I push away the disappointment. “I thought—”
“What are you doing?” It’s not an angry tone but still deep. More like… what are you doing in my room, you crazy whore. Well, I added the whore part because clearly that’s what I look like. What do they call the women who hang around here looking for a one-night stand? For a chance at one of these insane looking men to rock their worlds…
Hang-arounds, I believe is the word.
“This was supposed to be charger’s old room.” With a dramatic pause, I snap my eyes closed. “Shit. Let me start over. Jules invited me to breakfast, but I was sweaty from the workout this morning, so she offered me Charger’s old room to shower. And since you’re standing here, I think it’s safe to assume I messed up.”
A few agonizing seconds crawl before his mouth twitches up. “You following me?”
My heart stutters at the small joke he just made. It’s not hilarious but considering I laid that same accusation on him before outside the diner, it is funny to me. The stiffness in my body releases a bit even though it’s incredibly awkward standing here with a piece of cotton just barely long enough to cover my lady parts. I am heavily reminded when droplets of water hit his hardwood floor.
Shit.
He visibly tenses, his body now stiff as a board and those eyes of his turn empty with only darkness again. It is way too familiar. I’ve seen it in him before, and I’ve seen it in myself.My heart thumps like mad as he stares at the picture over my shoulder.
“I swear I didn’t touch anything. I would never go through your things…” My words stop when he steps closer, his frame towering over me. I look up, my eyes darting between his as he stares at me. The scent of him swirling around us like shadows.
He reaches out, his arm brushing my bare one without a flinch this time, and I swallow hard.
He takes the picture, and a flash of sadness overcomes him when he admires it. “Did you touch this?” He doesn’t look up but there’s a meanness in the way he asks, and it’s a tone I thought I’d never here.
I told him I didn’t touch anything.
A stupid lie.
I nervously shake my head. “No.”
The woman in the picture belongs to him and a certain weird panic forms in the middle of my chest. The feeling scrapes my insides from how badly Ineedto know if it’s her. But how could it not be? If it is… who is she? A sister. Friend. Are they together No, I would have seen her around. Everything is hitting me at once and my mind is a jumbled mess. This doesn’t make sense. It can’t be her.
At his full height, he stares down at me. A warmness engulfs me like a blanket from how close he stands. I don’t know what to do. What to say.
He traces my body one last time. “I’ll let you get dressed.” And with that, he leaves and I let out a long breath of relief.
I dip my head trying to regain the blood from my feet. Had he been here any longer, I might have passed out.
Holy shit.
I can’t seem to pry my staring eyes away from the closed door, as if he’s going to walk back through it.
I throw on the same clothes I wore to the gym, which are gross but not like I have a choice, and head down to breakfast.
Downstairs, the guys, and their women flow in. Hush is at the end of the table more isolated from the others and the only empty seat is between him and Chloe. My stomach drops realizing that’s probably where I’ll be sitting.
“Danika. So good to see you, honey. Grab some food. Enjoy.” Maggie kisses my cheek, taking me by surprise.
“Thank you for having me,” I reply in return, her smiling with a nod.
Tank sends a friendly wink my way then goes back to chatting with Bullet.
Brass, who I recognize from the diner slides up next to me as a food line starts to form. He’s another godly attractive club member. With brown skin that makes his light eyes pop, andtattoos that radiate a type of lethalness like the others. But for some reason, he feels more intense. More dangerous if crossed.
“I don’t think we’ve properly met. Name’s Brass.” His innocent grin flashes over me.
“Danika,” I greet in return. We haven’t exactly introduced ourselves, but with him being a bit intimidating, it makes my pulse quicken. And that makes me angry because the old me would never have been this way. I’d have died for a chance to talk, maybe flirt with a man like this.
“Beautiful name.”
There’s a familiar scoff. “Stop flirting with my friend. She’s not interested in any of you Neanderthals.” Tequila squeezes her way between us.
