Page 115 of The True Garza

“What?”

With a sharp shake of his head, he climbs out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him, and heads straight to the house without waiting for me.

We just had a dinner date at a lovely restaurant. The food was excellent; we talked about useless things, stole off each other’s plates, and had a pretty great time. Now he’s slamming doors on me because I’m texting with Jules.

It’s been like this for the past four days. One minute he’s all over me, the next minute he’s sulking. He wants me in the same room with him at all times. And if I ever so much as glance at my phone when we’re together, he picks a fight with me.

Trying to keep up with his moods is impossible.

And still, my heart is always full when I’m around him, my head light and peaceful, and my belly swarming with butterflies. I fall asleep with my face against his chest and wake up with his between my thighs. He cooks for me or takes me out to dinner. He acts a fool just to make me smile.

So as frustrating as his random moods are, it’s worth it just to be with him.

As for Dennis, we text and talk in between shift breaks. But there’ve been no video calls, thanks to True keeping me separated from my phone when I’m here. As far as Dennis knows, I’m having a hectic work week.

I climb out of the vehicle, wincing from the two-days-old ache at my lower back, and trek up to the house.

True’s in the kitchen, glaring at the granite countertop. He must not have heard me come in, because he jerks his head up as I amble into the living area, seemingly surprised to see me, and his pensive, perturbed expression immediately clears. Replaced by the impassive, unreadable expression that I loathe.

Stop hiding from me.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He offers a curt nod. “Your back still hurts?”

During a free hour after an early shift change two days ago, I hurt my back doing a dead-lift challenge with my colleagues. The pain is not as prominent as it was before, but it’s still there with certain movements.

“A little. But I plan to stop in at Jules’s Touch this weekend for a deep massage.”

He walks off down the hall.

Good night to you, too, Mr. Mercurial.

I set my purse and phone on the coffee table, then lie back on the couch and close my eyes. This is what I do when he acts like an ass. Ignore him. The same way one would ignore a toddler when they act out, until they realize they won’t be getting the reaction they expected and simmer down.

My phone chimes and buzzes on the coffee table. I open my eyes and start to reach for it, but pause when I see True approaching with two product bottles.

His eyes narrow on the phone, then at my hand that’s reaching for it, and then at me.

For Pete’s sake. Not in the mood for a tiff, especially since I’m still high on the good food and wine we had earlier, I leave the phone alone.

“Turn over,” he tells me when he reaches the couch.

Without asking questions, I flip over onto my stomach.

The couch cushion dips when he kneels astride my thighs and lifts my dress. “This is gonna be cold at first. Then really hot,” he says. “Kinda like IcyHot, but ten times stronger.”

“Okay.”

My body jolts when the cold liquid touches my skin. Holy shitballs, that’s cold.

“No more weightlifting without a belt on, all right?” he admonishes as he rubs in the liquid at my lower back.

“Yeah, I know it was stupid. We were just trying to make the most of the free hour, get our energy up.”

And now my skin feels like it’s on fire. “Holy shitthat burns.”

The deeper he massages the liquid into my skin, the hotter it gets. He kneads my lower back with the heels of his palms, and then his knuckles, and then his fists. It hurts, but in a good way. “You’re pretty good at this.”