by Max Henry
Holding my finger before me, I play a quick game of eeny-meeny-miney-moe with the doors. Four I can rule out because they belong to permanent residents, but the other six … I tick off four more since their part-time occupants are currently downstairs getting three sheets to the wind, which leaves Sawyer’s old room, and mine.
I start with his since Sonya’s been known to house people overnight in there since he’s moved out to be with Abbey. Cold, stale air hits me hard as I push the door open, the room shrouded in darkness. Enough light spills in from the hallway to illuminate the end of the bed, and I recognize the bag I see as the one slung over the shoulder of that bird Hooch had with him. What was her name? Something unusual.
Strike one more from the list.
Anticipation weighs heavy in my chest as I back out of the room and cross diagonally over the hallway to the only option left: my room. My hand seems foreign, as though I’m a spectator watching my own body while I reach out for the handle. I twist, and push, fully expecting to be let down when I find the room empty.
Except, there, on the floor beside my bed is a distinctly human shape.
Mel rolls over as I enter, the blanket pulled up tight around her shoulders. “Hey. I didn’t expect you to come up so soon after me.”
“What are you doin’ on my floor?” I step further into the room and nudge the door closed until it rests on the latch.
Darkness falls around us, yet the spill from around the door is enough for me to make out the way she dips her chin and averts her eyes. “I’m sorry. I asked King where I should stay, and he said I’d have to make do on the sofas downstairs after everyone had gone, that all the rooms are full.”
“Yeah, but why are you on my floor?” I repeat.
She sits up, gathering her pillow and reaching for the end of the blanket. “I’ll go see if—”
I hold out my hand, stopping her mid-sentence. “No, babe. I meant why the fuck are you breakin’ your back on the hard as fuck floor? Get on the bed for fuck’s sake.”
She stares up at the mattress beside her, and then back at me. “I …”
“Now.” I flick a finger toward the bed and raise an eyebrow.
She can’t see fuck all in this light, but I’m sure my tone of voice was enough given how she throws her pillow up beside mine and then shuffles to her feet.
“I don’t feel right making you sleep elsewhere, Dog,” she mutters while setting her blanket up over mine. “This is your room—you should have it.”
“Who said I’m sleepin’ anywhere else?” Her rustling movements behind me still as I face the bureau and strip my cut off. “We’ll share.”
She doesn’t say anything more, staying as quiet as a doormouse while I strip my T-shirt off, unbuckle my belt, and then drop my jeans to my ankles, shucking them off with my boots in one go.
I turn to find her sitting on my bed, wide-eyed in the dark. I’m sure she can see enough.
“It’s all good,” I drawl, crawling up the mattress from the foot end. “I won’t try anythin’ you don’t want me to.”
She twists her head and watches me as I peel the blankets back and slide in. “Good.”
I pat the bed beside me. “Now get under the covers, woman, and warm the fuck up.”
She lets out a little huff, sliding in beside me. The fact she still has my sweatshirt on drives me insane … in a frustratingly good way. I reach across the space she’s left between us and give the fabric a tug.
“You might get hot if you leave this on.”
“I don’t have anything else.” Her voice is quiet now we’re so close; the throaty sound enough to make my dick stir.
“Who’s gonna see?”
Silence hangs thick, the tension painful in my legs as I fight to stay on my side of the bed and not strip the sweater off for her. She finally relents, twisting away and wrestling the clothing off under the cover of the blanket. It hits the floor with a dull thump before she turns back to face me.
“Satisfied?” she sasses.
I smirk, despite the fact she can’t see it. “Hardly.”
Satisfied would be reaching out and tugging her to me. Satisfied would be feeling her breathing even out as it puffs across my chest. Satisfied would be having her tell me the real fucking reason she chose to stay in my room considering she’s done nothing but reinforce the “friends only” rule since she’s got back.
“Mel?”
“Yeah?” The bed dips as she settles in on her side.
“Why did you really come in here?”
“I told you,” she murmurs. “King said to sleep downstairs, but it’s still too noisy, too many people.”
“Bullshit.”
The tension travels through the mattress. “Why don’t you tell me, then,” she snaps, “if you’re so fucking sure of yourself?”
“You could have picked anywhere to get some peace and quiet. You could have stretched out on the chair in King’s office for fuck’s sake. So don’t feed me some lie about how it was the only quiet place to settle for the night.”
I catch the wet sound of her swallow, the small fidget as she adjusts the blanket over her shoulder. “I can’t handle all the people anymore.”
“Still doesn’t explain why here is the only place you felt comfortable.”
What if I’d taken those sluts up on their offer? What the fuck would Mel have made of it if I’d dragged a couple of barely dressed, wet pussies into the room? Bet that would have gone down like a cold cup of sick …
“Because you make me feel comfortable,” she whispers. The words fall from her lips so quietly I almost miss them as I jam a bent arm under my head.
A million things race through my mind at her confession, a thousand reasons why I’m no good for a woman of her standing, a thousand more why my own secrets mean I can’t let anyone get too close, because why the fuck would I want to hurt the one I care about most by continuing to lie about who I am?
I can’t do both: be Dog and fall in love. If that’s even what we’d have.
Yet, the deep craving I have for this bent and twisted little woman drives me to say something that indicates the exact opposite.
“What are you doin’ all the way over there then?”
“Dog …”
“No, Mel. You said I make you feel comfortable, so why you staying so far away from me, babe?”
“Don’t,” she whispers, her face turned into the pillow.
“Don’t what?”
“Play me. I deserve more than that.”
“I can’t give you more if you won’t let me.” What the fuck am I saying? Who is this guy?
“I don’t know if you have the ability to be more.”
The guy whose ego lies flailing on the floor with a knife to its heart after that little statement—that’s who this guy is.
“Ouch, babe.”
She sighs, her hand snaking under the covers until she connects with my arm. Slender fingers wrap around my wrist, and she holds tight as she speaks only the truth. “What have you given me that proves you’re anything other than Dog, the party boy who prides himself on living life without giving a fuck for the consequences? Huh? I’m sorry if I hurt you, but it’s the truth.”
Yeah, it is. Right when I want it the least.
“Give me a chance?” I’ve never begged a woman before, but shit, I’ve also never had one inhabit every free space between my thoughts like this.
“Give it time,” she counters, her hand slipping away. “It’s day one in a life that’s nothing like I left it, Dog. Let’s get past the initial shock before we start making decisions, huh?”
“Yeah, okay.” I roll to my other side, giving her my back and effectively sulking as the truth of her words sinks deep.
She’s so right that it makes me want to smash the fuck out of something, preferably myself for making my new persona such a detached asshole. Didn’t think of that when I sauntered in here with all intentions of building a lie that didn’t rely on anyone but myself to g
et by, did I?
I settle in, rearranging my pillow and tucking one knee up, shuffling forward until I know I’m on the edge of the mattress. Less chance I bump into her by accident, less chance I’ll lose control and fucking prove to this bitch that I can be everything she thinks I’m not and more.
TWELVE
Mel
What I said cut him to the core, I know that, but it’s the truth. I can’t give myself over to a man who’s never shown an ounce of care of empathy for the women he uses and tosses aside like yesterday’s trash. He has to prove more, show the side of him other than the cocky sex-on-a-stick that he presents to everyone else. I like the guy under there, the man behind “Dog.” I want him to come out and hang for a while without him reverting back to the bullshit. I want the truth.
After the mess I’ve been through this past year, I think that’s the least I deserve.
He fidgets, his breathing slow and measured, and yet his jerky movements show that either sleep doesn’t come easily, or he’s still so mad at what I said he can’t find it in him to relax properly.
My hand inches forward, yet I pull it back, indecisive. I feel so bad for him that I just want to wrap myself around the back of him and kiss his shoulder, tell him I’m sorry, that I’ve missed spending time with him too. But what kind of hot and cold mixed signal would that be?
I told him he’s not right for me, that I’m not interested. Truth is I’m more than interested; I just need him to want it as bad, to drop all his pretenses and give me everything, ugly or not. Which is why I said to give it time—advice I need to take myself.
Hell, I’m fresh out of the woods after seeing nobody but my own reflection. Chances are this feeling will pass, that I’m simply so damn starved for attention that anybody would do.
I kind of hope it doesn’t though.
Dog finally slips into a deep sleep as I lay there, hand under my pillow to stop me from reaching out, and watch the rise and fall of his side with each breath he takes. The bed smells of him, warm and musky, which only serves to drive my obsession deeper.
All my thoughts return over and over to how his lips felt against my ear, and how that would feel on my own. Anger develops as I picture all the women he’s had, the look in his eye as he promises them a night of sweet nothings, and how it must burn to have him flip it all around the next day.
It’s that pain, the ache of loss that drives me in my resolve to let this play out naturally.
I can’t deal with both kinds of heartache at once. Dealing with Dana and Daddy’s death is enough for one girl to handle as it is.
One hurdle at a time.
I need to square away how returning home feels before I let anything else take up valuable emotional space. I’ve got to process things in the order they arrived, and unfortunately for Dog, he came last.
I just hope it doesn’t mean we both lose.
***
My leg jerks, something heavy pressed against the sole of my foot. I open my eyes with a groan, horrified to find my mouth has been ajar while I slept and the pillow is damn near stuck to my lip.
“Rise and shine, princess.”
“Don’t call me that,” I complain, although I’d have to give the guy a medal if he understood the garble.
I roll to my back, remembering at the last second that all I have on is a pair of panties and yank the blanket over my chest.
Dog chuckles, turning away from the bed as I crane my neck and look over at him. He steps up to his set of drawers, pulling out a clean black T-shirt while I bite my lip and let my head drop back to the pillow.
He’s doing it on purpose—I’m fucking sure of it.
The asshole wears nothing but a fawn colored towel that no doubt is barely adequate enough to dry him considering how it hardly stretches around his hips. Water droplets hang in the valley of his back, that sweet spot between the ridges of his muscles. He’s one of a very few with untouched skin around here, and the novelty isn’t lost on me. I appreciate ink, love how it looks on a man, but damn, I can see every highlight and shadow on Dog’s physique that perfectly defines the effort he puts into looking good.
In a way, he deserves to be screwed seven ways to Sunday, week in and week out, as a reward for that level of dedication.
“What’s for breakfast?” I ask as I roll to my side and fish around on the floor for the sweatshirt.
It’s not there. Damn.
“Think Sonya’s got eggs cookin’.” He tugs his T-shirt on and then tosses something at me. “She washed and dried this for you yesterday, though.” My bra, cut-offs, and tank hit the bed. “Your own sweater is still in the pile to be done.”
“Thanks.” I snatch up the bra and wrestle it on under the blanket.
He holds my eye as he reaches across his body with one hand and unhooks where the towel is tucked in on itself. The cotton drops, and I swallow hard, making a huge show of looking all around the wall to my left before daring to drag my gaze to the bed so I can locate my tank.
He chuckles to himself and fishes out a pair of boxer briefs in my periphery. I give in and eyeball his ass as he tugs them up his legs.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say, pulling my panties down my legs. No way I’m wearing them two days in a row.
“What would that be, Mel?” The clamor of his buckle as he yanks his jeans up makes me pause in my answer.
“Teasing. Playing unfair because I hurt your feelings last night.”
He grimaces, appearing to think the concept over as I wrestle my cut-offs on, commando.
“See,” Dog says with a twist of his lips, “you’re not quite right there.”
“Why?”
“Because to hurt my feeling’s darlin’,” he drawls, “I’d actually have to care.”
Burn.
“No love lost between friends, right?” He throws me a wink as he latches up his belt buckle, and then turns abruptly to put his cut on.
“Today’s going to be a bucket-load of fun, ain’t it,” I muse out loud as I throw the covers back and head for the mirror propped on his bureau.
He smirks, watching me with folded arms as I finger-comb my hair and retie it. Those deep amber-flecked pools never leave me as I turn for the door. I hold his gaze as I walk by, even further confused by the heat I find in their depths.
If he doesn’t care, then why the hell does he still look like he wants to devour me?
Because you’re a challenge, Mel. That’s all. And Dog? He’s never turned one down yet.
THIRTEEN
Dog
A semi breezes past us, headed in the opposite direction as I stretch my fingers out on the bars. Mel sits perfectly balanced behind me, her hand only touching me lightly on the shoulder when we take a bend—and there’s been fuck all of those.
Breakfast was awkward and quiet. I gave up waiting for the bitch to say something and took my staple of coffee and nicotine outside when she made it clear it was never going to happen.
She even managed to steer clear of me so fucking well afterward that I needed Callum’s help to track down where the fuck she was when I was ready to leave.
When King asked me to take her home last night, both my cock and I jumped at the chance. Now I’m counting down the hours until I can get this pretentious wench off my bike and head back to Lincoln.
She thinks she deserves better than me? Well, good luck trying to find it amongst the rough-as-fuck rednecks in Fort Worth.
They aren’t known as the asshole of the family for nothing. If you charted the club’s infractions and incarcerations on a goddamn bar graph, their tower would sail way above the rest of us.
And she thinks she’s too good for me …
Her flattened palm taps my right thigh as we sail past another exit. I catch her eye in the side mirror, and she mouths what I assume to be “bathroom.”
Bitch can wet her pants for all I care … then again, I must care some, otherwise, her attitude toward me wouldn’t piss me off so much.
I
take the next exit and pull up outside a row of shops with a sign for public amenities. She dashes off toward the blue and white logo, while I saunter into a convenience store to grab a bite to eat.
The guy behind the counter watches me with a scowl as I open a Hostess pie and take a large bite. What I assume is his daughter, given the resemblance, eyes me as I peruse the aisles, a can of goods held paused in her hand.
I round her aisle and slow down as I approach, taking another bite while I watch the kid damn near shit herself. She has to be all of nine, ten at the most. Finishing my mouthful, I lean in close and ask, “Shouldn’t you be at school?”
“Hey!” comes booming from behind me. “Don’t you talk to my daughter, you fuckin’ animal.”
Bingo. Called it.
“Hey, I’m bein’ polite,” I protest, hands raised, pie and all.
The fucker comes at me with his gut swinging, and a—presumably loaded—shotgun at his side. “Get out of my store. We don’t need your kind of trouble around here.”
I arch my hands over my head to point at the half-eaten pie. “You want me to pay for this?”
He knows I’ve got him on this one. Assholes like this would just as likely kick you out anyway and then call the cops to report a theft.
“Make it quick.”
“Sure.” I drop my hands and take another bite, saying around a mouthful, “Just gotta get some other shit first.”
His face is contorted in one hell of a storm as his nostrils flare. “You talk to my girl again”—the end of the barrel is jarred under my chin—“I blow yer head clean off.”
He holds his ground as I slowly suck my lips into my teeth with a hiss. “See, now, I wouldn’t start that kind of trouble if I were you.”
The kid takes two hasty steps back as the gun digs painfully into the soft flesh beneath my jaw. “You threatenin’ me?”
“Dog!” I swing my eyes left and find Mel hustling her way across the store. “What the fuck?”
Damnit. She’s going to go and get herself shot rushing the guy like this. “Mel, stop would you?” Not to mention the fact a dead girl shouldn’t be getting herself recorded on security tapes.