by Grace James
“Yeah. So just let me patch you up, okay?”
“…okay,” I reluctantly agreed. “I think there’s a first aid kit in the bathroom in my room. I found it one time when I was looking for a toothbrush.”
I felt his hands tighten their grip on me as he looked at me sharply. “Your room?”
“Yeah.”
“You have a room here?” he clarified. “In Kane’s house?”
I shook my head. Of course I didn’t. I was referring to the guest room that I used whenever I stayed over – which wasn’t often, usually after a party when I was too tired or drunk to want to bother with a cab home.
“Then what are you talking about?”
“It’s the ice room.”
He started to get impatient. “What the fuck’s the ice room?”
It occurred to me then that Blake would’ve never been inside Kane’s house until that night. It was weird to think that I knew his best friend’s home better than he did.
I gave him directions to a bedroom on the first floor that was all pale blue walls and canvasses of glaciers and ice caverns, which were illuminated by the glow coming from the overhead light glinting through the glass shade. As with the rest of the house, everything else in there was white – the carpet, the bed linen, the curtains.
Blake grunted as he looked around. I took that to mean that he understood why it was called the ‘ice room’, though it could have meant Gee, this is nice! for all I knew. Then he moved towards the bathroom where he set me down on the counter, next to the sink, then turned on the light and immediately started searching the small room, opening the doors under the counter.
“It’s in there,” I said, wobbling a little as I pointed up to the mirrored cabinet above the sink.
I got that grunt again, and I could see the tension in his shoulders as he pulled the first aid supplies down and started grabbing the stuff he wanted.
Why is he suddenly so pissed off?
“You don’t have to do this,” I said.
He didn’t answer me, just kept doing what he was doing.
I tried again. “You can get back to the party if you want. I’ve got it from here.”
“Said I’d patch you up,” was his gruff response.
“Yeah, but –”
“Goddamnit!” he shouted as his hand slammed down on the counter, making me jump. “Look, I know you can’t stand me touching you, Princess – you’ve made that crystal fucking clear, okay? But you’re drunk and you’re bleeding and that cut looks deep, so just let me bandage you the fuck up.”
I gaped at him, shocked at his outburst.
And, apparently, that made him maaaaad.
“What? You want me to get Kane in here instead?” he demanded. “That it? You two are such good buddies now that you want him doing this instead of me?”
“Well, actually,” I said caustically, “maybe you should. I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be yelling at me right now.”
Blake’s eyes narrowed contemptuously, but I saw something else flash in their blue depths, too. When he pushed away from the counter and turned to leave the room, my stomach lurched.
I’d hurt him.
For some reason, the knowledge that I still held the power to do that didn’t thrill me as much as I used to think it would. Instead, despite his bad temper and the lingering bitterness I felt, I just wanted to take it back. In my drunken state, that translated to me blurting, “Blake, stop. I didn’t – I mean, I can stand you touching me…that’s sort of the problem.”
Wait. WHAT did I just say?!
He stopped in the doorway and dropped his head forwards, shaking it. I was surprised to hear him let out a brief chuckle. “Ah, man,” he muttered, before turning back to me. All of his anger had fled and he was looking at me with a kind of affectionate exasperation. “You probably shouldn’t have told me that.” He came back over to the counter, picked up an alcohol pad and moved to stand in front of me. “So, you gonna let me do this now or what?”
I pursed my lips and nodded.
He nodded back, then he tore open the alcohol pad and started to clean my wounds.
For a second, I had a flash-back to a similar situation three years ago – only back then it was me who was patching Blake up after he had almost broken his hand by hammering his fist into a garage wall at Connor’s wake…
But when Blake’s hand lightly touched my leg, all other thoughts left my mind. It was like I was hypnotized. I was fixated on his deft hands, the way he softly cupped the back of my calves, one by one, as he gently cleaned my cuts; the way his hands covered my knees, the tips of his fingers resting on my thighs as he smoothed the dressings down with his thumbs.
When he was done, he braced his hands on the counter, one either side of my thighs, as his eyes met mine. “All better,” he said quietly.
“Thank you.” I glanced away, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
He was inches away from me, surrounding me, tatted arms caging me in, but not touching me. I twisted my hands in my lap, fighting the urge to trace my fingers up the crisp lines of the inked designs. I bit down on my lip as my eyes found my bandaged knees again. “I look like a little kid that just fell off her bike,” I murmured.
“You look cute,” he said softly.
My eyes snapped back to his.
His lips quirked up slightly on one side. “And beautiful – but you always look beautiful.”
Flustered, I looked away from him again and groped for something to say – but I came up blank.
“Let me look at your hands,” he said, straightening up as he pushed himself off of the counter and took my hands in his, positioning them palms up. “They look a little sore, but I think your knees got the worst of it.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “I’ll be fine now.”
God, him being so sweet was making me wonder stupid, stupid things.
Like what his lips would feel like – were they as hot and insistent as I remembered? Was his tongue as skilled?
Of COURSE it is! He’s hardly gotten WORSE at using it, has he? His ‘experience’ has probably reached record breaking levels by now!
THAT thought was enough to snap me out of the moment.
I pulled my hands out of his. “Can you – uh – move so I can get down?”
“Yeah, come on.” He stepped back a little and held a hand out to help me, but I ignored it. Instead, I clutched the side of the counter as I pushed myself forwards. But my sky high heels and the alcohol in my system conspired to make me overbalance and for the second time in ten minutes, I went flying towards the floor. Only this time Blake blocked my fall.
Mission Avoid More Physical Contact with Blake absolutely NOT accomplished.
“Dammit!” My curse was muffled by his left peck.
He was roaring with laughter as his arms came up to circle me, holding me steady. “If you wanna feel me up just say so, Princess. You don’t have to throw yourself at me.”
“Oh, shut up,” I grumbled, pushing against his abs to straighten up. As I touched him, our eyes locked and held, and it felt like the air between us started to crackle with invisible energy, an intense buzz of sexual tension.
“Fuck,” he murmured. “I want you.”
My eyes went wide. I felt my heart pound so hard against my ribs that my body rocked forwards. It was pure adrenaline, fear and longing in equal measure.
But Blake just grinned, slow and easy. “Relax, Princess, I’m not gonna try anything tonight. When I fuck you, you’re gonna be sober…and you’re gonna beg for it.”
I was incensed by his arrogance, but also a little relieved. When he was being a jerk, he was a lot easier to resist.
I squinted at him. “Wow, you should really see someone about these episodes you keep having. I think your grip on reality is slipping.”
Blake broke into new laughter. “Yeah, we’ll see.” Abruptly, he hoisted me into the air again, making me gasp in surprise as he carried me out of the bathroom and over to the bed. He set me down on
the edge of the mattress, crouched down in front of me, and started to unclasp the straps of my shoes.
“Um…what are you doing?” I asked.
“Taking your shoes off so you can get into bed. You’re gonna stay here tonight, right?”
My mouth dried up and my heart started hammering all over again. We were alone in there and, despite what he’d just said about not making a move on me while I was drunk, I was nervous. To be clear, it wasn’t because I thought he would force me to do anything – I knew he never would. No, it was because I knew that if he tried something, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to turn him down.
All my big talk was just that: talk.
The way my body responded to him was undeniable – and that was before you factored in our ‘connection’, or our ‘chemistry’, or whatever that thing was that still existed between us…
So, basically, I was scared of my own weakness.
Which is why I decided to be a huge bitch.
“Look, Blake, I don’t know what you think is going to happen here, but I’m not going to sleep with you, like, ever again, so you should probably just go back to your little fan girl out there. She seems like a much easier target.”
He stayed focused on the task of removing my shoes. “That jealousy I hear, Princess? Here was me thinking I could fuck anyone I wanted.”
Using my own words against me. Clever. But I ignored that part and zeroed in on the part I could argue with. “It’s not jealousy, it’s me stating the facts.” And me reminding myself what a man-whore you are.
“Facts. Riiight. Well, ‘easy target’ or not, I already told you I don’t wanna fuck her.”
“Is that because you already did? We all know you’re not really into repeats. Kind of loses its charm for you after the first few times with the same woman, doesn’t it?” He looked back up at me. I saw the muscles in his jaw tick, a clear sign that he was getting pissed. But I didn’t stop. “Hey! I have a question – do you know how many women you’ve slept with?”
He frowned as he moved his hands away from my feet and rested his elbows on his knees. “Where’d that come from?” he asked curtly.
“Call it morbid curiosity.”
“Why do you wanna know how many women I’ve fucked?”
“I’m not sure I do.”
His frown deepened. “Then why ask?”
“I didn’t. I asked if you knew how many women you’ve fucked. It’s a totally different question.”
“Ah, I see.”
“What do you see?”
“You trying to pick a fight.”
I feigned boredom. “Blake, if you don’t want to answer the question, then just –”
He cut me off irately, “Fine – then no.”
“…no?”
“No, I have no idea exactly how many women I’ve fucked. Hundreds, maybe more.”
I felt sick. “More as in thousands?!”
He shrugged; it was a nonchalant gesture, but the tension in his shoulders told a different story. So did the roughness of his voice. “Who knows? Probably. And if you really wanna hear about Kasey, my ‘little fan girl’ out there – we went to high school together and I fucked her under the bleachers. I think. But that could’ve been her friend, or both of them for all I know. I honestly have no real fucking clue.” He brought his face closer to mine, looking me dead in the eye. “There. You happy? Got enough dirt on me now, Princess? That gonna make it easier for you? That gonna help you keep pretending there’s nothing left between us? Huh? ‘Cause all this shit you keep saying – all it does is prove that you still feel something.”
“All I feel for you is disgust,” I shot back, furious because he had me figured. He was reading me like a book. Not that it was difficult right then. I mean, who picks a fight over something they don’t care about?
For a split second, I saw a flash of pain cross his face, but he masked it quickly. “Yeah? Well that’s still somethin’.”
For a little while, we were both silent, eyes locked, neither of us wanting to be the first to back down – until Blake sighed and got to his feet.
“Okay, sit tight,” he said, his voice subdued. “I’m gonna go get you a glass of water and some aspirin, ‘cause you’re gonna feel like shit in the morning if I don’t – probably even if I do.”
“Why do you care?” I asked, genuinely bewildered. I’d just said some pretty horrible things to him, and he was still looking out for me.
“‘Cause you’re you,” he said simply.
I can’t really explain why those three words touched me, but they did.
When the bedroom door closed quietly behind him, I flopped back onto the bed, with the heels of my hands over my eyes, wishing like hell that the room would just stop spinning…
…and that I could keep lying to myself.
That was the last coherent thought I had that night.
19
I woke up feeling like someone had split my skull open with an axe and then taken a whisk to my brain. “Oh…God…” I groaned, as my hands came up to cup my pounding head. My mouth tasted like feet and my stomach was rolling.
Feeling like any sudden movement would have me hurling, I tried to lie perfectly still and take deep breaths.
After a few minutes, I cautiously opened my eyes a sliver. At first I panicked a little, wondering where I was, but then disjointed memories of the night before started to flash through my mind.
I groaned again.
“You doing okay over there?” a deep and all too familiar voice asked from beside me. Close beside me.
I sat up with a gasp and instantly winced as the pain in my head tripled. Then my eyes landed on Blake, and I swear my heart stopped.
He was lying on the bed next to me. Both hands were behind his head, causing his t-shirt to pull up a little bit at the waist, giving me a mouthwatering couple-inch view of his hips, with his chiseled ‘V’ and happy trail leading down to the top of his belted jeans…even in my horribly hung over state I felt a tingle between my thighs.
For a few seconds, I just stared at him – I couldn’t tell you with any degree of certainty, but I think my mouth was probably hanging open.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked.
“You mean besides making sure you don’t die of alcohol poisoning in your sleep?”
I blinked slowly; it felt like I had grit under my eyelids. I dimly registered that while he was lying on top of the covers, I was tucked under them – but I didn’t remember getting into bed.
“Did you…did you put me to bed?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
“Yeah. I went to get you some water and when I got back you were passed out.”
THAT’S embarrassing.
“Oh…sorry. You didn’t need to stay with me.”
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.” He pushed himself up into a sitting position and picked up a glass of water from the night stand next to him. “Here, you look a little green.”
I clutched the glass in both hands as I took a sip. “Thank you,” I said quietly, feeling stupid for getting so drunk that he felt obliged to take care of me.
“Welcome.”
“And thank you for bandaging me up last night…I should have been more appreciative at the time.” I offered him a slightly sheepish smile. “I haven’t been that drunk in ages.”
He raised a brow. “Was it ‘cause of me? The half bottle of tequila you drank?”
Yep – but I’m never going to admit that, so keep dreaming.
“Hey, Blake’s Huge Ego. Didn’t see you come in,” I said dryly.
He chuckled.
“Not everything in the world revolves around you, you know.”
“Nice dodge,” he said, grinning.
“Thanks.”
“So was it?” he persisted.
I snorted, and instantly regretted it as my headache pounded behind my eyes. “Is that what you want to hear? That you drive me to drink?”
He flopped back onto t
he pillows, clearly exasperated. “Why can you never give me a straight answer?”
“Same reason you always answer a question with a question, maybe?”
He gritted his teeth – but I could tell he was trying not to smile. “You drive me insane.”
“I noticed.”
“Some things never change, I guess.” He slid his eyes to the side to look at me. “You always knew how to make me fucking crazy.”
Okay, now I knew he wasn’t just talking about our conversation.
The traitorous tingle between my legs intensified at the memories his words dragged up.
In those memories we were both naked and his eyes held that wild tint. The one that told me he wanted to be inside me more than he wanted his next breath. I knew my cheeks were probably starting to turn pink –
The sound of my cell phone ringing cut through the moment, and I sent a silent thought of thanks to whoever was calling me.
It took me a little while to find my phone. It rang twice more as Blake helped me hunt around the room. He eventually found my purse, and therefore my cell, in one of the night stands. I didn’t even remember putting it there, but I must’ve stashed it there at some point the previous night. When I answered the call, I immediately wished that I hadn’t. It was Lance telling me that he wasn’t going to make his early shift at The Academy that day because he had stomach flu. We had a delivery arriving in two hours and someone had to be there to take it. Just like that, my day of nursing my hangover on the couch with a Game of Thrones marathon was nothing more than a dream.
When I hung up the phone, I honestly felt like I might cry.
“What’s up?” Blake asked, seeing my distress.
“I have to get to work,” I said without looking at him, I was already pulling up a number for a cab company on my cell.
“Now? Isn’t it a little early to open a bar?”
“It’s a music venue and yeah, but I don’t need to open the place, I need to take a delivery and restock. That was one of my bartenders. He’s sick so I have to go in.”
“Can’t Harvey do it instead?”
I snorted. “I’m pretty sure that would conflict with his Minecraft schedule.”