by Nicole Dykes
“Out of what?”
I freeze, not liking that I’ve already said more than I intend. “Just out. I’m going down to the bar.”
“You should eat.” It’s matter-of-fact and annoying.
“Why the hell do you all care? You don’t even know me.”
“We would know you if you would calm the fuck down and just talk to us. Tell us more than your name and that you crave coffee.”
I stare at him, annoyed and frustrated. That’s not an option. I don’t want to know them. “No.”
He just stares me down, unafraid to piss me off, which is infuriating. “No? Just no.”
“Yes. No.”
He grins playfully and picks up the plate, poking the pieces of scrambled eggs with his fork and bringing it to his full lips. “Last chance?”
My stomach grumbles at the sight, but pride is one thing I have an abundance of. “Go for it.”
He opens his mouth and takes a bite of the eggs, moaning exaggeratedly, and my stomach flutters at the strong male sound, which is primal and sexy like he wants so much more than eggs. He’s too good-looking. Too sexy. Too everything. I bail as quickly as I can, making my way to the door and jerking it open, going down the stairs and into the tattoo parlor.
Logan is the first person I see. “Hey. You okay?”
No. That man up there is all sorts of temptation. And that is the last thing I need.
“I’m fine. Is the only way into the bar from outside?”
I’m not sure he believes I'm fine, but luckily he guides me to the back room, I think it must be where they relax if they get a break, but the shop is already full this morning. “This is the employee entrance.”
He pushes open a door leading into the kitchen of the bar. “Thanks.”
He nods. “Tommy’s in there already.”
I walk through a swinging door and look around at the bar. It’s small. A hole-in-the-wall really, but I like it. It has a certain charm to it. Wooden booths and a few tables. A wooden bar with whiskey posters surrounding it. And a stage.
A beautiful, small stage with a single microphone up front. I swallow the pain burning up from my belly. The ache I have to stand on that stage and belt out musical notes, to get lost for a moment in the light and music, is too great.
“You sing?”
I look over at Tommy who’s standing behind the bar.
“No.”
His brow furrows, and I know he doesn’t believe me. But I don’t care. I’m not here to get to know anyone.
He shows me the ropes, tells me the basic schedule. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. I wasn’t lying when I said I have waitressing experience. My first fake ID wasn’t to buy alcohol, it was to get a job as a waitress when I was thirteen. They knew I wasn’t sixteen yet, but they paid under the table, and it worked out for us both. Seedy and shady, that’s my life.
They don’t open until eleven, and Tommy tells me I’ll be on the night shift with him for the rest of the week. However today, we’re both taking the easier day shift.
I thank him, and before we open, he cooks us both hamburgers and delicious greasy fries I can’t say no to.
We sit in the booth and eat in silence. I feel oddly comfortable with him. He doesn’t put my body on full alert the way Jase does. None of them do.
For whatever reason, Jase is dangerous to me.
I’m done with my shift at Lyrics and Ink and want nothing more than to go to the bar and check on Mya. But I know that’s not a good idea.
I’m not sure what it is about this chick, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her today. The stubbornness in her. To some people, she may seem cold, but not to me. I see her. I see the pain she wants to hide, that she wants to smash so far down no one can call her on it. She wants to make herself as small as possible so no one will pay attention to her.
But that’s impossible.
Instead of going to the bar, I go upstairs, but she’s not at the bar. She’s in the living room and on the couch with Tommy.
“What are you doing here?” I direct my question at Tommy who looks up from the mindless television they’re watching, something on MTV.
“We took the morning shift. Thought she might need some time to ease into it, but I was wrong.” He winks at Mya. “She’s a pro.”
Mya’s mouth lifts into a small smile before she wipes it away and stands up. “I’m going to my room.”
I want to beg her to stay, dig deeper into who she is. But of course, I know that wouldn’t work with her. She leaves, and I plop down next to Tommy. “Pro, huh?”
He smiles. “She’s amazing. Handles customers well. Even knows how to work for tips.”
I feel a growl bubbling up in my throat at the thought. “What the fuck does that mean?”
He eyes me with suspicion. “Aw, do you have a little crush?”
“Fuck off.”
He, of course, does not fuck off. He laughs, and if I didn’t love him like a brother, I’d punch him for it. I met Tommy and James when I moved here with Finn, but we all clicked right away, formed a bond. And even though James and Tommy were a well-established couple by then, we all moved in here together. I don’t think any of us have plans to move out any time soon.
It just works.
But now, Mya’s here, and everything feels a little off-kilter. I want to know why she’s so closed off. Why she’s so determined not to get to know us. Why she wants out. Where the fuck is out?
She just left Kansas City.
Instead, I just go to my room and lay on my bed, looking up at the shelf full of trophies. I close my eyes and hear the crowd roaring loudly, my teammates out on the field, the crack of helmets, the smell of the mud and earth.
It feels like only minutes later, but when I open my eyes, I see how dark it is outside and know I must have been out for a while. I climb out of bed and see the loft is dark. It’s also quiet, so I'm assuming Finn is still at work.
I go into the kitchen, flicking on the light. My stomach is grumbling, and I decide to make some tacos, knowing we’ll eat the leftovers tomorrow. When the meat is sizzling in the pan, I look over to see Mya walking into the kitchen.
She’s wearing the same thing she was this morning after her shower. A thin striped tee with a wide neck and little jean shorts. She’s beautiful with no effort. Her hair is down, the curls so fucking sexy.
“Hungry?” I ask, at this point not even expecting an audible reply.
She nods her head and walks to the fridge. “I bought some things earlier.”
She pulls out some lunchmeat and closes the door, grabbing a loaf of bread from the counter. “A sandwich?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Nothing wrong with a sandwich for dinner.” She grabs two pieces of bread and keeps her head down.
I don’t like it, how her head is tilted down looking away, trying to disappear.
“There is when there are tacos.”
“I don’t want anything from you.”
The comment stings, and I'm not sure why. “From me?”
She looks over at me, her voice not hiding how tired she is. “From anyone.”
Pride. I get it.
I also don’t say it. I don’t want to kick her down even if I want to challenge her. Now just doesn’t seem like the right time to do that.
“Okay.”
“That’s it?” She’s gaping at me, those brown eyes showing her curiosity.
“What do you mean?” I turn off the burner and move the skillet back.
“No more questions? No trying to get me to eat tacos?”
I grin slyly at her. “Why? You want some?”
She looks away again, fastening the bread package closed and putting her sandwich together. “No.”
There’s that word again.
“You know, eventually, when a human being gets turned down enough, they stop trying.”
She freezes and then turns her body to face me. “I wouldn’t know.”
“Never been rejected?” That I can im
agine.
“Never had anyone try.” Now I'm the one who’s curious as she turns away, grabbing her sandwich and fading away down the hall.
Wanting to dissipate into thin air.
I know that feeling.
I know it well.
I sit straight up in bed, my heart racing and my breathing rapid. Another loud crack and my bedroom is lit up with lightening, the rain pelting the window.
Jesus.
I’ve only been here for a week, and Nashville has been pounded with thunderstorms for three days of it. I’m not afraid of storms, but it pulled me from my deep sleep, and my body is on full alert now.
I decide to get up, maybe grab a drink of water. When I walk out of my room, I brush against a hard body. Bare flesh. I look up at the figure in the dark and see Jase through the small amount of light streaming in from the streetlights outside. He’s only wearing a pair of boxers, with his hair all tousled and messy.
He must have been asleep too.
“Fuck! What time is it?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t check.”
I hear muffled sounds coming from the bedroom across from mine and then the sounds grow louder and are distinctly feminine.
Jase shakes his head. “Guess Finn found someone tonight.”
I saw him at the bar during my shift tonight. If I had to guess, it’s the busty redhead who was all over him when I clocked out. “Guess so.”
“You okay?” He yawns slightly, using his hand to cover his mouth. “You aren’t afraid of storms, are you?”
I nearly laugh at that. If only I were afraid of something like that. No, my fears run much deeper. “No. I’m not. But it’s loud.”
He agrees in a nod. “Well, you’re welcome to hang out in my room til it passes.”
“Are you afraid of storms?” I question, eyeing him, maybe a little lilt in my voice that I didn’t pull back in time.
He grins. “Yeah. You wanna hold me?”
I roll my eyes. There’s that flirtatious asshole he was the first night. “Hold yourself.”
He laughs at that. “Come on. I’m not so bad.”
That’s what I'm afraid of. Lightning crackles outside, and I sigh, lifting my shoulders. “Fine.”
He looks surprised but then leads me into his room. I look around at the room that has the same layout as mine. Bed, table and a dresser. He has a small flat screen television on his dresser though. He leaves the door open, and I take a seat on the edge of his bed.
He sits at a respectful distance, and I'm appreciative.
This is stupid. What are we going to do? I look at his bed, the covers are pushed down and haphazard, so I'm pretty sure he was just sleeping here, and I try not to think about all of the things we could do there.
It’s been a while since I've been touched by anyone. And I don’t want to give in to the inherent carnal need for human contact. I want to believe I’ll be just fine without that.
“So, how’s work going?” His smile is friendly, but I don’t think Jase is all that friendly. I don’t think he’d hurt me on purpose either.
“Oh, so that’s the small talk we’re going for? Work?”
He chuckles and lays back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling, and I try not to look at his body stretched out on the bed. I try to ignore how much space his large, muscular form takes up on the bed. “At least I tried.”
He’s always trying. I don’t know this man. We met a week ago. But still . . . it feels like he wants me to be okay. He wants me to eat. He wants to ask how I like work. He tries, puts so much effort into everything, and I hate it.
I don’t want to be worn down and give in to his charm. I want to keep my head down and just be, just barely exist at the bare minimum until I get far away from other people. Until I can just not care anymore.
Because caring leads to pain, and I've had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“What’s going on in that head?” He’s gazing up at me, and I have the urge to tuck myself next to him and then bury my head in next and escape that way.
I look away from him and up to a shelf on the wall, a shelf with a shitload of trophies. Holy. Shit.
“What the hell? Are you a champion of something?” I look closer. “Football?”
Huh. Makes sense with his build, I guess. I look down at his handsome face to see that his expression has darkened. “No.”
That’s my line.
“No, you never played football? Whose trophies are those?”
It’s dark, and I can’t make out the writing on them.
He sits up, clearing his throat. “Doesn’t matter.”
I could have sworn this man was an open book, someone with nothing to hide. But as I look into his eyes now, I see I definitely misjudged him. “You must have been good. That’s a lot of trophies.”
He shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders, and I recognize the look in his eyes. He’s pleading with me to drop it. “I’m good at a lot of things.”
His deep voice, husky and full of gravel makes that sentence extremely sexual. The fiery look in his eyes only adds to that. He looks like he wants to kiss me, and God, I want him to. I take a deep breath just as his lips meet mine.
I shouldn’t let this happen.
This is far too close. What the hell am I doing?
I’m about to push him away, but I feel his hand on my hip, strong and sure. And then his tongue sweeps into my mouth. And damn it, I just turn myself over to the moment. Because it’s been so long since I've kissed anyone, since I've felt kind hands on me. So I lean into him. My cold hand pushes against the warm skin on his chest, feeling only the hard muscle.
We kiss with intensity and heat that I don’t stop to question. I’m not sure my body has ever been this ready to be touched by another person. I kiss him deeper, starting to push him back onto the bed, but I feel his large hand move over mine, both resting on his chest. He pulls back. “Mya.” He sounds breathless as I look at him in a daze.
“What’s wrong?”
He looks like he’s searching for the right words. “I umm . . .” I don’t want to think. I want him to kiss me, but he doesn’t. “I could barely get you to like me this last week. I’ve gotten maybe a few words from you, and now you’re kissing me like maybe you want more to happen.”
“So go with it,” I whisper. I mean, he kissed me. Did he think I would push him away? Probably.
“I don’t want to be your mistake.”
“You’ve never had a one-night stand before?” I question, pretty sure I already know the answer.
“I have. A couple of times, but you’re not that. At the very least, you’re my roommate.”
I roll my eyes in a huff, frustrated and not even sure why. I don’t want anyone touching me. Maybe I should remind myself of that. I don’t want to get close to anyone. “So, you’re saying you wouldn’t respect me in the morning?”
I try a joke, and it doesn’t land. Maybe I need to stop with the jokes.
“You don’t need my respect for validation, and if I thought this is really what you wanted, I wouldn’t fucking hesitate.”
I’m so angry I could scream because that’s the most perfect thing any man has ever said to me. My eyes fill with tears, and I hate him for it. He pulls me into him and tucks my head to his chest. Tears stream down my face onto his skin, but he just holds me to him.
He moves us so our heads are on the pillows and our bodies under his covers, but he doesn’t stop holding me. His much larger body holds mine so my face is against his chest, wrapped in his arms, and I just cry.
I just let it out, and I don’t worry about the consequences. I weep into the arms of this man who is practically a stranger to me, and he lets me. It’s a whole new kind of escape for me, one I wouldn’t normally let myself do, but I need it.
For once, I give in.
Just for tonight.
Oh, fuck. She’s in my bed. Mya is still curled up to my body, both of us still under the covers. Me only in boxers, her in
that fucking thin t-shirt.
She looks peaceful as she sleeps, but I know she’s probably anything but. I kissed her. I fucked up and kissed her. I know it was a mistake and not because she’s a vulnerable woman who can’t take care of herself.
Exactly the opposite.
She’s strong and confident. Fucking amazing. And if anyone was vulnerable last night, at least before I kissed her, it was me. Fucking football trophies. I need to put them away, maybe throw them away. But for whatever reason, I leave them there to stare back at me. Remind me.
Mya stirs next to me, her large, beautiful eyes gazing up at me, looking slightly confused, maybe a little embarrassed. “I fell asleep?”
She did. After she started to sob in my chest and I held her, just letting her finally express some of the emotion inside her, the crying stopped slowly, and soon I could hear her breathing even out, lost in deep sleep. And then, I held her to me and closed my own eyes, drifting away.
“Yeah.”
“I slept with you all night?” She looks freaked the fuck out.
I smile, my lips pulling up as I shrug my shoulder. “Don’t worry, you only snored a little.”
She rolls her eyes at me, but I see her lips lifting. “I don’t snore.”
I know she’s not happy about letting her guard down, and I understand that. But I don’t want her to regret it. “You’re definitely a bed hog.”
She sits up, using a band she has around her wrist to secure her curls into a ponytail. But then she groans, “God, they’re going to think we slept together.”
I sit up, stretching my arms into the air and giving her a pointed look. “Who the fuck cares? We aren’t in high school.”
“They’re my roommates. I don’t want them . . .”
“What?” I laugh. “Thinking you’re easy. Trust me, none of us think that.”
She tosses the pillow that was under her head moments ago at me, and it hits me in the chest. “I’ll just have to tell them you turned me down.”
I fight a groan because it wasn’t easy, feeling her hand on my bare chest trying to nudge me backward. What would her body have felt like on top of mine? I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that. “And like I told you last night, if I thought you actually wanted it, I would have gone through with it, no problem.”