As a word, ‘embarrassed’ doesn’t cut it.

Neither does ‘humiliated.'

Not even a string of adjectives like ashamed, mortified, blushing, uncomfortable, abashed, disconcerted, shamefaced, chagrined, awkward, self-conscious, agitated, sheepish, upset, discomposed, flustered, or distressed do the trick.

No, they aren’t enough to describe what I’m feeling right now as I stand on the inside of Vivian’s front door, trying to get my bearings. One second, Jackson is kissing me and bringing desires that I never knew were in me to the surface. The next, he’s practically exorcising me from his place.

I want to disappear, or move back to Utah, and hide in my old bedroom for a year. Maybe two. There’s also the disbelief. What’s so wrong about being a little inexperienced, anyway? Okay completely and utterly untouched, but whatever. He didn’t have to discard me like I’m garbage.

Taking a long breath, I lock the front door and take the main staircase to the second floor. My first stop is to the dogs’ room, where I find them resting peacefully. Grateful that they were good doggies while I was gone, I go to my room, get my dress off—again—and flop into bed.

This day needs to end.

* * *

I’m awoken to the sound of loud banging on a door. My eyes take forever to open, mostly because I’m exhausted, but also due to the crusty stuff that formed around the mascara that I didn’t clean from my face when I dragged my sorry ass to bed. When they finally do open, the first thing I notice is that it’s still dark outside my window. Reaching for my phone to check the time, my hands meet bare, cool nightstand. There’s nothing on the nightstand but the alarm clock. Crap. My phone is probably still in Jackson’s pants pocket. I take a wild guess that he’s the one practically breaking down the front door. The image pops into my head of him standing there with my phone hanging between his fingers, disgusted that there’s a remnant of me that I left behind in his condo.

Throwing a bathrobe over my bra and panties, I hurry down the stairs. With a quick inhale to brace myself for seeing Jackson this soon after his terse rejection, I pull the door open and grab the phone from his open palm.

“Thanks,” I say, keeping it short and not waiting for him to speak before pushing the door closed. Except I’m not fast enough. Jackson has his foot wedged in the doorway. Inching my eyes from his foot, up his body to his face, I cock my head to one side. “Can I help you with something else?”

“Why did you wait that long to tell me?” he demands.

I’m not ashamed anymore, just angry. “Look, it was all a mistake, okay? Forget it ever happened. If I owe you any damages because of Sheba, just slip a note under the door with the amount. I’ll find a way to pay for it. Sorry, it’s late. I need to get some rest now, so if you’d please step away from the door, that would be great.”

Jackson removes his foot, but doesn’t quite leave. He stands there, staring at me with a curious glint in his eyes as I push the door closed and lock it. He may be interested now, but I’m not. All the allure he had disappeared hours ago, when he acted like I was a pariah on account of being a virgin country girl.

With anger continuing to rise to the surface and brim over, I stomp over to Vivian’s supply closet near the kitchen. I search high and low for anything I can use to lock down the terrace. On a top shelf, my fingers touch a long plastic wrapper. Pulling it forward, I find exactly what I need. Reinforced cable tie-wraps. The thick, rugged kind that cops use when they run out of handcuffs.

I don’t give a damn about why Vivian has supplies like these in her possession. Heading to the sliding doors that Daisy has mastered opening, I eyeball the width of the space between the two door handles. These tie wraps will work, and I won’t have to see Jackson’s face for the rest of my time here. Pooping and scooping can happen on the main floor at the doggie park.

I loop and fasten a tie-wrap around each handle, and use a third to connect them together. Then I pull hard on each end, almost happy as the little plastic teeth engage and tighten until the doors can’t move an inch. This won’t come undone, but for good measure, I add three more sets to the handles. Even if Daisy tries to chew it, I’ll have more than enough time to stop her from getting out.

Feeling accomplished, I get my phone from the foyer and return to bed. It’s close to four in the morning when I close my eyes again. As I drift off, my only wish is for my brain to wipe away the image of Jackson kneeling between my legs, kissing me passionately, about to take away my innocence.