I washed my face and hands, smoothed back my unruly hair, and was about to consider and choose between the various forms of suicide available to me, when my mobile chimed from the bedroom. I limped sadly back down the corridor, found it in the pocket of a discarded pair of jeans, and then leaned against the door.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I couldn’t bring myself to look at the message.
What if it was Lucas?
What if it was Lucas saying he no longer wanted to meet tomorrow? That he’d changed his mind and there was really no reason for us to try to meet since, technically, we already had.
The bottle of Wild Turkey winked at me from its place by the bed.
My lungs felt too large to fit inside my chest. They were trying to climb up my throat. I held up the phone, gritted my teeth, took a deep breath, and opened one eye.
It was a reminder I’d set myself.
One and a half hours. Ninety minutes till midnight. Ninety minutes in which to let Lakshmi know whether I’d decided to do my job and fulfill my obligations at the convention. All of that—the entire horror show complete with blood, nudity, andLucas—hadn’t even taken a full two hours.
Careful to keep weight off my injured foot, I placed one hand over my face and took a deep breath through my nose, sliding down to the floor.
One and a half hours to find both my courage and the sticking place. I’d thoroughly bollocksed my chances with Lucas, but I could still make things work with Drake House. I could still show and be something other than a complete and utter waste of funds and long-term investment.
I coulddo it anyway, Demetrio.
August 15th
“So,” Rick began around a mouthful of bagel and a pointed slurp of herbal tea, “you’ve been extremely mysterious, but now that you’ve made proper use of our shower and couch, we’re gonna need you to cough up the rest of the details right now. Spill.”
I groaned and dropped my forehead to the kitchen table. I hadn’t been able to explain what had happened last night when I’d driven to their apartment two seconds away from a full-fledged tailspin. And being such good friends, they’d let me clean up and sleep until morning, but now they were getting their revenge.
“Milkshake’s gone,” I mumbled into the tablecloth.
“Okay, see, you did mention that when you came in covered in dirt,” Andie politely pointed out. “And we’re very sorry to hear that, but you know perfectly well that’s not what this is about.”
Damn it.
I tugged Rick’s oversized robe tighter around myself. Was it too late to fall into a coma? Or flee the country? “I ran into Armand,” I finally managed, the lingering gut punch of beingperceivedresurfacing with a vengeance. “Last night, when I got home from the ranch. I looked ... Well, you saw me.”
I lifted my head just enough to see Andie had dipped her head into a sympathetic nod. Rick, however, was having none of it. He jerked the knife that was still coated in cream cheese my direction. “You have got to give us more than that, buddy boy.”
The problem with that was I hadn’t stopped replaying every last second of the ... encounter in my head until I had eventually lost consciousness on the couch. “He—” I cleared my throat, deciding to tackle the easier part of the explanation first. “There was an accident, I guess. He had shards of glass in his foot that I had to take out.”
You waltzed right in like you owned the place, manhandled him without permission, then flounced away without an explanation. Nothing about this paints you in a good light, Barclay.
My friends, however, didn’t seem to think so. Andie’s face lit up. “You mean you played doctor?” she teased with a lift of her eyebrow.
God, I wish, my horrifically traitorous brain thought before I could stop it. “I did the bare minimum,” I corrected her, trying to shift out of horny mode in order to think about how much blood there’d been. It was amazing Armand hadn’t sliced open an artery. “I can’t explain it—it’s like I didn’t notice that we were both there in person until like ten minutes later when it finally sinks in that he’snaked—” My flushed forehead found its rightful place back on the table, not showing my face. “He’s so gorgeous, you guys.”
Which was an understatement. Armand wasbreathtaking.
The grainy photos I’d found of him online hadn’t done justice—even sitting on the edge of the tub, he was tall and his chest was wide and his dark hair had been tousled ...
But his eyes.
Wide, panicked, and full of self-consciousness, but deep and warm and so brown I could sink into them. I’d felt the low, gravelly rumble of his voice (and the accent, oh my god) in my own chest, and he was so awkward and soft and—
And I’d acted like an overbearing, entitled brute.
I could blame it on the blood and the fact that time had been of the essence in getting him patched up, but the reality was that before I could treat this vulnerable man kindly in his state of distress, I had charged directly into problem-solving mode without asking his consent to touch him.
Darren was right about me—when given the chance, I got controlling and bulldozed over people. Which was why he’d always refused me the opportunity to be in charge, ever, of any situation. It made me annoying, overbearing. Bossy.
