“You did awesome,” he said, voice hoarse with emotion. Fuck, she was so strong. He was so damn impressed with her.

“Pisa and I became friends, and we became roomies. And she didn’t mind that I had to sleep with the lights on or I didn’t like being alone. Everyone’s a little weird, you know? But Pisa moved . . .” She spread her hands. “And here I am with you.”

She looked at him with a calm, even gaze that he admired. To be so calm while describing a horrific trauma. It was humbling. His life had been a fucking breeze compared to hers. His biggest problem was his mother and a few cameras. She’d been through horrible situations and come out stronger on the other side.

“So now I’m just a derby girl and a soap maker on the side, since I have to figure out how to pay the rent.” Her smile returned, flashing him a dimple. “I’m a great derby player but a rotten soap maker. I just don’t have the killer business instinct. I don’t even have my own website. I just set up on Etsy and sell at local festivals and stuff.” She shrugged. “I’d rather be Chesty LaRude most days than Chelsea.”

“I like both aspects. Why can’t they both be you?”

Her smile faded a little. “Chesty’s very open with her sexuality. She vamps for the camera and the audience, and it doesn’t matter if they appreciate her or not.” She shrugged. “It’s easier when you have the helmet and the roller skates. It’s like you’re donning another personality. I picked a sexy, fun one because I wanted to reclaim who I was.”

“I thought it was great.” Hell, he could hardly wait to draw her.

Her expression hardened and she gazed off into the distance. “A lot of men will give a woman shit if she dresses sexy and flirts, saying she’s asking for it. And if she’s raped, they say she deserved it for provoking them. But it’s my fucking body. I’ll wear whatever I want and that doesn’t mean anyone has the permission to tell me what to do or how to be.”

“You can dress and act however you want when we’re together, you know,” Sebastian said.

She gave him a challenging look. “I know that. I don’t need your permission.”

He scratched his head, feeling sheepish. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She reached out and patted his knee, the first contact she’d made with him since starting her horrible story. “It’s all right. I know your penis makes you think that you make all the decisions.”

He snorted. “That wasn’t it, but I’m glad you’re in a forgiving mood.” Something about her story wasn’t sitting right with him. “So the guy. Was it the bartender?”

She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know.”

“Did they catch him?”

Her gaze flicked and her mouth tightened. She shook her head. “Nope. I couldn’t identify anyone. The rape kit was contaminated in-house and unable to be used as evidence. Sometimes the system works, sometimes it doesn’t. I’ve come to terms with it.”

Rage burst in his mind. “Are you fucking kidding me? That guy is out walking the streets? I can call my lawyer in the morning. We’ll get entire teams on this—”

“No,” she said, reaching for his hand. She squeezed it. “I don’t want to reopen that. I don’t want to go through everything again. That’s not why I’m telling you this.”

His nostrils flared. Sebastian’s fingers squeezed hers. The urge to push aside her concerns and help her whether she wanted it or not? It raged in his mind. He wanted her to have justice. But looking at her unhappy face, he swallowed those concerns. “I . . . won’t do anything without your say-so.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “It’s hard enough to talk about this to someone other than Pisa.”

“No one else knows? Not Gretchen or your other friends?”

She shook her head and let out a shuddering breath, and he felt another surge of protectiveness that she would trust him with such a terrible secret.

Her fingers brushed against his and his stupid cock reacted. He forced himself to remain still, to ignore it, and squeezed her hand again. “I feel like I understand you a bit better now, Chelsea. But . . . I guess I have to ask. Why the marriage?”

“Because people don’t hit on married women. They’re off limits. When I’m with you, I’m completely and utterly safe.”

And she smiled at him.

He pulled her against him into an enormous bear hug, and she went into his arms, trusting and content. She gave another long, shuddering sigh and her arms went around his waist. “I’m glad we have our understanding, Sebastian.”

And he didn’t know how he felt about that. Because while he was coming to care for her . . . he was really starting to hate their marriage.

Chapter Fourteen

One Week Later

Sebastian threw a piece of popcorn at the flat screen as romantic music swirled through the speakers. “This movie is such crap.”

Chelsea giggled and poked his arm, then reached for another handful of popcorn from the bowl in his lap. “You said I got to pick this time, and this is what I picked. I watched Fast and Furious with you last time. Now you have to watch The Notebook with me.”

“I didn’t realize you were going to torture me, though,” he grumped.

She just chuckled and rested her cheek on his arm, continuing to watch the movie. “Be quiet. This is romantic.”

He made a noise of pain that she ignored.

The last week of living with Sebastian had been so much fun. After her big confession, they’d come to an understanding and an easy friendship. She felt . . . free, now that he knew her secret. He hadn’t judged her, hadn’t told her she was asking for it, hadn’t told her that she should have been smarter. Hadn’t told her she needed to get over it. He was upset on her behalf, and really, that was all she needed.

They’d been sleeping together ever since, and their marriage had turned into an intense friendship. It was like having the perks of a boyfriend without the worry of sex, and Chelsea loved it. She and Sebastian went out to dinner with friends, he attended her bouts, and they had started snuggling on the couch each night and watching movies. When they were apart, they texted each other constantly.

Really, she kind of adored it. It was the best of both worlds—she had the affection and attention of a guy, and she didn’t have to worry about the sexual part, which had been pretty much dead inside her since her rape. And she didn’t even have to worry about excusing it. And if sometimes she looked at Sebastian’s ass a bit too long when he got out of bed, or looked at his full, perfect mouth when he was sleeping and wondered what it’d be like to have a real kiss with him, it wasn’t important to her.

What was important was having fun. Like now.

Sebastian made a sound of pain and stared at the screen. “They’re kissing in the rain. Does this guy have no nuts?”

“He’s in love!” she exclaimed, but couldn’t help but laugh.

They watched as the two characters on screen plastered themselves against each other and began to make out.

“That does it,” Sebastian said, handing the bowl to her and getting up. “It’s time for a bathroom break.”

“But this is the most romantic part!”

“You can recap it for me,” he said, heading upstairs.

She frowned, watching as he disappeared. There was a bathroom right down the hall. Why wasn’t he heading there? She looked over at his spot on the couch, where they’d been cuddling for most of the afternoon. He’d left his ever-present notepad behind.

Curious, she picked it up. Since “marrying” Sebastian, she’d noticed that he liked to make notes in his notebook whenever he thought she wasn’t looking. It went everywhere with him, too. She assumed it was his “thing,” like the way she tended to rattle on about nothing in particular when she was nervous. Sebastian made notes to himself. No big deal.