Afraid to Fly (Fearless #2)

by S. L. Jennings

  “Yeah. You were,” Raven agreed. “But it’s so hard to tell, seeing as you’ve dismissed me. For Cherri, of all people.”

  “Cherri!” Velvet trilled. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Please tell me . . .”

  I gave her a look that screamed “don’t say another word,” but I was sure I had been made. Raven wasn’t buying it. She knew I had been sleeping with Cherri. Shit. Let’s just add her to the list too. I looked around. Was Alyssa the kindergarten teacher going to pop up suddenly? Lauren from the gym? The shopgirl from Neimans? The head cheerleader from 11th grade?

  Blaine dropped off the round of tequila sans beer, and I grabbed mine immediately, not even waiting for the girls to touch theirs. Shit. I would need a lot more of these if we were going to play Dom’s Dirty Laundry.

  “I heard a rumor,” Raven said before sipping her beer. “That you were one of Pink Kitty’s most valuable customers.”

  “And who did you hear that from?” I chased the tequila with a slug of beer, even though I didn’t even need it at this point.

  “Skylar.”

  My hand was over my mouth just a millisecond before beer went spewing in Raven’s face. “Oh shit,” I coughed into my hand. “Fuck.”

  “So it’s true?”

  “Huh?”

  “That you’re a whore. That you sleep with any and everyone that’ll have you.”

  Her expression was amused, but I could hear the sharp edge in her tone. And the way those blue eyes bore into mine—unblinking, unrelenting—I knew that she was daring me to spout of some bullshit denial. She wanted to believe I wasn’t shit. And who was I to deny her the satisfaction?

  “Maybe I am,” I shrugged. “Maybe I will.”

  She grimaced with disgust. “Why do you do it?”

  “Why do you care?”

  As she glared back at me, her mouth still agape, I knew I had her. Why did she care? What was it to her who I slept with? It wasn’t like we had ever or would ever have sex.

  She grabbed her shot, downed it, and slammed the glass, swaying a little. “I don’t.”

  “Obviously, you do.” I looked down at the bar top where Velvet’s drink had gone untouched. We hadn’t even noticed that she’d drifted over to the dance floor and was grinding all over some dude in a flannel shirt and cowboy boots. Fuck it. I grabbed her shot and drank it. I was feeling some type of way right now, and if Raven wanted to go toe to toe, I was ready.

  “About you? Please. You wish I did. I don’t need to touch the stove to know it’ll burn me. And looking at the company you keep, I’d say you burn pretty good. Am I right?”

  I barked out a laugh at her analogy. “Not everything that’s hot burns, Raven. But I understand your fear. You talk a good game about taking chances and living outside the box, but admit it—you’re a scared little girl.” I swayed forward, closing the gap between us until the heat of her body engulfed mine. “And you’re fucking terrified of me.”

  “And why’s that?” Her voice was just a whisper a she shifted closer, leaning against me.

  “Because of what I want from you. And what you want to give me.” It was all just words. All lies. I knew I needed to leave this girl alone, but old habits die hard.

  She looked up at me, those bold blue eyes hazed with oblivion. They didn’t say, “Dom, you’re full of shit, and I hate you.”

  Hate, I could deal with. There was finality in it. Its acceptance would have been easy—cut-and-dried. But nothing was easy with this girl. So she gave me the one thing I didn’t need. The one thing that would prove to be the first fracture in my fortress of lies.

  She gave me surrender.

  THERE WERE HANGOVERS.

  And there were hangovers.

  I was hungover.

  Fuck. Me.

  Cracking open an eye had to have taken an hour. Focusing my vision had to have taken a good 45 minutes. And I swear the inside of my mouth was filled with vomit-flavored flour.

  How the hell did I get home? And what the hell happened?

  I lay there for several minutes, trying to retrace my mental steps. Ok, we were at Dive. We ate, we danced, we drank, we laughed, we saw Dom . . .

  We saw Dom!

  Shit. Shit on a cracker. Smeared shit on toast. Shit-kabobs on the grill.

  That was when everything got hazy. We were talking. There were shots. We lost Velvet somewhere. I needed to sit down. Dom introduced me to his friends. I was laughing my ass off about nothing and everything. Blaine tried to get me to drink water and brought me cheese fries. I hugged the pregnant one. I kissed Angel on the cheek. Angel’s a rock star! I leaned against Dom. He placed his arm around my waist. I nuzzled under his chin, relishing the scrape of stubble against my face . . .

  Fuck.

  And this was why I didn’t drink tequila anymore.

  With great effort, I looked to the other side of my small, full-size bed, and there he was. Sleeping on his stomach, limbs outstretched and, thankfully, fully dressed in jeans and a rumpled, collared shirt. I felt around, my eyes still closed. Yup. I was dressed too, although I was no longer in my tank and jeans. I had on my ratty lounge sweats, an old tee, and my feet were bare. I was sure my hair would be a rat’s nest on top of my head, but it was secured by a hair tie in a messy bun.

  What the hell happened after we left Dive? There was no way I could’ve driven my car from Victoria’s. And judging by the fumes coming out of Dom’s pores, he wasn’t in any shape to drive either. So while my getting home was a mystery, a sleeping Dom was an even greater anomaly. If I was uninhibited enough to invite him to share my bed, what else had I done? What else had I said?

  Shit . . . if I let something slip in my intoxicated stupor, there’d be no telling what Dom would do. But then again, he was here. And if he knew about my past—our past—he’d want to put as much distance between us as possible, the very thing I should have done from the start.

  How the hell did I get here, so far off course? Getting to know him wasn’t part of the plan. Connecting with him had been a big no-no. And caring for him . . . it would prove tragic for not only me and him, but Toby too.

  I forced myself into a sitting position, trying to keep my pained groans to a minimum as to not wake him. The trek to our single bathroom was treacherous, but somehow I managed to make it, only stopping to lean against the wall for support three times. After I had emptied my screaming bladder, brushed the foulness from my teeth and removed the nine pounds of war paint smudged around my eyes, I felt a tad better. Still like shit. But more like a shit salad rather than a shit smorgasbord. I checked Toby’s room to find his tiny, twin-size bed empty. I exhaled with relief when I realized that he had stayed the night over at Mrs. Ralston’s. The thought of him seeing me drunk and belligerent with his mentor in my bed would probably tip the poor kid over the edge.

  I shuffled down the short hall to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge. After three glasses of water and three Advil to kill the tiny jackhammer on my skull, I started to feel human again, if not a little queasy. There was no way I was sober yet, and I had to be at work this afternoon. The bed was calling my name, whether it was occupied or not, so as quietly as I could, I crawled in beside Dominic, careful not to brush his skin with mine. It was intimate enough that we had slept side by side. I wasn’t about to cuddle with him while he was knocked out, like some weird stalker freak.

  His face was turned toward me, giving me the opportunity to just take him in, something I hadn’t allowed myself to do. He had the longest, fullest lashes I had ever seen on a man, almost feminine, and his lips were naturally pouty. Even his hair looked feather soft and delicate. However, everything about him was undeniably male. Dominic’s good looks were almost jarring at first glance. He had the type of beauty that intimidated you because next to him, even Miss America looked like Shrek. But what made him even more attractive was the fact that he made you feel cherished in his presence. He gave you his undivided attention. He listened intently, and he looked at you like you were the m
ost stunning thing to ever grace his sight.

  That was why I had fallen for him hard, without him even knowing it. What had meant everything to me had meant absolutely nothing to him. And just like he had that penetrating way of making you feel adored, he also could make you feel two inches tall in the same breath.

  I watched him sleep, wondering where to go from here, until I could no longer keep my eyes open. It was early, and I could squeeze in another couple hours before Toby would be up and at ’em. I was just really dozing, taking the detour into dreamland, when I heard what sounded like a garbled cry.

  Shit. I must’ve still been drunk.

  I rolled over and squeezed my eyelids together, hoping that the pounding would subside and take the weird sounds with it. But then I heard it again—louder this time—and I knew it wasn’t the effects of last night’s residual tequila talking. That sound—that strangled desperation—was coming from right next to me.

  I turned back over to face him, unsure of what I would find. And what I found was heartbreaking. His eyes still shut tight in slumber, Dominic was . . . crying. Tears streamed from his closed eyes, saturating the pillow underneath his head. He grimaced as if he were in debilitating pain, lips tight over his bared teeth. Had he been hurt last night? Was he sick?

  The nurse in me kicked into gear. I did a quick visual scan to see if there were any noticeable abrasions. Gently, I pressed a hand against his sweat-slickened forehead. He didn’t seem to have a fever, but his skin was clammy, and his breathing was erratic. As I was debating on whether or not to wake him, his cries became more intense, yet there was meaning to them. He was talking—begging. He was pleading for help, crying for mercy. His whole body was coiled tight, yet every few seconds, jerky convulsions would wrack his frame, and he’d cry out in agony. The horror etched in his tear-stained face was terrifying, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to help him.

  “Dominic,” I called out to him, keeping a bit of distance between us. If he was having night terrors, he could seriously hurt me if I tried to wake him too aggressively. “Dominic, wake up.”

  It was like he wasn’t even here. The pain was too real to him. He wasn’t dreaming it. He was living it.

  As carefully as I could, I gave him a shake, shielding my face in case he lashed out. Still nothing. I shook him again, putting more force into it. He still continued to cry, wincing through it as if he were being hit. Each jerk was an assault inside of his subconscious.

  “No! No more! Please!” he sobbed, the desperation in his words causing me to gasp. “It hurts . . . it hurts so bad. Please tio. No más, por favor.”

  No more, please.

  I didn’t understand what was going on behind those eyelids, but I knew I had to stop it. I had to help him. I had to save him.

  “Dom!” I yelled, shaking him with all my might with no regard for my own safety. “Wake up! Wake up, please!”

  He shuddered under my touch before thrashing from the horror of his dream, gasping for air. “What . . . What happened?” he rasped, out of breath. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then looked at his wet hand with a frown, turning his hard gaze at me. “What did I say?”

  It was a simple question, but the way he looked at me—as if I had violated him in some way—was almost frightening. Like I was to blame for the dread that had manifested into a nightmare.

  “Nothing,” I lied. But the coldness in his eyes challenged me to speak the truth. “Just that . . . You were begging. Begging for someone to stop hurting you. It was just a dream, right? Like, you’re okay . . . right?”

  He turned his gaze away then and looked down at his trembling hands before folding them into tight fists. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

  I couldn’t describe where the impulse to touch him came from, but I reached out, the tips of my fingers just barely razing his shoulder. He flinched, bounding off the bed in a swift movement. I tucked my hand to my side and looked down. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I better get going.”

  My head snapped up to his wary expression, and before I could stop myself, I asked, “Why?”

  “Because I should. I didn’t mean to fall asleep in your bed. Shit . . . sorry about that.”

  “Then why did you?”

  He ran a hand through his messy, sleep-ruffled hair and shrugged. “You were drunk. And sick. After I managed to clean you up, I was afraid you’d choke or something if you threw up in your sleep. I honestly only meant to stay until I knew you were okay, but . . . I must’ve dozed off.”

  “You changed me?” Oh shit. He saw me naked. My muddled mind couldn’t remember if the underwear I had on now was the same I had on last night. And I couldn’t even think about my bra.

  “I had to,” he said. “You threw up outside, and some of it splashed onto your clothes. Don’t worry; I didn’t look.”

  “Oh.” I was relieved. Maybe even a little disappointed that he hadn’t wanted to see me naked. I knew thinking like that was dangerous and stupid, but I couldn’t deny what I was feeling. “What about Victoria?” Memories of last night were fuzzy, but I remember her coming over to our spot at the bar after she had danced through Angel’s set.

  He frowned. “Who?”

  “Velvet.”

  “Oh. She’s good. Told me to tell you to call her today.”

  “She got home safely?”

  At that, he almost smiled. “Well . . . not exactly.”

  “Huh?”

  “She didn’t go home. She was with CJ.”

  The shock on my face actually made him break into a chuckle, although I did not find this revelation a laughing matter. CJ? Blaine’s asswipe cousin? I mean, he was cute and all, in a rugged Taylor Kitsch kinda way, with the longish brown hair and the permanent mischief in his eyes. He and his cousin favored each other with their tall, lean builds and tan skin. But Blaine’s body art amped up the hot factor by a good 10 points. Which was why I was surprised Velvet—Victoria—even gave CJ the time of day. He was an idiot, and a guy like him would probably drive her batshit crazy. There was no way she was sober when she made that desperate, last-call-for-alcohol decision.

  “So . . . yeah,” Dom mumbled, again raking a hand through his hair. It looked like a nervous habit, like he just needed to keep his hands busy. “I better go before Toby comes over. I don’t want to complicate things.”

  Good point. I was just upset that it hadn’t been my first thought. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  He looked at the wall, toward the direction of the door. I could tell he wanted to leave, and it had nothing to do with Toby. “So, I guess I’ll pick you guys up tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? Huh?”

  “Yeah. Kami invited you two over for dinner. You don’t remember? You two talked all night. Even told her how you thought I was the father of her baby.”

  I slapped both hands over my face and fell back into the pillows, surrendering to death by mortification. “Oh my God. Please tell me that’s all I said.”

  He shrugged, a smirk on his lips. “You told Angel she was hot. And I think you made out with her.”

  “What?”

  Another shrug, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “I’m sure she’ll be ecstatic to discuss the details with you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up around 3pm. Tell Toby I said hi.”

  Wait . . . what? I couldn’t go over for dinner. I had already crossed the line with him by having him in my bed, but going to some family gathering would be hurtling over it. This was not keeping my distance. This was not avoiding him. And yeah . . . so he hadn’t impregnated Kami and wasn’t attached to Victoria/Velvet. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t a manwhore. And there was such a thing as girlcode, even though Victoria was trying to hook me up with him. Still . . . it just wouldn’t be right.

  “I can’t,” I blurted out as he turned to walk out through my bedroom door. He paused mid-step.

  “Why not?”

  “I have to work.”

  He shook his head. “Not according to Velvet.�
� I could tell he was studying the skepticism on my face, watching me conjure and analyze every excuse I could find. “Look, Kami really wants you there. It would mean a lot to her, and I’m not in the business of disappointing her.”

  Then, it struck me. Hard. Like a battering ram to the gut. “You love her.”

  His eyes were clearer than I had ever seen them. “Yes.” As soon as the word left his lips, he looked away, once again dreaming of his escape from my quickly shrinking room. “Plus, it’d be good for Toby to be around other people. People that won’t judge him or make him feel different. I’ll even send you home with a plate for Mrs. Ralston.”

  He didn’t stay to listen to another excuse, and I didn’t offer one. I was still too stunned stupid to do much more than sit there on my disheveled sheets that were still damp with his tears.

  I WASN’T TIRED, AND I couldn’t bear to close my eyes even if I was, but I climbed into my bed anyway. Raven had been there during one of my nightmares, and judging by the tears on my cheeks, it had been bad. I’d wanted to run the moment I’d opened my eyes. I’d wanted to escape the concern—the pity—that was so evident in her alarmed gaze. She wasn’t supposed to see that. I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I couldn’t just leave her. Not when she could barely stand on her own.

  Undressing her had been problematic, and I was grateful that she had been too far gone to notice my dick straining against my pants, even pressing against her belly as I cleaned her up. She giggled flirtatiously the entire time, touching my face, my hair. Telling me I was so hot . . . I had always been so beautiful to her. She even tried to kiss me when I forced her into bed. Thank fuck I wasn’t into macking on inebriated chicks with vomit breath, or this morning would have been awkward for many other reasons. Nope. There was no way I would go there with her like that. Even if she was stone-cold sober, I couldn’t do it.

  “Hey, I thought I heard you come in,” Angel said, stopping at my open door. We rarely closed them here. A habit of living with Kami who was dreadfully claustrophobic.