rosey
  30. FIFTEEN
  31. Rosey
  32. SIXTEEN
  33. Byron
  34. SEVENTEEN
  35. Rosey
  36. EIGHTEEN
  37. Byron
  38. NINETEEN
  39. Rosey
  40. TWENTY
  41. Rosey
  42. TWENTY-ONE
  43. Byron
  44. TWENTY-TWO
  45. Byron
  46. TWENTY-THREE
  47. Rosey
  48. TWENTY-FOUR
  49. Rosey
  50. TWENTY-FIVE
  51. Byron
  52. TWENTY-SIX
  53. Rosey
  54. TWENTY-SEVEN
  55. Byron
  56. TWENTY-EIGHT
  57. Rosey
  58. TWENTY-NINE
  59. Byron
  60. THIRTY
  61. Rosey
  62. THIRTY-ONE
  63. Rosey
  64. THIRTY-TWO
  65. Byron
  66. THIRTY-THREE
  67. Rosey
  68. THIRTY-FOUR
  69. Rosey
  70. THIRTY-FIVE
  71. Byron
  72. THIRTY-SIX
  73. Rosey
  74. THIRTY-SEVEN
  75. Byron
  76. THIRTY-EIGHT
  77. Byron
  78. EPILOGUE
  79. A month later – New York City
  80. 14 months later - Star Falls
  81. MR. MAYFAIR
  82. Beck
  83. Beck
  84. Stella
  85. BOOKS BY LOUISE BAY

I wrestle the dehumidifier into my bedroom, which thankfully still has an intact ceiling, then check the pot I left under the leak. I emptied the overflowing pot this morning, before I went to the Colorado Club. There’s been no rain since, but I expected residual water to drip through the morning.

But the pan’s almost dry.

I glance up at the ceiling. The wet patch is still there, but it doesn’t look as bad as it did this morning. Maybe the dry mountain air is speeding the process along.

I plug in the dehumidifier and it hums to life. Then I drag the bedding from the pile on the floor, put it in the washing machine, and start a cycle. There’s too much bedding to fit it all in one load, but I’m sure I can get enough washed and dried for me to have something for tonight. Maybe I should have bought a sleeping bag from Snail Trail.

I’m not sure I want to sleep right under the leak, even if it has dried up. Like Byron said, there’s no telling if the entire ceiling is going to collapse. But there’s no room for the bed frame to fit somewhere else in the room.

I lived in a trailer with four other women; I can figure out how to make the most of this space. I can sleep on the couch if necessary, but… I check out the mattress propped against the wall, running my hands up and down each side. Where I expect to feel sodden fabric, I only find dry softness.

Huh.

That unexpected piece of luck means I can sleep on the mattress in the living room. I maneuverer it away from the wall and pull it along the floorboards. It’s heavy, but it’s moving. My muscles are still sore from doing… everything with Byron last night. Images flash through my mind. It was so incredible and dirty and freeing. I half expected people to stop me and ask me what happened, because I’m sure I look different to how I looked yesterday. Sex with Byron altered my biology—I’m just not sure how yet.

I pause and pull down the neck of my shirt to reveal the hickey that he left me. It’s still there. I shudder at the image of his determined mouth over my breast, his large hands holding me in place.