Chapter 7
Prettyboy knew he shouldn't be listening outside Esmeralda’s bedroom door.
He fucking knew that, and yet, there he stood; like some night stalker.
Like someone who knew her, which he was perfectly aware that he did not.
He hadn’t even intended to end up there outside of her room, as if he were welcome.
He’d been on his way back to his own room after grabbing a beer from the bar, when he’d heard her first scream.
Obviously, he thought she was in danger, so he’d clambered towards her room as fast as his injured leg would allow him to. Once he’d gotten there, he realized she was having a nightmare. He told himself that he should go back to his room. She’d probably dealt with them for a lot longer than one night, but for some reason, he just…couldn’t.
Leave her, that is…
How many times had one of his brothers helped him defeat the nightmares after his accident?
How many times had they lain awake with him when he was in so much pain he couldn't even close his eyes?
Fuck.
Prettyboy slowly turned the knob to her bedroom door, knowing full well she would more than likely be pissed at him for invading her space.
She’d been with them for three days, and while she'd apologized (profusely) for her outburst the first day she was there, she’d remained silent and private.
For the most part.
More than once he’d seen Green and Slayer doing their best to make her smile.
He was fucking jealous, because he used to be able to woo any woman, and now he was lucky if one even breathed in his direction.
She thinks I look fine, but she doesn't know the truth.
Yeah, those words were still circling around in his head, and why wouldn't they? She was new, she was vibrant and so damn gorgeous. Prettyboy would do anything for a chance to have a woman like that, but if she saw him for what he really was, she’d be appalled.
She’d be disgusted, just like he was every time he looked in a mirror.
He would much rather let her imagine that he was whole.
As he rounded the side of her bed, he noticed that she was wearing a yellow nightgown. It wasn't anything fancy, but he instantly liked the color.
Vibrant, just like her.
She was tossing and turning, her mouth downturned in a frown; her cheeks were wet, and she was softly murmuring something he couldn't understand.
Gently, so as not to startle her, he sat down on the edge of her bed and whispered her name.
“Esmeralda,” He whispered.
She stirred, but she didn't awaken; instead, she moaned something in her sleep.
Prettyboy pushed her long hair out of her face and said her name a little louder.
“Esmeralda.”
Her eyes jerked open and she blinked a couple of times.
“Chris?,” She whispered shakily.
Prettyboy winced as he shook his head.
“No, Esmeralda. It’s Prettyboy. You were having a nightmare,” He said.
He rubbed at his throat, trying to ease the slight ache as he stopped to make sure his bandana was in place.
The last thing he wanted was to scare her with his face.
She sat up, her curly locks falling all around her like a dark halo, and he had to actively remind himself to speak.
To not stare at her like some tongue tied imbecile.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” She said.
Her voice was husky from sleep and it had Prettyboy’s jaw clenching.
“Don’t apologize. I was grabbin’ a drink when I heard you, I don’t think anyone else heard,” He assured her.
Esmeralda groaned as she rubbed both of her hands over her face.
“I’m embarrassed,” She admitted sheepishly.
Prettyboy shook his head.
“Don’t be. I’ve had my own fair share of nightmares,” He said as he moved to stand.
She surprised him when she caught his wrist, stopped him from leaving.
“The other day, I said something that… bothered you. I didn't know you’d had an accident. I’m sorry if I made you mad, I just…I don’t mind the way you look.”
Prettyboy’s whole body went rigid at the mention of his accident.
He didn't want to talk about it with her, but he couldn't fault her for not knowing. He was acting like an ass hole, and he had no logical reason for doing so.
“I know. I wasn't mad at you,” He said.
She moved to sit up straighter, and Prettyboy almost swallowed his own tongue when he caught a glimpse of her pearly white panties, some innocent lacy number that had his dick jumping and his throat going dry.
“You were a little mad, I think. You walked away from me,” She said.
Prettyboy grunted under his breath and started to pull away, but she moved her fingers lower until she was gripping his hand; her soft palm rubbing against his rough one had his heart thumping double time in his chest.
“I didn't mean to leave you like that, but I don't like to talk about my scars. Or my accident.”
His words were abrupt, curt. Rude.
She didn't even flinch, but she did hang her head and release his hand.
“I’m sure they're not that bad.”
Prettyboy’s green eyes practically oozed bitterness as he looked at her.
“You don’t know anything about them.”
For the barest of moments he thought she would argue with him; the tense set of her shoulders and the way her cheeks heated told him she wanted to.
She blinked a couple of times and he waited for the inevitable tongue-lashing he deserved- but it never came.
“I suppose I don’t,” She said softly.
Prettyboy, imagining there was nothing left to say, turned to leave and made it halfway across the room before she stopped him with her sultry voice.
“Please lock the door behind you.”
To make sure you don’t get back in.
To make sure you can’t get to her.
Prettyboy didn't show her the roiling emotions on his face as he closed her now locked bedroom door behind him. He kept on walking, even though the tightening sensation in his chest told him he’d made a mistake.
Even though he practically yearned to turn around and face her again; without his bandana, without his own fear choking the life out of him.
Prettyboy didn't know Esmerelda Quinn, but he wanted to.
Fuck that, he wanted to learn every inch of her gorgeous skin; he wanted to familiarize himself with her mind.
What makes her tick?
What makes her hot?
He didn't have the answers to those questions, and he was almost positive he shouldn’t even be thinking about her in that way, but he couldn't stop himself.
He had no idea what he was going to do about it, either.
Not a fucking clue…