“So if it’s not a kink thing, then you got into a fight,” I state hoarsely, tearing open the alcohol wipe. “This is going to hurt,” I murmur apologetically, dabbing his cut lip. He winces again, but his eyes stay focused on my face as I clean the wound. The dried blood washes away with the wipe, leaving the swelling and slight purple-ish discoloration around the area.
My eyes go to his for a nanosecond before moving to his cheek, which he hasn’t put the icepack back on.
“You can tell me what happened, you know,” I add casually. “At least tell me the other guy started it. Something.”
He grins. “Would that make you feel better?”
“What?”
He opens his legs up, grabbing my waist and yanking my body forward until I stumble in between his thighs. I struggle to keep my breath calm, ignoring the tingles spreading up my spine as his hands go from my waist to my hips, his fingertips digging in slightly to the cotton fabric covering my flesh.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you that the other guy started it?” he reworded, eyes laser-focused on my face.
I lower the alcohol wipe. “A little,” I admit.
He smirks. “He did … in a way.”
I frown. “That’s not very convincing, Dylan. Fighting isn’t going to get Tom off your case. If you get into trouble—”
“I righted a wrong,” he defends. “And if Tom asks, I’ll tell him the truth. Even he can’t penalize me for doing the right thing.”
I put the wipe down on the counter next to us. “Since when is violence of any kind the right thing? Throwing punches isn’t the answer.”
“I kicked him first if it makes you feel better.”
I roll my eyes. “Are you going to tell me what happened? Who you hit?”
His smirk widens. “Nope.”
“Are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“You weren’t answering your phone.”
“It’s off.”
He shrugs. “Well since I didn’t get any replies, I opted to show up. Figured since it’s late I’d try a window rather than the front door. Couldn’t figure out which one was yours though.”
“I didn’t reply because you said you were with a girl,” I say slowly. “You made it pretty obvious you were busy.”
“I said I had company,” he corrects.
“Well you didn’t deny it was girl company!”
His lips waver, like he’s holding back laughter. “Technically, I just said that I didn’t entertain men, which is true. They don’t do it for me, and many have tried. No need to worry about my sexcapades.”
My face screws. “Why would I worry?”
“You’re obviously jealous.”
“Whoa now,” I stop him, backing up. He drops his hold on my hips, keeping the distance I put between us. “I am not jealous. I was being considerate by giving you time alone with your company, male or female.”
Humor illuminates his face.
I blink. “Wait, were you fighting someone?”
His lips twitch upward.
“You were busy beating somebody up?” I deadpan. I throw my hands up. “You could have just told me that. Wait, no. Don’t tell me over text that you’re fighting somebody.”
“Would you prefer I call?”
“I’d prefer you not fight at all.”
He shrugs. “Some people deserve it, Boots.”
“Ever hear of being the bigger person?”
His eyes gleam with deviousness. “I’m usually the bigger person. At least that’s what the ladies tell me.”
I shove his shoulder. “Not what I meant, asshole.”
He just chuckles.
I move his hand to his cheek so the icepack is back on the swollen area. His eyes roam over my cheek, looking at the scrape. With his free hand, he brushes the pad of his thumb around the area, careful not to touch it directly.
“How’s your head?”
Besides the scrapes on my cheek and chin, and the slight cut on the inside of my lip that my teeth caught on impact, I have a mild concussion.
I clear my throat, ignoring the warmth his palm is radiating. “It’s fine. I’m really not that sore. Embarrassed more than anything.” I bite my lip. “There are videos, you know. Not one of my finer moments, that’s for sure.”
He goes stoic, pulling his hand away. “I saw,” he deadpans, voice deadly.
The change in his demeanor surprises me.
“Believe me, I saw,” he growls. “I’m sick of dickwads like that taking advantage of people. Christ, we’re human, too! You were hurt, and somebody should have helped you.”
His hands are shaking so bad that I put mine on them to stop. He looks down at our hands, jaw clenching tight as his Adam’s apple bobs with a hard swallow.
“They all deserve to get pummeled,” he mutters underneath his breath.
My eyes widen. All?
“Please tell me you didn’t,” I groan, taking my hands off his. “Dylan, tell me you didn’t do anything to those people.”
He couldn’t have, could he? It’s not like he saw everybody’s face. He wouldn’t know where to go even if he had.
There’s no apology or guilt in his features as he meets my eyes. Rather, proud recognition that affirms my suspicion.
“Dylan,” I chide.
“I recognized somebody in the video posted,” he states causally, shrugging.
“So you beat him up!”
I run my hands down my face, pacing in front of him. What if Tom finds out? There’s no way he could justify what Dylan did!
“He could sue you!” I point out gingerly.
He shakes his head. “He won’t. James Wicker is a freelance journalist who has practically been stalking me. Fuck, I could counter sue for the slander he puts out in the tabloids.”
My heart picks up in my chest, worry making it implode. If this guy knows who he’s fighting, he wouldn’t waste time going after money for compensation. “If he knows who you are, he’ll go after your money. You can’t know for sure that you’re safe. Oh my God.”
He stands up and walks over to me, his large palms settling on my shoulders to stop me from moving. He peers down at me, eyes light with sublimity, and expression washed with calmness.
“He won’t, Ashton. He threw the first punch, there’s evidence.”
My lips part. “What?”
He nods, lips tipping up. “Granted, I may have egged him on a little. Waited until he was drunk so his judgment was off, but it’s all the same. He threw the first punch, I simply defended myself. It would hold up in court.”
“And there’s evidence?” I question.
“Saw somebody record it.”
My eyes bug out of my head. “The whole thing? Dylan, if that person tries selling it off, people could spin that against you.”
“Would you relax?” he muses, his palms moving down my bare arms. They settle on my wrists, wrapping around them and moving them up so my palms are pressed against his chest.
“It was just Bash.”
“Bash?”
He nods once. “Yep. He agrees with me. The asshole deserved it.”
I blink back my shock. Dylan and Bash beat up a guy … for me?
Dylan beat up a guy for me.
The realization made foreign flutters fill my stomach—flutters that I thought were dead. But these felt different. Heavier. Fuller. Like there was a swarm rather than just a select few.
I swallow. “Well, uh, thanks?”
He winks. “Anytime.”
I eye him. “Not ‘anytime.’ You’re supposed to be staying out of trouble. That requires you not to punch people, regardless if they deserve it.”
That doesn’t seem to faze him. “Life goes on, Boots. It’s over with, so stop worrying about me.”
“I can’t help it,” I admit before I stop myself.
His eyes lower to mine, the color darkening.
“Some people aren’t worth worrying about,” he says quietly, like he trul
y believes that.
What he means to say is, I’m not worth worrying about.
“That’s not true,” I argue.
“I’m not good.”
“You’re not as bad as you want people to believe,” I counter.
We stare at each other, air growing thick between us. My heart hammers in my chest as his eyes dip to my lips.
He wants to kiss me.
I should back up.
He punched someone for you.
I should tell him to go.
But you won’t.
My palms are still pressed to his chest, but not because he’s holding them there. No, his hands are back to my hips, fingertips digging in a little rougher than before. My breath catches in my chest as he backs me into the fridge, the stainless-steel cool against the thin pajamas I’m in. Goosebumps cover my arms as I stare at him, seeing a fire ignite in his eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he informs me before fusing his lips with mine.
It’s not a soft kiss despite his split lip, like he’s searching for the pain rather than easing it. He presses my body against the fridge, his hands trailing up and under my sleep shirt so his hot palms are flat against my stomach.
He opens my lips with his, letting his tongue tease mine, angling his head so he can taste me better. My hands are trapped on his chest, like he doesn’t want me moving them or touching him.
I squirm to move, wanting to tangle my fingers in his unruly hair, but he keeps me trapped. He rolls his hips forward, his thick length pressing against the inside of my thigh making me moan into his mouth.
His teeth bite down on my lip, drawing it into his mouth and sucking it. He pulls back, but only for a second before he’s kissing me again, this time harder and hungrier.
He’s everywhere, consuming me. His scent. His taste. His breath. He’s overloading my senses with everything him, with just a kiss.
His hands slide out from under my shirt and grip my butt, squeezing before trailing down the back of my thighs and scooping me up so my legs wrap around his hips.
It gives him more access to roll his length harder into me, causing me to mewl and roll my hips forward in return. My body is quickly overheating, but in the best way possible. As soon as I’m secure around him, his hands go back to my butt, gripping me with his fingers teasing the edge of my shorts so they’re brushing against the panties underneath.
“Damn,” a voice breathes from across the room, breaking us apart and leaving us breathing heavily.
Wide-eyed, I stare at Teagan with my cheeks burning at the amused expression on her face.
I unwrap myself from Dylan, and reluctantly he lets me down.
“I’m going to need more than just a cold glass of water after seeing that,” she states, gaze bouncing between us.
She waves her hand, as if urging us to continue, backing out of the room to give us space.
I close my eyes, catching my breath. “You should go,” I suggest, not looking at him. My eyes stay locked on my painted toes, the dirt speckled tile, anything but the heated gaze I know he’s casting my way.
“I …” I shake my head, brushing my hair behind my ears. “I hope you have a good night. You can keep the ice pack if you don’t have one. Maybe take a Motrin when you get back to the hotel.”
I start walking away from him, but he catches my upper arm.
“That’s all?” he challenges. “Look at me.”
I don’t. “You can use the front door this time,” I mutter, before pulling out of his grasp and walking away.
The smell of brewing coffee pouring slowly into the pot only makes my desperation for it grow as my messy hair, tired eyes, and slumped shoulders hover over the machine.
I can feel Teagan’s burning eyes trying to inquire details from my moment of weakness the other night, but there’s not enough coffee in the world to prepare me for that conversation.
It’s why I’ve been avoiding her as much as I can since it happened, and that’s no easy task.
“Not now, Teag.”
She chortles. “Um, yes now. I have given you space for the last week, but I can’t wait any longer. You got some ‘splainin to do, girlfriend. I didn’t just walk into a small lip lock, y’all were about to hump each other’s brains out. Not that I’m complaining. Hell, I’m happy for you. But—”
“Don’t be happy for me,” I groan, brushing my hands through my frizzy hair. I turn to face her, displaying the bags under my eyes from another sleepless night. “I did something stupid! I kissed Dylan.”
She cocks her head “And?”
I scoff, body jolting to the sound of the machine finishing its brew. “And I …” I lower my voice, “liked it.”
She bellows out a laugh. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing. It was a kiss, Ash. With a smoking hot guy. Of course you liked it! You’d have to be gay not to.”
I grab the biggest mug from the cupboard and fill it up to the top. Emptying two sugar packets and stirring it into my liquid salvation, I hold it in my hands like it’s going to bring me back to life.
One week. That’s how long I’ve avoided talking about what happened with Dylan. He’s only texted me once since it happened, but I never replied. I only confirmed our session today as a means of civil business. The kiss? I’m forcing myself to believe it never happened.
But it did. And it keeps playing on repeat in my head like a broken record.
“Ash, look at me,” she demands softly.
I blink a few times, taking a long sip of coffee before my eyes meet hers.
“Put the coffee down,” she says next.
I shake my head.
She eyes me. I sigh and set it on the counter next to me, looking back at her with my hands crossed on my chest.
Standing up, she walks in front of me with a serious expression on her face. “You did nothing wrong, okay? You kissed a guy and you liked it. It’s not like you committed murder. Stop beating yourself up over it.”
I glance at the floor. “I don’t think I can face him,” I admit weakly. “I promised myself not to get used by guys like him, and I let it happen anyway.”
“Babe,” she chides, grabbing my arms. “Let me ask you something. Why did you let him? If you didn’t really want to, you would have kicked him in the balls again. Obviously a part of you thought it was okay.”
I run my tongue over my bottom lip, wondering if she’s right.
You know she is.
And it makes me sink into the possibility that I’m more like Dylan than I want to believe. Our connection comes at the cost of that heavy realization. But I don’t admit that to her.
“He defended me,” I tell her. “He and Bash both did, actually. And it made me feel …” I shrug, leaning my back against the edge of the counter, coffee forgotten. “I don’t know. Not safe. Not happy. Just content, I guess. Kind of like I did when Rhys and I were together.”
“If all you felt for Rhys was content when you were together, then the asshat isn’t worth remembering. What did he want anyway?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “Forgiveness, I guess.”
She makes a face. “Forgiveness?”
I shrug. “He didn’t mean it. He never means it. You know Rhys. It’s all a game to him.”
A game he always wins.
She frowns, pulling me in for a hug. “Is that why you went out?”
I don’t answer. She knows it’s the reason, so it needs no confirmation.
There should be some sort of sadness or tears that I blink away, but nothing comes. My eyes are dry, and my heart is eerily steady in my chest rather than thumping in its cage.
I wish I was sad over Rhys, but I’m not capable of the emotion. It’s like my heart and mind are battling logic and recklessness, my mind wanting me to do what’s smart but my heart doing what it wants regardless.
“Well you signed a contract,” she sighs. “So as much as you don’t want to see Dylan, you have to. Just don’t make a huge deal of the kiss, and he wo
n’t.”
I give her a doubtful look. “We’re talking about the same Dylan, right? The one who pushes people past their limits to get what he wants? He won’t let me forget this.”
Her eyes see the truth in it, but she doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Perk up, bitch,” she announces, handing me my coffee. “There is nobody in this world that can control you unless you let them. If you don’t want Dylan, then ignore his advances. If you want Rhys out of your life for good, then make it happen. Neither of them deserve to get a reaction out of you unless you choose to let them have that power over you.”
I blink at my best friend, wondering when she got so … wise.
“I know, I know,” she muses as if she reads my mind. “Why am I so amazing? It’s a gift, babe. I’ve got plenty of other words of wisdom and advice stashed away, but most of them have to do with you naked with a certain rockstar, and since you’re freaking out about a kiss, I think we should hold off on that coming true for a little while.”
I gape at her casualness, rolling my eyes after she busies herself with making her French vanilla coffee.
When the machine sputters back to life, she turns to me, a devious grin on her face. “I need to know, Ash. Is he good? He looked like his kiss could get you off.”
My face flushes. “Really, Teagan?”
She shrugs. “I’m curious, what can I say? I’ve kissed plenty of guys in my time, whether for my job or just because I wanted to, and none of them looked like they were consumed in me.”
“He was trying to get laid,” I reason doubtfully, feeling my lips tingle with the memory of his lips against them. It made my heart skip in my chest, and my hands grip the cup in my hand a little tighter like I gripped him last night.
Damn you, memory.
I couldn’t deny that the kiss was one of the best ones I had, but I also wasn’t going to admit it. I mean, he had a reputation with women. Obviously, he was a great kisser, or else they wouldn’t flock to him so much.
Well, maybe the money had an influence on their intrigue, but still. I remind myself that I’m one of the many, and I’m probably just a notch in his belt.
The Moments We Share Page 10
