against him and straightened until her
palms were flat against his shoulders. She pushed, used all her strength to
separate them.
“I’m sorry,” she sputtered through a new burst of tears. “I
never meant to lead you on.”
He was angry. For once, this wasn’t about sex. “You think I
want to fuck? Give me an ounce of credit. I just got my ass kicked.”
“Go get some rest.” She never bothered to answer his
question. That pissed him off the most.
He closed his eyes, fought the instinct to reach for her
dashboard and rip it from the console. His fingers twitched. He was too
exhausted to do more than growl and push the door open. As he jumped from the
truck and slammed the door shut behind him, rain stung his skin. He saw her
jump and, as the sobs started to hiccup her chest, her shoulders buckled. It
was all too much too soon. She needed time. On Samhain he’d be there. He’d show
her that his feelings for her weren’t an obligation. He was done being a
coward.
The truck roared to life, tires spinning in mud. She lurched
forward and sped off. He watched, standing naked in the cold, unforgiving rain
until the red glow of taillights disappeared. Finding his legs, he trudged to
the house. He went from the first step to the fourth in one stride, his feet
sliding over the wet porch.
Water dripped down his back, between his ass cheeks, before
falling into a puddle that gathered around him. “Goddamn women,” he muttered
and paused to wipe his feet on the thick straw welcome mat.
He stared at the locked door. Cursed. Stepping back, he bent
and retrieved the spare key from under the mat before unlocking and opening the
door. A rush of scents hit him—wood, the lingering odor of liquor and stale
food. Any other night, it would have been a comfort. Tonight, it felt lonely.
Through the darkness, he made out the stacks of takeout cartons and empty beer
bottles littering the coffee table. He didn’t even bother turning on the light.
From memory alone, he navigated around the large, oversized couch to the
kitchen.
He bypassed the fridge and went straight for the cabinet. He
dug around until his fingers stroked the square bottle of Jack. A quick twist
and the cap pinged to the ground somewhere behind him. He wrapped his lips
around the spout and let the thick, sweet whiskey whet his palate, easing the
chill in his stomach.
Bottle in hand, he walked out of the kitchen and down the
hall. With every step the liquor splashed against the sides of the bottle,
reminding him of Sam.
The first waves of fatigue hit him and his eyes fluttered
closed. Taking another swig and swallowing, he looked down. A mixture of mud
and blood painted his stomach and thighs. Lines of pink, puffy scars drew along
his side and created a deep ache he felt each time he drew in a breath. He’d
been taken tonight.
He fumbled with the switch. Bright, yellow light filled the
bathroom. It made his eyes water. Setting the whiskey on the side of the bath,
he bent and twisted the faucet. Hot water poured from the spout, and he crawled
inside the tub. A hot bath always helped heal him faster. When he reached for
the liquor, the muscle in his arm spasmed then jerked.
“Shit,” he mumbled, trying to catch the bottle of shampoo
he’d knocked into the water.
It was too late. Before he was able to fish it out, the soap
had already done its damage. Bubbles multiplied into a moving, pulsing layer of
foam. It spread out, tickling the hair on his legs. If it weren’t bad enough
that he was Sam’s beck-and-call boy, he was now taking a bubble bath. It really
wasn’t his night. He leaned back, neck cradled on the lip of the tub, and
stared at the ceiling. He was too tall for the bath and had to hang one leg
over the porcelain side. Warmth lapped at his skin and he settled into it.
When he was completely immersed in water, he used his big
toe to nudge the dial closed. He cradled the bottle to his chest and let out a
breath. His eyes fluttered. As the
palms were flat against his shoulders. She pushed, used all her strength to
separate them.
“I’m sorry,” she sputtered through a new burst of tears. “I
never meant to lead you on.”
He was angry. For once, this wasn’t about sex. “You think I
want to fuck? Give me an ounce of credit. I just got my ass kicked.”
“Go get some rest.” She never bothered to answer his
question. That pissed him off the most.
He closed his eyes, fought the instinct to reach for her
dashboard and rip it from the console. His fingers twitched. He was too
exhausted to do more than growl and push the door open. As he jumped from the
truck and slammed the door shut behind him, rain stung his skin. He saw her
jump and, as the sobs started to hiccup her chest, her shoulders buckled. It
was all too much too soon. She needed time. On Samhain he’d be there. He’d show
her that his feelings for her weren’t an obligation. He was done being a
coward.
The truck roared to life, tires spinning in mud. She lurched
forward and sped off. He watched, standing naked in the cold, unforgiving rain
until the red glow of taillights disappeared. Finding his legs, he trudged to
the house. He went from the first step to the fourth in one stride, his feet
sliding over the wet porch.
Water dripped down his back, between his ass cheeks, before
falling into a puddle that gathered around him. “Goddamn women,” he muttered
and paused to wipe his feet on the thick straw welcome mat.
He stared at the locked door. Cursed. Stepping back, he bent
and retrieved the spare key from under the mat before unlocking and opening the
door. A rush of scents hit him—wood, the lingering odor of liquor and stale
food. Any other night, it would have been a comfort. Tonight, it felt lonely.
Through the darkness, he made out the stacks of takeout cartons and empty beer
bottles littering the coffee table. He didn’t even bother turning on the light.
From memory alone, he navigated around the large, oversized couch to the
kitchen.
He bypassed the fridge and went straight for the cabinet. He
dug around until his fingers stroked the square bottle of Jack. A quick twist
and the cap pinged to the ground somewhere behind him. He wrapped his lips
around the spout and let the thick, sweet whiskey whet his palate, easing the
chill in his stomach.
Bottle in hand, he walked out of the kitchen and down the
hall. With every step the liquor splashed against the sides of the bottle,
reminding him of Sam.
The first waves of fatigue hit him and his eyes fluttered
closed. Taking another swig and swallowing, he looked down. A mixture of mud
and blood painted his stomach and thighs. Lines of pink, puffy scars drew along
his side and created a deep ache he felt each time he drew in a breath. He’d
been taken tonight.
He fumbled with the switch. Bright, yellow light filled the
bathroom. It made his eyes water. Setting the whiskey on the side of the bath,
he bent and twisted the faucet. Hot water poured from the spout, and he crawled
inside the tub. A hot bath always helped heal him faster. When he reached for
the liquor, the muscle in his arm spasmed then jerked.
“Shit,” he mumbled, trying to catch the bottle of shampoo
he’d knocked into the water.
It was too late. Before he was able to fish it out, the soap
had already done its damage. Bubbles multiplied into a moving, pulsing layer of
foam. It spread out, tickling the hair on his legs. If it weren’t bad enough
that he was Sam’s beck-and-call boy, he was now taking a bubble bath. It really
wasn’t his night. He leaned back, neck cradled on the lip of the tub, and
stared at the ceiling. He was too tall for the bath and had to hang one leg
over the porcelain side. Warmth lapped at his skin and he settled into it.
When he was completely immersed in water, he used his big
toe to nudge the dial closed. He cradled the bottle to his chest and let out a
breath. His eyes fluttered. As the
Similar Books
