Bab 63: fake billionaire, damaged boyfriend 19

Izzy

I wipe my eyes for the millionth time, turning over in Dimitri's bed.

We slept together once, and I guess we're just calling it aflukefor now, but the idea of sleeping alone, even in this fortress of an apartment, has my heart running laps in my chest.

His voice raises in the next room, and I can't stand the back and forth much longer. I'm wearing one of his shirts that I stole out of the closet, so I take the fuzzy blanket with me and pull it around me like a shield.

The living room is packed with men, and nothing but men, all of whom glance over towards me with some kind of knowing look in their eyes. Dimitri is mid-yell, and possibly mid-curse, his anger palpable from across the room until he turns and spies me in the hallway opening from his bedroom.

Weaving through the crowd, he ushers me backward a few paces, his hands clamped warmly against my arms, "Hey, Kitten. What's wrong?"