Page 82

Fuck, I’m spiraling. Maybe this is the price you pay for incredible group sex—a sore vagina and a racing mind.

“Stop it,” I whisper to myself. “Go to bed. You’ll be fine in the morning.”

I brush my teeth, wash my face, and have just flicked off the en suite light when Xavier appears in the bedroom doorway. He’s leaning against the frame, hands in his pockets.

I rub my palms together, forcing a smile. “Lurking?”

“Something like that.” He pushes himself off the frame and walks toward me. I stand in place, my skin warming under his gaze. He stops in front of me, close enough to play with a lock of my hair. “I liked tonight.”

Something happens in my chest. A pleasant twist of some kind, like his touch reaches through my ribcage and settles around my heart. He sounds so vulnerable, so unlike him, and it unearths questions that have plagued me since before we were all together. One that I know will cause friction, but I know how to argue with Xavier. I don’t know how to be like this.

“You hated me,” I say, searching his face. “Argued with me. Teased me. Relentlessly. And now a switch has flipped. Why?”

He tilts his head. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. Is it because you’re sleeping with me?”

He tuts. “No.”

“Then what? Why did you suddenly change your mind about me?”

Annoyance tightens his jaw. “Why do you do this? Why do you have to always dig?” he bites back. “Why does it matter what I did or didn’t do if I’m doing the right thing now?”

“Because it hurts to think you might only give a shit because you’re fucking me.” He shakes his head and turns away, heading for the door. Pent-up rage and fear and anxiety spikes in my blood, and I need to let it out, to cast it on someone else before it sinks too deep. “So that’s it, isn’t it? You like me because I’ll suck your dick.” I’m being so fucking unfair, I know I am, but I can’t stop. When he faces me again and I know I have this attention, I push harder. “Is that really all it takes? You come in me a few times and you suddenly want to be best friends? I should’ve tossed you a pity fuck years ago.”

I’m being cruel, and guilt burrows deep in my bones as he stares back at me. He’s trying. He doesn’t deserve to be pulled apart just because I’m a fucking child that’s too afraid to face my feelings.

But the argument has spiked my adrenaline, and I’m too proud to apologize, too foolish to back down.

“Don’t push me, Q.”

“Or what? You’ll fuck my throat? Pin me down? Make me come?” He searches my face, and I’ve honestly never seen him this angry. “Come on, tough guy. What will you do?”

“How about I dig inside that head of yours?” he hisses, walking toward me until I have no choice but to step back. “Find out why you think you’re so broken.”

I blanch. “Fuck you.”

“You can give it, but you can’t take it?” He snatches my wrist, and I draw in breath as he turns my hand palm up. “You think I don’t see these scars?” The glimmer of white on my palm, a painful reminder of who I was. My back meets the wall, and I stare up at him. “You want to cause me pain? I’m a fucking expert on it. You can say all you want to me, but you’ll never hurt me as much as I’ve already hurt myself.”

“Then stop arguing and tell me why you suddenly care!”

“I always cared!” he roars, and my mouth snaps shut. “There hasn’t been a single day since I met you when I haven’t cared, Silence. I’ve lived, breathed, and wanted you from the second I laid eyes on you. I was pieces when we met, but my love for you ground me down into fucking dust. You want to know why I hated you? Because loving you was too damn hard.”

There are words on the tip of my tongue, but I don’t have the strength to say them. I simply stare, my lips parted, my heart thundering wild and free in my chest.

“I don’t … I don’t understand. You hate me, Xavier. The only time you’ve been remotely nice to me was the first night we met⁠—”

“We didn’t meet that night.”

I frown. “What?”

He’s breathing fast and glances at the door as if he’s considering running. “Do you remember the night you met Zayden?”

Of course I do. I was working at the casino bar, taking out the trash, humming along to the music, and Zayden was in the alley on his phone. I stayed outside for a moment to cool down after running around all night, and he watched me.

“You getting a good look?”

As the noise of downtown Vegas spills into the alleyway, I toss an amused glance to the man staring at me. Shadows cling to his face, but even their darkness can’t hide how handsome he is. In a dark suit, top button unfastened, he’s what I call an FT—fuckable tourist. I learned quickly though that it’s best to avoid men like him. They’re usually married or about to be, and I don’t plan on being anyone’s mistress.