Annoyance, maybe.
He’s not moving. His towering frame barricades the entrance. “Let me rephrase that. How pissed off are you with him?”
“Why would I be? It wasn’t his fault. I asked him to let me play again.”
He furrows his brow. “No way you remember that.”
“Doesn’t make it any less true. Brandon doesn’t lie to me, Cody.” I meet his eyes, my stomach somersaulting when Brandon’s words come back.
He made a fucking punching bag out of his face.
“I have a question...” I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the next words. “Why did you help me?”
His eyes narrow, scrutinizing my face for a second. “What do you meanwhy? You’d rather I left you there?”
“No, of course not,” I stammer, feeling stupid. “I’m grateful, but I don’t understand. You hate me, Cody.” I pause, waiting, but he doesn’t speak, leaving the ball in my court. “I came to say thank you, so... thank you.”
Since he doesn’t say anything back I make to leave. The embarrassing silence is all the invitation I need. But then he speaks again, his voice low and measured. “There needs to be balance in the world. We can’t all be vile.”
That stings. Hell, it hurts. The quick, purposeful once-over he gives me speaks volumes: he doesn’t mean Alan. He means me. I’m vile.
And he’s not wrong.
I don’t know what to say and can’t understand why he helped me last night. He hates me so much I can taste it in the air. I have no idea what to say, so with a nod, I turn to leave, but he grabs my arm, his grip tight, stopping me in place, the touch of his skin firing electric shocks through my nerve endings.
“It wasn’tyourfault,” he says, his voice low, firm, and shaking with anger. “Brandon should’ve never let you go with Alan.”
There’s so much conviction in his tone I almost let myself believe he means every word.
“I should’ve stayed home in the first place, so yes, it is my fault.” I gently shrug him off, despite craving him closer than I already have him. “I don’t understand why you helped me.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? You think hating you means I’d let some fucker hurt you?”
I don’t see why he wouldn’t. An eye for an eye.
“I deserved it, so—”
His hand grips my jaw so fast I yelp when he backs me against the opposite wall, towering above me. “Don’t ever say or even thinkyou deserve to be raped just because you were a bitch your whole life,” he seethes, tone layered with a hint of darkness. “No one deservesthat.”
He looks dangerous. Like he’s on the verge of lashing out, and I’m the first thing within reach, but there’s a softness in his eyes telling me he’d never hurt me.
My eyes prickle under the intensity of his gaze. With one look, he dismantles my defense wall, and I’m coming apart at the seams. My heart pounds and my mind unleashes its deepest locked-away fantasies, heading straight for the gutter. How would it feel to be at his mercy? Naked in his bed. Ready and begging for his touch. Would he be rough or gentle? Would he take control or let me lead?
I bite my lip, heat rising to my cheeks. He notices my reaction. His eyes darken, sending a delicious shudder to my core. He loosens his hand on my chin, and his thumb traces a slow path along my jawline, making me melt under his touch.
“You’re letting it define you,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “You’re letting your mistakes define you, B. Use them to guide you.”
I nod, trying to focus on his words, but all I can think about is how I want him to keep touching me, to explore my body with those rough hands. The chemistry crackles in the air, but he’d never cross that line, no matter how palpable our desire.
A single tear rolls down my cheek, and his eyes follow the movement. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I—”
“You’ve apologized a million times already.” He throws my words right back at me, his tone no longer soft or consoling but annoyed. “Stop apologizing. Start noticing the lessons and learn.”
He lets me go. Pushing away from the wall, he leaves me alone, breathless, and wanting more.
When I find enough strength to make it back into my condo, there’s a message waiting on my phone. One I desperately didn’t want to receive.
Dad: Early dinner on Friday. New client. Be ready at four. Two braids, no makeup, red Mugler dress.
