“I brought you home last night.”
I was not expecting that. I close my eyes tight to try to remember last night, but all I remember is taking a pill from some stranger at the club, then waking up in my bed this morning. This is so me.
“Listen,” I say slowly, desperately needing this guy to understand. “I’m sorry if I said anything last night… anything misleading. But I don’t date, okay? I’m sure we had a good time and that it was very lovely, but please do not get any ideas in your head. Also, I am just rooming here. I’m very poor. I have no money.”
Dante swings his big legs off the bike and takes a step closer, forcing me to take a step back as he looms over me. “You live here with your brother.”
“Jesus Christ, did you come inside for a chat? My ass is good, but it isn’tthatgood.”
Dante’s eyebrows furrow as he looks down at me, his eyes shifting between mine. Some of his hair has fallen into his face, the odd urge to push it away overwhelms me for one halting second until I squash it down. A car honks in the distance, but neither of us reacts as we remain locked in this weird standoff. Finally, Dante swallows roughly and tears his gaze from me.
“We didn’t have sex. You got high at the club, went catatonic, hurled all over my custom Chucks, and then I brought you home after finding the address in your wallet.” Dantenarrows his eyes at me. “They were my favorite Chucks, by the way.”
Who the hell is this guy? “We didn’t fuck?”
Dante shakes his head as a flush works its way over his cheeks. Interesting. “No. I’m a perfect gentleman. Your brother though…” Dante pauses and flicks his gaze up to the house, then back to me. “He offered to pay me a thousand dollars for having the decency to bring you home.”
I snort because that’s so very Mason. “I hope you took it.”
Dante smirks. “I’m not that hard up for money. Plus, you looked pretty hot on the dance floor before the whole puking thing.”
“Stop mentioning the puke,” I mumble as mortification threatens to overtake me. Jesus. I meet the hottest guy on earth, puke on him at the club, and then he doesn’t even fuck me. Where is the reset button?
Dante’s laugh is a low rumble. “Sorry, it was just really memorable.”
“Well, forget it and forget me.” I turn around to go inside, head held high, but I pause at the foot of the stairs. “Why were you in the math building earlier? I’ve never seen you there before?”
“I had a meeting with a friend.”
My eyebrows furrow. “At the math building?”
“Yes,” Dante quickly replies. “Listen, don’t take pills random people give you at clubs. It could kill you.”
I roll my eyes. “You sound like my brother. I’m alive, aren’t I?”
Dante’s smile shatters me. “For now, maybe not the next time.” He takes a step forward, reaches into my pockets, and deftly tugs out my phone. He flips through it for a fewseconds before carefully sliding it back into my pocket. “Call me if you ever change your mind about that dating thing.”
“No fucking for fun allowed?”
Dante grins, slow and sweet, and dips so that we’re eye level as he whispers, “Sweetheart, if I fuck you, I’m not letting anyone else touch you ever again.”
My breath stutters in my lungs. Dante walks away with all the swagger of a man that just dropped an atomic bomb on an unexpecting someone. The roar of the motorcycle filters through the static in my brain. My fingers twitch at my sides as Dante slips the helmet on, curls his fingers in a wave, then disappears in a flurry of movement down the street.
The light is still on inside the house. I follow the sound of the television to find Mason sitting with a cup of tea, curled up on the couch like a cat. His eyes flicker from the television to me, surprise etched across his tired face.
“You’re home early,” Mason notes tiredly.
I roll my eyes and kick off my boots. Tossing myself down on the couch beside him, I put my feet on the coffee table knowing it’ll piss him off. But his look stays soft, not remotely angry as I raise my eyes to his.
“The guy that you tried to pay off the other night brought me home.”
Mason’s lips part in shock. “The same guy brought you homeagain? How was his nose?”
I tilt my head in confusion. “His nose?”
“Yeah,” Mason replies, eyes distant in memory. “He had a bloody nose, looked like someone got him good.”
Huh. I don’t reply to Mason, instead focusing on the old television show playing on the screen. The plot thickens. Dante brought me home after finding me at the club, I pukedon him, and he had a bloody nose. The urge to grab my phone and ask him about his nose is strong, but I ignore it. I’m not going to waste my time encouraging someone to have thoughts about me that they shouldn’t.
