by A. Marie
“Hey,” I hush. Like seriously, pipe down. We have neighbors. Not that they care about the noise we make—not anymore thanks to Marc’s…deal with Kary, the apartment manager—but if they did, she’d be bothering them. Hell, she’s bothering me. “I never gave you any idea this was anything serious. The note you left for me basically said the same thing.”
“It said ‘call me’. That doesn’t mean I want a one-night stand.”
It doesn’t?
“I misunderstood then. My apologies. You can just take off.”
“What? You’re just kicking me out?”
I shrug, not knowing what else to say. I mean, how many times do I have to tell her? I’m just not that interested.
“Well, you asked me here for something, right? Why can’t we finish what you started?”
Her nails press into my wrists until it starts to bite and I fucking knew it. Chick is a serpent. I grow genuinely concerned her venom might infect my bloodstream if I don’t extract myself quickly enough. Not that it’s likely with my mind still stuck on a certain hot biker flying down the streets right now, making my blood practically boil as it runs hotter than it has in…ever?
I pull from her clutches, putting space between us.
“Sorry, I just can’t.”
“Why? Because I don’t have leather pants and ride a motorcycle?” she snarls.
I snort. Like that would help her chances.
“You think I didn’t see you eye fucking that skank all night?”
My heart starts racing.
“Are you talking about my roommate? She lives here. I was looking at her because I thought she was having a seizure in there.” I jerk my thumb over my shoulder, glaring when I see Marc kicked back, grinning like a fucking douche. I flip him the bird and his lips spread even wider.
Carlson pushes past me, storming out the front door and I let her go before dropping to the couch, ignoring the triumphant grin my best friend aims my way. Dude’s a regular comedian all of a sudden.
* * *
My eyes snap open to a pitch black room and a crick in my neck. Looking around, I realize I fell asleep on the couch. A couch made for a normal person, not someone my size. At 6’6”, most furniture is too small for me which is why I usually only sleep in my bed since it’s the only thing that fits my tall ass. I must’ve passed out sometime during the night. I vaguely remember watching the front door before sleep took over.
Probably to make sure that snake in the grass didn’t come back to bite me in the…anything.
A giggle followed by a thump out in the hallway has me up and across the room in a flash. Peering through the peephole, I see Paige slumped over some bulky dude and I rip the door open without hesitation.
My chest puffs as I step forward, my voice like ice, gaze just as hard. “What the fuck is this?”
Paige’s head jerks immediately.
“Uh, oh. Fee-fi-fo-fum, looks like I poked the beast.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.” I shake my head, thinking about our old neighbor who would mix up her fairy tales sometimes. No need to memorize them when you’re living them—the Grimms’ versions.
Paige’s words come out slurred though and her lids are heavy, red lines distorting her green eyes.
“You’re drunk?”
“Yep.” She pops the p, bringing my gaze to her lips. They’re swollen. From use.
I go to flip my hat but, remembering I’m not wearing one since it’s the middle of the night and all, I rub my jaw instead.
“And what? You thought you’d bring home an easy layup?”
“I don’t play ball, I break them.” She laughs like she’s proud of herself for coming up with such a good quip.
“That doesn’t make sense either.” Denied.
Underneath her leather jacket, her loose shirt’s riding up the more gravity tries to claim her and thanks to her helper’s hold on her, a nice little slice of skin peeks out, robbing almost all of my thoughts.
I finally tear my eyes away, pinning the loser attempting to hold her up with a glare so chilling I’m surprised he doesn’t shiver. This motherfucker is wider than me, sure, but in a smokestack kind of way. Smokestacks fall, they break, they crumble to pieces given the right amount of pressure. And they probably cry like a little bitch while doing it.
Anticipation hangs in the air like smoke itself.
Paige sobers a bit, looking at the guy like she’s just realizing he’s there.
Jesus Christ.
“Where’s my bike?” she demands and I’d laugh if I wasn’t wondering the same thing myself.
Dude throws his hands up, the hands he was using to hold Paige up with, and I reach out to catch her before she replaces our welcome mat.
She groans from the transition but doesn’t say anything, waiting for an answer.
“It’s still at the bar. After we, uh-”
Dude glances at me and I swear to God I want to shove my fist down his throat just so I don’t have to hear his next words.
“After we, you know,” he says, beating around the bush—a bush I’m about to beat the shit out of myself, “you asked me to take you home. You were poured more than you should’ve been, so I drove you here myself.”
I narrow my eyes, wondering what the hell ‘you know’ means, at the same time never wanting to find out.
“And who exactly are you?”
“Her,” the hesitation nearly undoes me, “ex-boyfriend.”
Paige snorts loudly, causing us both to look at her.
“Oh, shit. Did I do that out loud?”
I smother a laugh ‘cause this isn’t funny. Not really. She comes home smashed and brings a random, or supposedly not-so-random, guy with her. She could’ve been hurt, or worse.
Paige relaxes into me, her eyes fluttering to a close. I’m pretty sure she sniffs me but I’m too focused on how she feels in my arms to tell. This is the first time we’ve touched aside from our fingers grazing last week when I returned her phone. She’s warm and soft, her hard edges lax and pliable in my hold. My arms slide under hers, bringing her flush against my body. She’s tall, taller than other girls I’ve been with, and I like the way she fits. I always have to bend to fit everything—buildings, furniture, people. It’s nice to have a tender body against mine that I don’t have to adjust for.
A little moan escapes her lips and I stiffen.
“Dean, thanks for dropping me off.”
Her meaning isn’t lost on ol’ Dean boy. He’s being dismissed, a fact that disappoints him. Greatly.
When he makes eye contact with me, I nod, officially releasing him of his babysitting duties. I could be more gracious but he didn’t have to share that detail about them doing whatever it is they did. She’s my roommate and I don’t want to hear that shit. Or see it. Her just-kissed lips have already been added to my overflowing spank bank material and now I have to work on erasing his ugly mug from the picture.
I wait until I hear his feet hit the bottom step, then I guide Paige inside, carrying most of her weight.
“I like the way you smell.”
I glance down at her on the way to her room, smirking. I knew she was sniffing me.
“And how do I smell, girl?”
“Like home.” Then, almost to herself, she murmurs sadly, “But not like than them.”
My smile drops. The fuck?
“Who?”
She doesn’t respond, staying silent but burrowing into my chest. A hollow chest that can’t withstand the pressure she’s threatening with such a simple gesture.
After depositing her to her bed, she reaches out, holding me in place. I’m hovering over her, only inches from her face but her eyes remain closed. Mine roam her beautiful face flushed from being over served. Her thin eyebrows furrow over delicate eyes. Long eyelashes drape across high cheekbones with a slender nose and full lips. Her chin has some powder on it, making my chest constrict.
Without thought, I swipe it with a finger and lick the substance. S
ugar.
Paige’s eyes open and zero in on the finger in my mouth. I release it slowly as her breathing hitches. Want flashes across her face like a stoplight at midnight and it’s taking everything in me not to lean forward and kiss her with barely contained hunger of my own.
“Sweet,” I mumble like the dumbass I am.
She moans again, arching up, and my mind goes blank. It’s everything I thought it’d be. Paige’s back is clear off the bed like she’s being possessed yet somehow I feel like I’m the one in need of an exorcism.
I can’t take my eyes off her. Wouldn’t, even if I could.
God help me.
Perky tits strain through her thin shirt that’s bunched at the bottom, showing more of that perfectly toned stomach of hers. My fists tighten with the need to slip underneath, my fingertips aching to feel her smooth looking skin. Her signature peach scent combines with her arousal and I want more. So. Much. More.
With labored, slow movements, I run my nose along her exposed neck, inhaling as I go. I’m hard as a fucking rock and when her leg lifts, brushing my dick, I damn near explode then and there, making a complete fool of myself. Her needy gasps echo off the walls as her nails clamp my biceps with an urgency I know all too well.
Right there with ya, girl.
“So, uh, that guy’s your ex?” My staggered breath feathers over her sharp jaw. It’s been bugging me since Dean said it. Not only his admission—jerk off—but her reaction to it. I’m still not convinced she and Marc aren’t messing around either. He’s been a different person around her and she seems all too happy being in his presence, giggling incessantly. She sure as hell doesn’t act like that around me, which is insulting as fuck when you think about it, but the tension between us isn’t my imagination running wild. Her actions tonight prove that. She’s basically dripping for me and I haven’t even properly readied the pipes yet.
Wonder if Marc gets that reaction out of her, too.
“Not really.”
Not really? Either someone’s your ex or they’re not. Right?
Her fingernails skim up the backs of my arms, giving literally all of my skin goose bumps, even my fucking scalp. Holy shit.
“So,” I work to clear my throat, “what was all that outside about then? I’m pretty sure Tree Stump thinks your hook-up tonight meant something.” Enough to brag about it.
This dizzying laugh, similar to the one in my Tahoe the other day, floats past her lips, up above our heads, settling at the base of my skull.
“Our kiss tonight was…a mistake. But, it’s still over between us. We want different things. The end. Are we done talking now?”
Paige’s hands slide around my neck as she tries to close the distance but I don’t budge. Too loyal to my boy, too afraid I won’t be able to stop, too fucking wound up from it all, I lock my muscles in place, holding firm, inches away.
“What does he want?”
I bet I can guess.
“To fall in love.”
I pull back to look in her hooded eyes. “And you don’t?”
She squeezes her eyes shut, dropping her hands to the mattress with a bounce and swallows audibly. I twitch from the loss but don’t move otherwise.
“I just can’t right now. I don’t have any room.”
Can’t?
My eyebrows slam together. I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t that.
So, Dean caught feelings for a hard ass looking for a fling? Even though it’s good to know where she stands, it still doesn’t rule out her having a thing with Marc. I know for a fact that, like me, dude has no plans for settling down anytime soon.
They’d be perfect for each other really.
That thought fills me with something I’d rather not acknowledge so I focus on the latter part of her answer, asking thickly, “Room for what?”
Her light snore fills the silent bedroom.
Well, damn. Tonight’s just full of firsts, isn’t it?
CHAPTER 6
Paige
I’m nursing what I’ve started calling The Headache. Not to be confused with a common household headache that all of us mere mortals suffer from occasionally. No, this is The Headache. The one that follows a night of complete and utter debauchery. The kind you bring upon yourself by ignoring any and all common sense garnered throughout your life by attempting to drink yourself into oblivion. The kind I’ve been bringing on myself too often lately.
I just hope I gave the bartender with no core values whatsoever a great tip for indulging my apparent death wish I had last night. That kind of customer service is hard to come by these days.
It’s always strange waking up at the time I usually go to sleep but today it’s even more off-putting since it’s my first morning in my new apartment. I’m not sure if the guys have work today or not because it’s still fairly quiet, save for the occasional heavy breath or two.
Feeling somewhat human again after a hot shower, I decide to make my roommates breakfast. If they’re anything like my brothers who would wake up like a pack of ravenous wolves after a night of drinking, then they’ll appreciate a home cooked meal when they do get up. Cooking will also give me something to focus on instead of my embarrassing effort at seducing Beckett last night. The guy probably had his fill from his scaly friend last night then was forced to deal with my Sloppy Jane impersonation.
What was I thinking?
My hand curls around the vanilla extract for pancakes and I remember. His smell. It does things to me. It makes me want things. Things I can’t want right now.
Isn’t that what he asked me? Why I couldn’t fall in love? It’s not that I don’t want to, it’s that I can’t, at least for right now. Besides the fact that I absolutely do not have the time, I can’t spare the mental realty for anyone extra. My brothers, and most importantly my mom, are it for me. They are my first, last, and middle priorities with only room for the sporadic stupid decision—or two. Last night easily fell into the latter category, what with Beckett ramming his tongue down his date’s throat. No amount of Marc’s motocross stories could distract me from that whole scene, even if they were mildly entertaining.
Dean wasn’t much help either, peppering me with kisses that tasted like a cheap replacement for what I really wanted. For who I really wanted.
Dean. I should probably send him a text to thank him for taking me home but I’m dragging my sore feet. Beckett’s nosey guess about him wasn’t far off—Dean did take that kiss much more seriously than I did. Than I ever would. Kissing is like flirting—harmless fun that doesn’t necessarily mean there’s more to follow, despite what some men try to convince themselves.
But I do need my bike back and even though I have more men at my fingertips than most people, they all feel so goddamn out of reach still. The chair I ordered for Mom came in. Tysen has a truck. Maybe I’ll try him. See if he actually answers this time. He may have helped me move but he hasn’t responded to any of my texts since.
A door down the hall opens and I hold my breath, hearing a loud groan and then another door close with a click. The bathroom. The one I share with Beckett. I could’ve sworn I heard muttered voices—or maybe just one—coming from his room earlier.
I strain my ears, trying to make out any noises from…I don’t know, like a guest or something, then cover my face with my hands before realizing my head is a no-go zone and drop them.
Pancakes. Those will help. Nothing like sugar-soaked carbs to drown out The Headache.
Beckett, freshly showered, appears as I’m setting out the last batch, avoiding me entirely as he goes straight for the coffee I brewed. I don’t drink the stuff but Jesse and my mom always did so I can make a pot with my eyes closed.
He’s wearing a blinding pink shirt that’s just tight enough to hug some of his more prominent muscles. With the words You’d be loud, too, if I was riding you stretched across the chest, my mind wanders back to the noises I heard coming from behind his closed door. Is that what he thinks is loud? A few morning murmu
rs…huh. Okay.
Should be interesting when I finally do bring someone home. Then maybe I’ll get myself a cheesy shirt, too, one that says A better ride than your bike. And he’ll damn well know it from how loud I am.
Surreptitiously sneaking a glance down the hall, I say, “bad night?” hoping he was somehow drunker than I was. When I don’t see anyone follow him, I prop my hip against the counter, facing him fully.
His eyes finally meet mine and I’m right back to last night being held in his impressive arms, the feeling of being wrapped up safe and secure piercing me like a stray bullet on a battlefield.
I press the heel of my palm into my chest, rubbing small, hard circles.
His sleep-drunk voice only rasps out, “I’ve had worse.”
He’s still holding my gaze but not in a hostile way like I expected. Maybe I’m making a bigger deal out of this. Last night obviously meant as much to him as it did to me—nothing.
“Sorry about last night.” I drop my eyes to gather some condiments from the fridge. “I had a little too much to drink and I’m sorry it involved you at all. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What would’ve happened if you didn’t?”
I turn to find him still locked on me like a predator to its prey—unblinking, unmoving, un-fucking-believably sexy—and scowl, which honestly hurts horribly.
“What do you mean?”
“What would’ve happened if I didn’t wake up? Would you have invited Dean to come in? Dude was practically drooling after the bone he thought he was promised.” His eyebrow cocks like maybe I won’t understand the innuendo. Oh, I get it. How funny he thinks he must be.
I attempt to wave the thought away like smoke from a tire burnout.
“Dean knows where things stand.” Mostly.
“But would you have invited him inside?”
I scan his face as he does mine, both looking for what’s not being said. Searching for answers to questions neither of us is willing to come out and ask.
