Seb

Practice took for-fucking-ever. Then again, I never noticed before. Probably because I never had anything to look forward to. Hockey was it for me. I never paid attention to how long I shot pucks or switched out various lines and plays or speed drills.

Until Kylie.

I glanced at the clock, again, which pissed me off. Thanks to my amped-up state, it took an inordinate amount of concentration to ignore Sasquatch and his bevy of judgmental grunts and dark glowers. In my effort to be a good little team player, I clamped my big mouth shut, put my head down, and did what I was told. By some miracle, I finished practice without jamming my stick down Calloway’s throat. Barely.

I counted it as a win.

Through the tunnel we trudged, and to my extreme annoyance, my inconsiderate teammates failed to use my catchy and, in my humble opinion, fitting nickname for Calloway—Sasquatch. Nope. The dirty traitors called him Rocky, which to my utter delight, Calloway despised, or the vomit-inducing nickname Calloway brought with him. One he earned—and yeah, I could begrudgingly admit he really is that good—his first year in the NHL.

I remember during my brief time in the minors, I sat perched on the edge of my seat in the apartment I shared with three other guys, beer in hand, as we watched Rocco Calloway, the unstoppable rookie defender, take down forwards left and right. Hell, I'd actually admired the prick, until the following year when I got called up and had to play against him. I’d never admit it. Not even under threat of castration. I figure I must've had some kind of brain damage or been suffering from a concussion to think Calloway was anyone worth looking up to.

Fast forward several years and in a moment I couldn't have plucked from my wildest imagination, I found myself in a supremely shitty position. I’d have bet money Calloway’s nickname would never pass my lips, let alone be said directly to his ridiculous, snarling, Sasquatch face.

We’d always been on opposing teams, so what reason would I have to use it?

Whenever I pulled up an image of Rocco Calloway, the names that came to mind were simple—Sasquatch and/or Asshat and/or Bastard. Oh, and a bunch of Québecois obscenities that probably wouldn't go over real well with management if I shouted them at their newest hire, especially since I’m not the only one on the team who speaks French.

With Calloway officially a Comet, it was up to me give him the same respect I showed my other teammates, which kind of made me throw up in my mouth a little. What really ticked me off was that not one of my backstabbing teammates gave a single fuck that the man was literally the devil on skates. Management patently expected I would fall in line and do what any player worthy of the NHL did—suck it up and treat your teammate like family.

I snorted. I’d rather be fucked up the ass with a broken beer bottle.

Speaking of le diable.

Calloway emerged from the showers, towel slung low over his hips, all his stupidly huge Sasquatch-like muscles on display. With an annoyed huff, I turned my back to him and jammed my feet into my favorite pair of lace-up boots. Behind me, I heard the loud smacks of backslapping and high-fives, while my supposed “family” praised Calloway. “Nice practice, Assassin,” or “Way to go, Assassin,” or “Great job, Assassin.” I thought Calloway was way more ass than assassin, but one thing I refused to hear Coach say was that I wasn’t a team player.

Dammit, my team means everything to me. With the exception my little bro, they’re all I’ve had since I strapped on a pair of beat up used blades for my very first peewee league. The family I always wished I had. My escape. My safe place.

Now, with the inevitable arrival of the token bastard relative—don’t laugh, you know who I’m talking about. Everybody has one. The pervy uncle or drunk second cousin you prayed skipped out on holidays, and instead not only crashed the party, but never left, predictably taking up residence in your spare bedroom. Thank you Rocco fucking Calloway for being the relative who rounded out my fucked-up family.

I shouldered my bag and turned to leave. Unfortunately, I caught a perpetually scowling Rocco Calloway out of the corner of my eye. Fuck me. Where was that broken beer bottle when you needed it? I steeled my jaw and dipped my chin, swallowing several times to keep down the grilled chicken salad that threatened to make an unwelcome encore, and sucked up my pride.

I met Calloway’s hostile glare and forced out, “Great practice, Assassin,” when what I really wanted to say was, “vas te crosser avec une poignée de clous,” which basically means “fuck off,” or, if you want to be literal, “go jack off with a handful of rusty nails.” Entirely appropriate for the situation.

Sasquatch’s, I shuddered… I mean, Assassin’s eyes widened under his Cro-Magnon ridge. I never hid the fact that I hated his guts, so he had no reason to think I’d be cordial to him in any way. Calloway stood there a second, looking too genetically related to a true Neanderthal to be considered human, as he came up with what I knew would be a rude, cutting response. One that would undoubtedly humiliate me and make me wish I hadn’t bothered to put any effort into accepting him, especially since he regularly treated me like a scrap of toilet tissue stuck to his shoe. According to “experts,” I was supposed to be satisfied by “being the bigger man” or something idiotic like that.

Which, we all know is a total load of horseshit. I can one hundred percent verify that being a dick feels way, way better.

When Calloway didn’t respond—I wasn’t sure he even blinked—I pushed my way out of the changing room and stomped down the hall. Instead of shouting or pummeling the wall with my fists, I forced my head down and checked to see if Kylie sent any texts (she didn't).

“Seb.”

I winced and sped up.

Keep walking, St. Clair. Pretend you didn't hear.

Hurried footsteps grew closer. “Seb!”

Fils de pute!

I peered over my shoulder to glance at Amanda and ended up doing a double take worthy of a Three Stooges episode as I scrambled to a halt. Whoa. If there’s one thing I can unequivocally, without a doubt, say is true about my ex-fuck buddy, it’s that she never stepped out of the house looking anything less than perfect. From the top of her silky, thick head of hair, down to her sexy painted toenails.

I flicked my gaze up and down her body, and had to strain to not frown. She wore jeans. Jeans! With flat shoes, not a spiky stiletto in sight. Topped, not by her usual silk blouse, but a plain navy tee. Amanda pulled her shiny waves into a high, tangled knot I’d never seen on her before. The style took years off her face. To the point I felt a bit uncomfortable having screwed her senseless. Without the makeup and power suits, Amanda could pass as jailbait.

I couldn't help but gape.

“Mandy?”

I locked onto her lush lips, which normally looked ready to suck my dick. Except they were pinched into a thin, tense line. I glanced up and only then did I notice Amanda’s eyes. They were all bloodshot and swollen, and around her nose was red and raw. It looked like she'd been… oh fuck. I cringed. Crying.

I took a giant step back. I don’t do crying females. Nuh uh. To this day, thinking about it makes my skin crawl. I have no clue what to do or say around a weeping woman. It’s like handling a live grenade. One wrong move and they'd explode, zero hesitation in taking you down with them.

“Do… do you have a minute?”

Câlasse. Amanda sounded different, almost vulnerable. Being an idiot with a Y chromosome, I blurted out, “Sure.” The second it came out of my mouth I wanted to kick my own ass.

“No one's in the lounge.” She pointed to a nearby door.

Instead of saying, “no” and bolting for my truck, I nodded and followed Amanda into the media lounge, the one visitors and reporters use while they wait for press conferences and the like. She closed the door and I broke out in a cold sweat. Memories of the clink of the front gate at the detention center as it snicked shut, the finality of that sound and what it meant, sent ice trickling through my veins. Locked in for twelve months. Caged. Trapped. The day I got out of that shithole, I vowed I'd never let anyone trap me again.

I took a shuddering breath. The walls of the media room shrank and a burning pressure pinched my lungs. I shivered and broke out in chills as nausea pushed its way up my esophagus. I swallowed several times just so I wouldn't puke. My nerves jittered and the prickly sensation of ants under my skin returned tenfold.

“What do you want?” I barked. Amanda flinched, and I cursed under my breath.

It wasn't my fault, it was just, that room. The perception of being imprisoned. My rational mind knew nothing bad was going to happen. I could reach out and open the damn door whenever I felt like it, but tell that to the fucked up part of my brain. For a second, I swore I heard the aaack, aaack of Henri Allaire as he cleared his throat over the thundering of my own heart. The tingling of an oncoming panic attack took root, ready to seize my lungs and shut down all but the most basic of bodily functions.

What I really needed was to light a fucking Valium scented candle and huff that the fumes until pink elephants danced around me.

“I, um…” Amanda twisted her fingers together and ducked her head.

My jaw fell. I was beyond flabbergasted. Screw the panic attack. What was unfolding before me was shocking. I watched Amanda Brooker, a confident and powerful woman with a firm, no bullshit, take-no-prisoners attitude, nervously squirm and twitch. Awkward as fuck, she reached up and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her face, then took a deep breath.

“Look, I know I took things too far and you got upset.”

I stared, wary, but decided to be honest. “Yeah, you did.”

Amanda frowned, but didn’t look away. “I’m so sorry. I just… I was hoping maybe we could, you know, forget about it and go back to the way things were. I thought maybe tonight…” She reached for me, but hesitated and dropped her hand.

My anxiety, fueled by the confrontation as well as Amanda’s bizarre behavior, made my racing pulse stumble. I stared in disbelief.

“Let me get this straight. You… you’re saying you want to keep fucking? Even after…?” The I acted like a total bastard and treated you like a fuck toy was inferred.

Amanda inhaled, held steady, and never broke eye contact. That was more like it. More like the assertive woman I met two years ago and found irresistible.

“Yes.”

Years upon years of being trained to expect every argument to turn violent, usually with me ending up cornered and verbally abused, or more often, nursing injuries, had honed my instincts to expect every confrontation to result in pain. Between the walls that were steadily closing in, Amanda’s tears, and her wanting to get back together, those were the instincts that took over. Unfortunately for Amanda, it meant I turned full-on defensive asshole.

“Fuck no!” Amanda’s face fell and her wide, wounded eyes shimmered with fresh tears. Horrified by my complete absence of tact, I scrambled to fix Amanda before she broke. “I didn't… fuck. I didn't mean it like that.”

See? That’s why I hate this kind of shit. I dragged my hands down my face and tipped my head back to stare at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry, Mandy. It's not…”

I couldn’t bring myself to resurrect the ol’ “it's not you, it’s me,” chestnut. She’d never believe it anyway. I needed something that didn't make it sound like my rejection was Amanda’s fault, and also let me escape without plunging the knife further into her spine. If she cried, as in really started to sob and get all snotty and messy… I wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with that.

An image of Kylie flickered in my head and again, mouth before brain, I announced, “I’m seeing someone.”

Amanda's jaw fell and her eyes flared. But hey, at least she was no longer on the verge of tears. I double checked to be sure. Dieu merci. Yep. Dry eyes. In fact, Amanda looked kind of… oh fuck, Amanda looked pissed.

“You bastard piece of shit,” she hissed.

Shocked, I backed into the wall and held up my hands, which shook like I chugged six espresso shots in a row. Anxiety clawed up my throat and those damn ants skittered across every inch of my body.

It was my worst nightmares come to life. Cornered. Trapped.

Memories flashed hard and fast. I counted each breath to separate the present from my disturbing past. In, one… two…

Amanda shifted closer, her lips peeled back in an ugly sneer. “Were you seeing her while you were still screwing me, Seb?” Amanda’s sweet, youthful face, a face I once enjoyed seeing in the throes of passion, twisted with rage.

“We were never exclusive!” I lashed out, furious with Amanda for literally backing me into a corner as she dredged up a subject we discussed to death and then some. She was only one of my many fuck buddies and she knew it.

My anger did nothing to displace the fiery glare she aimed at me, as she awaited further explanation. Forced to think on my feet, I yanked an excuse out of my ass, and put the final nail in my relationship with Amanda.

“The girl I'm seeing, it's a new thing. I don't… I can't… shit.” I thrust my hands in my hair, then let my arms fall to my sides. “What do you want me to say?”

“You and me, two years! The sex, the laughs and good times, did all of that mean nothing to you, Seb? Two goddamn years! Was I so unimportant that a couple of weeks after you left my bed you found a girlfriend? Something you adamantly insisted you’d never have, by the way.” Amanda's chest heaved and she bared her gleaming white teeth.

I was at a loss and my silence sent Amanda over the edge.

She got right up in my face and drilled a finger into my collarbone. “You're a real fucking son of a bitch, Sebastien St. Clair. You know what?” Her expression grew a little hysterical and her voice pitched up. “I hope you fall in love with her.” Now it was my eyes that bulged. “That's right, love. That's exactly what I said. I hope you fall hopelessly, head over heels in love with this poor woman, and she dumps your pathetic ass. Then —” Amanda stabbed harder and I had to clench my jaw to keep from breaking her wrist, “—then you'll know what it feels like to want something more than anything, only to have it ripped from your arms."

With that, Amanda spun on one of her non-stilettoed heels and flung the media room door open so hard it bounced off the wall and slammed shut after she stormed out. It felt like I got cross-checked by a runaway train. I closed my eyes and sagged against the wall as I attempted to process whatever the fuck just went down. Amanda had no right to be pissed at me for finding someone else. It’s not like I meant to hurt her.

Deep down she isn't a bad person. Like I said, it wasn’t her, it was me. I simply didn’t want to be tied down. To anyone. In retrospect, thinking back on our lame excuse of a relationship reminded me how increasingly suffocating the air between us grew every time we hooked up. By the end, Amanda’s bedroom felt like a prison.

Clammy with sweat, my NHL mandated tie tightened like a noose around my neck, and my dress shirt stuck to my skin, I escaped the media room and didn't look back. By the time I reached my truck, Sasquatch slash Assassin slash Asshat slash What-the-fuck-ever, was long forgotten. Amanda… well, she wasn't forgotten, but at least I was no longer on the verge of losing my shit, though I could really use a distraction.

I snorted. Irony is such a cunning bitch. Getting cornered and yelled at by my ex-fuck buddy left me itching to call up a convenient outlet…you know, like a fuck buddy.

I went to retrieve my phone to call one of my other, less fun but otherwise satisfactory, hookups. My cock throbbed and visions of Kylie flashed through my head. The phone slid back into my pocket, the mood for a random dial-a-fuck passed. What I wanted was to call Kylie to work out my aggressions. But we were too new, which sucked because it seemed, for the moment, my dick was fixated on her. I guess I would be going without. For now.

Twitch, twitch…

Son of a… I ignored my asshole eye and cranked the radio. My one-track mind kept drifting back to Kylie. Gorgeous and funny Kylie. Teasing, sexy, irresistible Kylie. The more I fantasized about getting her naked, the lighter my mood became. I spun a dozen different scenarios that were so damn hot even the sharp twinge in my side where Calloway hit me during practice couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.

When I got home I texted Kylie to let her know I'd be there at seven. Since she had a roommate, we couldn’t hang out at her place. Good thing I already had our date planned out. Against everything I’d learned, rules I'd strictly adhered to for years, I decided to bring Kylie back to my place. For one thing, it was private, plus my bed had all the necessary gadgets to make the evening perfect.

After spending five minutes glaring at my phone as if it personally offended me when Kylie didn’t respond right away to my text—while simultaneously expecting smoke and sparks to fly out the stupid thing or for it to catch on fire—a message popped up with her address. I recognized it. Nice place.

With the arrangements taken care of, I spent the remaining agonizing hours putzing around. My stomach clenched now and then, and at one point, got so bad it felt like I swallowed a cannonball. I pressed a hand to my midsection and grimaced. I should probably snag a snack before I head out. Hopefully, food would take care of any nausea.

Since I can't cook for shit, unless people were clamoring for burned rice, I dumped the ingredients for a protein shake in my fancy blender and hit start. It whirred for about thirty-seconds, then made a strange gurgling sound. Oh shit. I didn't move fast enough. The top flew off the blender and its contents shot upward in a swirling funnel of brown. It blasted me right in the face and I ended up with chocolate in my ears, eyes, nose and mouth, and all over the ceiling and floors, as well as my clothes.

Maudit bâtard!

I wiped my face and glanced at the clock. One hour. I hurried through a second shower, mopped up the mess in the kitchen with the damp towel wound around my waist, then stalked into my closet. As I pulled out a fresh set of clothes, my still-empty stomach twisted into a knot. I froze, afraid I might have that panic attack I worried about. I stood perfectly still and waited. My pulse remained steady and my hands didn't shake. I frowned as I tried to suss out the reason for the churning sensation in my gut.

Not panic. Nerves.

I laughed, but it sounded off. Too high-pitched. I couldn’t believe it. Me, Sebastien St. Clair, The Sinner, total player and ladies’ man, was nervous for a date. I shook my head and shoved one leg into a pair of pants, then the other, and pulled a clean shirt over my head. I stopped and checked again. Nerves still going strong, though I would be the first to admit it had been a weird day.

Between giving Calloway an actual complement—not that the dickhead said thanks or anything, Amanda cornering me, and the words "I’m seeing someone" coming out of my mouth. Oh, not to mention the blender fiasco, which, truthfully, wasn't all that out of the ordinary. If anything, I should have been surprised it didn’t fly apart sooner. Most shocking of all was that I was sincerely nervous to see Kylie, like a teenager about to get his dick wet for the first time.

I figured if I did anything else out of character before the clock struck midnight, the world would spin off its axis and fly right into the sun.

Better to play it safe than sorry and remember to be a selfish jackass.

You know, for the safety of the planet.

I’m considerate like that.

* * *

I checked the time as I stood in front of the bathroom mirror to check my hair for the umpteenth time as I tried to rationalize away my nerves. Countdown: five minutes to date time. The phone rang while I was checking my teeth for stray food particles. I hoped it wasn't Kylie calling to cancel, because in some way, shape, or form, I was going to see her. One glance at the screen and I let out the breath I was holding.

“Rémy. Ça roule ma poule?”

Phone to my ear, I leaned over the sink and used my free hand to pick at random strands of hair and ensure each one lay just so. Ironically, it takes a hell of a lot of time to fix your hair so it looks like you didn’t spend a lot of time fixing your hair.

“Seb?”

My hand froze over my head when I heard his voice waver. It was a sound I recognized immediately, and it gutted me. Despite trying to shield him from the worst of our childhood, something in my brother’s world had gone sideways, and whatever it was sent Rémy into a spiral.

Fuck the hair. I turned from the mirror and leaned a hip against the sink, as I ignored the sick feeling in my gut and the overwhelming urge to crush my phone to bits, while punching the mirror until my knuckles were torn and bloody. After several deep breaths, I pinched the bridge of my nose and did my best to keep it together. For Rémy. Not that long ago, he asked me to back off. I had to trust that if he needed my help, he would ask for it.

“Rém, what's going on? Est-ce que ça va, mon frère?”

“Yeah. I'm okay, bro. Just wanted to, uh, talk to you.”

That did nothing to assuage my worry. In fact, it freaked me out. I seamlessly slid into rapid fire French. “Talk to me? About what?”

Oh shit, oh fuck, please no. Don't let it be another episode. Don’t let it be the one and only thing I can’t save him from. If it was, there was literally nothing I could do. Knowing that Rémy was suffering felt like a kick to the junk. For years he kept his issues hidden. Became adept at avoiding me and concealing the evidence of his anguish. When he slipped up and I found out what was going on, I was devastated. It should be me who hurt, not Rémy. I was the one who ended up in juvie and therefore, couldn’t stop my brother's gentle soul from fracturing. In my absence, Rémy found a way to soothe his demons, a way that made me irrationally, blindingly outraged, yet sick to my stomach.

His prolonged silence sliced a gash across my abdomen and my insides spilled out onto the floor. The only way I knew Rémy hadn’t hung up was the sound of his soft inhales and exhales.

For years, I accepted, even courted the physical abuse doled out by our father. The hatred and violence, the hitting, slapping, punching, kicking, burning with cigarettes… I’ve had so many sprains and hairline fractures, to this day I still can’t believe the DYP (Department of Youth Protection) didn't take us away from the old bastard. Not to mention the myriad of scars that crisscrossed my body as a reminder of my past. I shivered.

I have scars, but Rémy has plenty of his own.

The echo of silence sent chills down my arms. Rémy is the gentlest person I know. Well, gentle toward others. Toward himself? My hands shook and my mouth went dry. Unfortunately, like me, my brother was destined to forever be tormented by the past.

Twitch, twitch, twitch…

“Rém?” I gripped the edge of the sink and gnashed my teeth. The helplessness in the face of my brother’s pain was pure torture.

Twitch…

“I’m okay.” Rémy’s deception sent another agonizing slash through my soft tissue and organs. I struggled to breathe and stuffed my knuckles in my mouth to hold back a sob.

“Don't do it. Please,” I whispered. “Tell me you didn't, Rém.”

After a beat, Rémy sighed. “I didn't. I won't. I told you, I don't… I don’t do that anymore.” Another lie, not that I could prove it. “Anyway. I gotta go, Seb. I just wanted to see what you were up to and say hi.”

I let out an unamused chuckle. It was highly likely Rémy called as a distraction so he wouldn’t give in to his compulsion. That didn’t upset me. I was more than willing to be his distraction if that’s what he needed. If he wanted a distraction…

“Hey,” I said. “You probably won't believe me, but not only do I have a date, but I'm bringing her back here.”

“Really? To your place?” Despite Rémy being caught in a tangled, bleak, web of darkness, a myriad of nightmares fought against invisible foes that existed only in my brother’s mind, he sounded shocked. I laughed at his incredulity.

“Yeah. There's a first for everything.”

“Umm, I guess so?”

I checked the time. If I didn't leave, I'd be late picking up Kylie. Shit. I didn’t know what to do. Rémy made the decision for me.

“Go on your, uh, date, Seb. I'm fine, I promise.” I hesitated, and he called me out on it. “Seriously. I’m gonna call Jankowski and see what he's up to.”

Though I was reluctant to hang up, I didn’t have a choice. We were separated by hundreds of miles, plus Rémy wanted to deal with his own issues, not to mention I promised to butt out. My hands were tied, and not in a good way. I huffed loudly to make it known I wasn’t going down easy.

“All right. But you call me if anything happens. If you even think about it. You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it. And Seb?”

“Ouais?”

My eyes stung and an invisible band cinched around my chest. To this day, Rémy doesn’t know to what lengths I would go—what lengths I had already gone—to shelter him from reality.

“I swear, I'm doing a lot better.” Rémy tried to sound confident, but I know him too well to fall for it.

How was it I had zero remorse for doing what I did back then, but when my brother attempted to be brave so I wouldn’t worry, I turned into a sloppy, emotional wreck?

“Good.” My voice cracked.

“Talk to you later,” Rémy said, effectively ending the conversation. I scrubbed a hand over the back of my neck.

“Okay. Tu me manques, mon frère.”

“Miss you, too. Au revoir.”

The call ended. I snatched my keys out of the glass dish next to the door and hurried for the elevator before I changed my mind and booked a flight to Charlotte. I clutched the steering wheel, knuckles blanched, and body tense. It took the entire fifteen-minutes to calm down from my agitated state. Normally, I’d be wound up and pissed all night. It just so happened I was highly motivated. If I didn't rein it in, Kylie would bolt the second she laid eyes on me. I didn't need the rearview mirror to know I looked half-crazed, which pretty much summarized how I felt.

Dear old dad. No longer around and still shitting all over his sons’ lives.

I stopped in front of Kylie's building, a sleek, modern skyscraper of luxury condos. Not cheap. And not the kind of place you lived if you needed a roommate. I briefly wondered what Kylie did for a living. She had to make decent cash if she could afford a place in the high-rise, even at half the rent. Maybe she came from money, not that I was about to ask. I might have the tact of a bulldog on meth, but questioning someone's financial status is pretty fucking rude, even for me. Plus, I just didn’t give enough of a shit to bother.

After sending a quick text to let Kylie know I was outside, I dropped the phone into a cup holder and cranked up the beats. The loud thumping bass provided perfect cover for so I could shout at the top of my lungs and punch the steering wheel over and over until my hands were red and swollen and my throat was raw, without anyone hearing me lose my shit.

“Fuck, fuck, fuuuuuuuck!”

I struggled to breathe, and it felt like my head was going to explode like my blender. Instead of chocolate, brains would jet out and splatter the interior of my Ford. Mid-shout, I spotted Kylie trotting down the short flight of stairs to the street. I gulped down air and willed my body to relax so she wouldn’t witness the remnants of my tantrum.

Once I got the fury strapped in, I turned down the music and hopped out, then circled the truck to open the passenger door. Damn. Her beauty breathed life into my stagnant lungs and a gentle wave of calm soothed the ends of my frazzled nerves.

“Hey,” I said as I raked my greedy eyes up and down her body. Fucking gorgeous. Neither my memories nor my fantasies did her justice.

“Hi.”

Kylie smiled and just like that, I was fucking putty in her hands. For the first time in my life, the perpetual distress I felt concerning my brother got shoved to the back burner. Pushed out of my head by the enticing sight of Kylie’s full lips, white teeth, and glittering brown eyes. The light scent of citrus tickled my nose and all of my synapses fired at once, every cell in my body ultra-aware of Kylie's presence.

I held out a hand. She raised a brow, but accepted it. The minimal physical contact of our entwined fingers, that tiny bit of skin on skin, sent a shiver down my spine. I smothered the urge to grope her ass as I helped her into the tall cab.

“Thank you,” she said once she was settled in.

The agitation, guilt, and utter frustration vanished. I don’t know how she did it, but Kylie acted as a balm on my black and hollow soul. Somehow, she made me forget. Made me feel human. Silenced the constant screaming and the nagging doubt. Grateful for the distraction, I winked. Hopefully, flirting would keep me from thinking too much, both about Rémy, and how different I felt around Kylie.

“You're welcome.” I grinned and closed her door, then shoved my hands in my pockets and rounded back to the driver’s side, exhaling a long breath that puffed out a misty cloud in the frigid winter air. I could do this. I needed to do this. A hot tumble with a hot woman sounded like the perfect way to dig out from under the landslide of shit Rémy's phone call buried me under.

I pulled out onto the streets of Atlanta and, to my dismay, the stomach-cramping nerves returned, along with a nice fat dose of uncertainty. It started as an innocent, “Maybe this was a mistake” and quickly progressed to “What the hell was I thinking?”

The cab began to shrink around me, and it became difficult to concentrate on the road. Shit. I couldn't do this. Why did I think I could invite a woman into my home? It wasn’t something I did.

I glanced at Kylie. Going by how happy she looked, she felt the complete opposite. Kylie really wanted this. Wanted me. Her cheeks were flushed and healthy and small smile played on her lips. Hell, her skin practically glowed.

“So, where are we going? Another hotel?”

I laughed and glanced over before I returned my attention to the slow-moving traffic. “Am I that predictable?”

Kylie paused, then said, “I’m not sure. I don't really know you.”

I brought the truck to a stop at a red light and turned to face Kylie. Was I that predictable? I squirmed under Kylie’s scrutiny and the verbal diarrhea began. “This is kinda, um, new territory for me. Bringing someone to, uh, my place. That's where we’re going. I don't… I haven't… No one goes there.” I tightened my grip on the steering wheel, not at all comfortable discussing my social proclivities.

For the first time in a long time, I felt ashamed. Ashamed at the way I treated women, as if they were disposable playthings. Ashamed that Kylie assumed I brought every woman I met to a hotel for a quick fuck, not that she was wrong, mind you. That was exactly what I did, unless the woman lived nearby, then I went to her place for, um… yeah, okay fine, for a quick fuck.

Kylie deserved better than that.

She looked like she was about to say something, but the light switched to green before she got the chance. I tore my gaze away and immersed myself in making sure I didn’t drive off the road. Kylie remained silent for several minutes. When she finally spoke, she caught me by surprise.

“Why me?”

Huh?

“Why you?”

“Yes. Why are you bringing me to your place? You said you don’t do that, so I want to know, why me?”

I repeated the question to myself and tried to come up with an excuse that wasn’t shallow, “because you're smoking hot and I can't wait for your roommate to leave so I can hold you down and slam into you from behind” or utterly ridiculous, “because for whatever reason, it seems that you're the only one who can tame my fury” and came up blank. After a few more moments of awkward silence, I decided the only thing to do was answer as honestly as possible without pissing Kylie off.

“I have no idea.”

I shrugged so she wouldn’t think being invited to my place was a big deal. I didn’t want to risk her reading into it and getting all attached like Amanda. That, I definitely didn't need. Kylie was either satisfied by my non-answer or annoyed, because there were no more questions after that.

I unclenched when we reached our destination. The ride was short, but it felt like I went three rounds with Georges St-Pierre. I shifted to slide out of the truck, beyond grateful to leave the close quarters of the truck's cab. The stifling closeness was driving me fucking insane. Intense stares, luscious lips, and that goddamned heavenly citrus scent, made me half-hard and wholly frustrated. I desperately needed some fresh air.

And because I’m an idiot, instead of opening the door and clearing my head, I turned to Kylie, who hadn’t moved, and almost choked on my tongue. One of her slick lips, lips I envisioned wrapped around my cock, was caught between her teeth. I stared, jealous of those teeth. I wanted to be the one to bite on that soft, pink flesh.

“Uh,” I shook off the image of those lips wrapped around my cock. “Are you okay?” I asked.

Please don't tell me you changed your mind. I need this. I need you.

I wanted to get her upstairs and would say whatever it took to make it happen.

Kylie stared out the window. “I know this is probably something you do a lot,” she waved a hand around. “Except, like you said, the part about going to your place. But… um, you should know, this, it isn't something I do. I mean, I did do it, with you, that one time, at the hotel. But that’s, um, it.”

I stared at her, confused. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

She let out an adorable huff and lifted her gaze to mine. “Having sex with strangers. It's not like me. I don’t do that.” She frowned and her nose crinkled. “Only, I guess it is like me, because I did it, but only with you.”

I might have stopped breathing. “Wait. You’re saying, I mean, what you're saying is, you don't do casual hookups and that I’m the exception to the rule? Me?”

Kylie nodded and tugged that ruby red lip back between her teeth. Saint sicrisse. I held back a groan. She was so fucking hot, if she didn't have guys tripping over her left and right I would eat my custom made Bauer Supreme, handle and all. Or maybe she did, and she wasn’t interested. If that were true, it meant out of all the available men she had the opportunity to screw around with, she chose me. My semi continued to grow toward full hardness at the idea of being the only one to successfully seduce Kylie into shedding her inhibitions.

“I appreciate you telling me. Now,” I gave her a lopsided grin and ignored my steadily thickening dick, “since you aren’t fond of strangers, why don’t we go upstairs and get to know each other a little better?”

Kylie’s cheeks flushed and she glanced away, self-conscious. For that brief second, I swore she was hiding something from me.

Something big.

How intriguing. My naive little temptress had a secret.

The more time I spent with Kylie, the more addicted I became. I couldn't wait to peel back each new layer so I could slowly discover what made her tick.

Fuck.

I was in big trouble.

Kylie

I had no idea why I agreed to meet Seb. I mean, I did know, kind of. Obviously, I had a screw or two loose.

“Want something to drink?”

In the foyer of the luxury suite, high up in the W Hotel, Seb took my coat and hung it on an old-fashioned coat tree. Then he stalked—it’s the only way I can describe it—toward me. His eyes sparked with mischief and his wicked grin made my stomach do flips.

The Sebastien St. Clair. With me. In his home. Yeah, screws loose or not, he was the reason I decided to step so far out of my comfort zone—a detrimental to my mental health, Rocco coronary-inducing, devastatingly sexy reason.

The entire situation—when one took into consideration the fact that Seb was hands down the absolute worst choice in bed partners, oh, and don’t forget Rocco hated his guts and probably wanted to punch him whenever Seb was near—was a disaster in the making. Of course, all of that was why I couldn't bring myself to walk away. The danger of being discovered by Rocco, combined with the fact that Seb tying me up was the hottest thing to ever happen to me, had me hooked. Seb was heroin and I was the junkie who craved my next hit. I knew full well he was bad for me, yet I knew I would keep going back for more, until he either destroyed me or I OD’d.

“Well?”

I startled out of my thoughts. Right. Seb. Waiting. Drink.

“Um, a drink would be great. Thanks.”

Seb’s gaze fell to my mouth. He licked his lips and stared them as if he wanted to devour me. Tiny flickers of electricity crackled along my skin and my heart skipped a beat or two. Yeah, I could use a drink. Or four. A little alcohol would go a long way toward helping me relax, then, at the very least, I wouldn’t make a complete fool of myself and jump Seb’s bones in his foyer.

Without thinking, I mimicked his actions and moistened my lips. Seb’s pupils expanded and his breath hitched. My muscles clenched with anticipation at the sound. Oh god. Jumping his bones in the foyer was sounding better and better. Thankfully, by the time I began to mentally peel off his clothes, Seb had wandered deeper into the condo and missed my needy expression.

“Coming right up.” His husky tone shot straight to my groin. As Seb circled around a gorgeous granite-topped island, I squeezed my thighs together to relieve some of the aching need. It didn’t work.

On the other side of the island, Seb reached up and removed two glasses from an overhead cabinet. In doing so, his T-shirt hiked up to expose a slice of hard, tan, deeply grooved abdominal muscles, and my mouth watered at the sight. Would Seb fuck me on the island? Stand between my splayed thighs and pound into me until I screamed?

“Here you go.”

“Thanks.” I tried to hide my face, cheeks burning from the impromptu fantasy. Seb gave me a look, but thankfully didn’t ask.

Not willing to chance saying something dumb and make an even bigger fool of myself, I lifted the glass, tipped it back, and swallowed the contents in one go. Big mistake. My eyes watered as an unholy blast of hellfire ripped down my throat, and back up again. It felt like someone took a blowtorch to my esophagus. In between sputtering coughs, I heard Seb chuckle.

“You do realize Scotch is meant to be sipped.”

I wiped the tears out of my eyes and glanced up from my fiery hacking fit in time to see Seb hold up his glass. Then, in complete contradiction to what he said, with a flick of his wrist, every last drop of the amber liquid disappeared down that gorgeous throat. My lusty gaze locked onto Seb’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed, and I stifled a moan. He caught me staring and smirked.

“I didn't want you to be lonely.”

Lonely. How Seb made that word sound like an invitation for sex, I didn’t know, but he did. A fresh burst of desire rippled down my spine and I my attention snapped to his bright blue gaze. Seb’s hunger was obvious, his eyes dark and hooded as he stared at my mouth again. My fingers tightened around the glass.

Blistering heat—whether from the alcohol or the way Seb was undressing me with his eyes—spread through my veins. Every beat of my heart stoked the flames hotter and hotter until I was consumed by the passionate inferno. A sudden, desperate need to have Seb’s hands on my sweltering skin pushed me into action.

I arranged my mouth into what I hoped looked like a sexy pout and, feigning confidence I didn’t feel, I put down the empty tumbler and flattened my palms on the cool stone surface. I studied Seb’s lips and, since it worked before, slowly licked mine.

“I’m not lonely,” I purred, hardly recognizing my sultry tone. Seb held his breath, gaze locked on my mouth. I navigated around the island as I slid a single fingertip along the slick granite. “At least, I won’t be once we get to the real reason you brought me here. Or did you think you’d have to talk me into it?”

The flush on Seb’s throat and cheeks was satisfying in a way I’d never known. I felt powerful. I did that to him. I made Sebastien St. Clair blush, something I doubted happened that often. Eyes glazed, lips parted, Seb’s mouth hung slack, but only for a second. One second was all it took for him to blink away the haze of lust. Without missing a beat, he put his glass on the counter behind him and closed the remaining distance between us in two large strides. His expression was feral and in looking at it, I chalked up my first attempt at seducing a man as a success.

Seb struck first. He crashed into me, his strong arms wrapping around my waist to keep me on my feet. Before I could gather my scattered wits, his lips descended. We came together in a desperate meeting of mouths. Teeth and tongues clashed. Seb dominated the kiss, owned it. It was messy and uncoordinated, slick and hot, and I loved every moment of it. In fact, I leaned into Seb and willingly gave up control. He sensed the moment I surrendered and growled as he reached down to palm my ass. Large hands splayed across my backside. He tugged sharply and our groins collided. The friction added fuel to the already roaring fire.

“Bedroom,” Seb whispered when he released my mouth and shifted to nip his way down my jaw.

Seb didn’t wait, and we were moving before I answered. He walked me backward through his suite and effortlessly maneuvered us around furniture and other obstacles without missing a beat. Too caught up in the way Seb sucked, licked, and bit my mouth and throat to pay attention, I handed over the reins, trusted Seb to get us to our destination in one piece, mostly because there was no way I was going to be the one to end the hottest kiss of my life, especially not for something as silly as tripping over furniture.

As with everything else about the man, Seb didn’t disappoint. Faster than I thought, the backs of my knees hit the soft edge of a mattress. I shifted my weight to sit, but Seb wanted nothing of it and dug his fingers into my backside, effectively forcing me to remain upright. Satisfied I would stay put, Seb let go and took a step back.

“Clothes first.” The words were barely out before Seb reached over his head. In one graceful motion, he grabbed his collar and yanked off his shirt to reveal a torso that was so perfect, it could have been chiseled out of stone and put on display in the Louvre. While I ogled every flawless dip and hard ridge, Seb got to work on me. His hands were surprisingly dexterous as he made quick work of the tiny buttons on my blouse. The silky fabric scarcely had time to flutter to the floor and Seb’s mouth was on my skin.

“Oh god.”

I moaned, arched my neck, and threw my head back as Seb licked a path from my shoulder to my clavicle. He worked his lips and teeth against hidden bundles of sensitive nerve endings while I clutched at his biceps and reveled in the feeling of hard muscle beneath my fingertips. He kissed his way further down and stopped between my breasts. Seb sucked at the thin, tender skin. Hard enough that it stung.

I flinched. “Hey!” I was supposed to sound annoyed, but it came out more like a wanton moan. I pushed ineffectively at Seb’s head and pushed words out between heavy breaths. “You're going to leave a mark.”

Seb smiled against my breastbone and sucked the spot one last time. He straightened to his full height and I gulped. Ohmygod. He is so, so much taller than me. So much bigger… all over. There’s just so much of him. His eyes were wild and dark, face and throat ruddy, and lips red and swollen. He was the sexiest thing in the history of ever.

Seb grinned at my indignation. “That's the idea.” He nuzzled my ear. “I want to mark you all over.”

My dignified response was to shiver and practically hump his leg. The thought of Seb staking his claim appealed to my baser instincts.

Seb flicked open the button on my jeans. I did the same. We worked together to shed the rest of our clothes. Once we were naked, Seb hauled me against him like he did in the kitchen. Again, his hands went straight to my backside and he kneaded my ass in a sensual massage. It was the dead of winter and the room slightly cool, but Seb’s body was a furnace. Heat radiated off his skin and kept the chill away.

He dipped his head and sucked my earlobe into his mouth. My cries bounced around the bedroom. I scrabbled for something to hold onto, and clung to his broad shoulders for support.

When Seb let go and stepped away, I whined at the loss. He leveled a look so stern, I pressed my lips together and squelched the urge to pitch a fit.

“I’ll be right back. I have to get something.”

I nodded and the tense lines around Seb’s mouth disappeared and his eyelids went back to half-mast. He was clearly pleased by my easy capitulation. He stared at me, gaze filled with raw hunger and promises of things to come. It was so hot I wanted to reach between my legs and touch myself.

“By the time I get back, I expect you to be on the bed, hands over your head and legs spread.” A shockwave blasted from my scalp down to my toes and the subsequent rush of blood made me lightheaded. Apparently, bossy and dominating really turned my crank. The second Seb left the room, I climbed onto the mattress, determined to do exactly as instructed.

Never had I felt so exposed, completely naked, splayed out and exposed on Seb’s bed, amongst the buttery soft white sheets and fluffy duvet. My fingertips stretched to the headboard and my feet were positioned shoulder-width apart. Like that, Seb would be able to see everything. The thought both thrilled and embarrassed me. I had to close my eyes, as if not seeing meant I wasn’t acting like a complete nympho, all but begging for Seb to do whatever he wanted to any part of my body.

I waited for what seemed like forever. Okay, maybe not that long, but long enough that I mentally took note of everything I felt with my four remaining senses. Eyes still squeezed shut, I focused on the wild hammering of my heart, the slight chill in the air that made goose bumps prick along my skin and hardened my nipples into peaks, and the slick, needy ache between my thighs. The air tasted faintly of woodsmoke, the sheets held the light scent of sandalwood. I exhaled shakily, mortified yet beyond excited.

Over my head, I fisted the sheets and relaxed. I needed to get it together before Seb returned. There was nothing as unsexy as finding a trembling, nervous wreck in your bed, and it significantly raised the odds that Seb would take one look, wrinkle his nose, say, “ew,” and send me packing.

“Sorry about that.” My eyes flew open and I let out a startled squeak. Seb gave me an adorable crooked smile and a shiny glint caught my eye. I looked at Seb’s hands, er, the items in his hands, to be specific. When I realized what he held, my face grew hot, but I vibrated with arousal. “Had to get these.” He gestured to his collection of steel-linked chains and leather cuffs, taunting me by casually dangling one from a fingertip.

I swallowed thickly. “Okay.”

Sebastien cocked his head and studied me. “You sure you want this?” He held up a pair of studded leather cuffs. They swung over the bed, and I couldn’t tear my gaze away, hypnotized as they rocked back and forth.

“Yes.”

More than anything.

Seb’s lips slowly unfurled into a wide grin, one that held no amusement. No, it relayed every filthy intention he had in store for me. I shivered as my imagination went wild. One at a time, Seb wrapped a pliable leather cuff around each of my limbs. To those he attached a short chain between a D-ring on the cuffs and an identical one fixed onto the bedposts. A light went off in my head and, though I was still excited, my insides spasmed with anxiety. The reason Seb wanted me at his place had nothing to do with me being special. He bought me there so he could utilize his personal BDSM equipment.

My brief boost in confidence faltered and I clenched and unclenched my fingers as doubts assailed me. After he secured each arm and leg, Seb rounded the bed and stood back to admire his work.

Fuck it.

Any concerns over why I was there fell to the wayside, as I blushed and fidgeted under Seb’s intense scrutiny. I no longer cared if I was special or why he chose me. The hormone-laden blood that flooded my system, along with the rapid thrumming of my pulse, demanded my attention. I wanted what Seb offered. Badly. His particular reasons no longer mattered. Only mine.

Seb winked. “Don’t be embarrassed, Kylie. If you only knew how fucking hot you look right now.”

I might not have been able to see everything, but based on Seb’s expression and the very interested reaction of a certain part of his body—one he reached down and fisted so he could slowly stroke the stiff length—I knew he was pleased.

“You’re not special” flicked through my mind again, but I pushed it out. I wanted Seb and was not about to ruin it, especially not because of something so pointless as feeling insecure.

Seb took a few minutes to stare and stroke himself. I stared back, watching his fist move as I tried not to fidget. When I thought I might burst if he didn’t touch me, Seb finally released his impressive erection and climbed up on the bed. His significant weight jostled me, but because of the bindings, I only moved a bit and remained in the center of the island-sized mattress.

Okay, Kylie. Relax.

I took a deep breath and exhaled. Seb looked at me with the most carnal expression I’d ever seen.

Oh, boy.

Let the games begin.

Seb

I kneeled between Kylie’s long, sinewy legs and took the time to memorize every last inch of her body. If I didn’t think there was at least a fifty-fifty chance she’d disappear—for everything to have been a dream from the time she got into my truck up to that moment—I’d have pinched myself. Kylie was simply too good to be real. Too perfect.

Again, I dragged my gaze up and down her fit, curvy body, and with the exception of several mouthwatering freckles I would soon taste, there wasn’t a single flaw to be found. Her pale skin flushed in various places as I gave her a thorough inspection. She squirmed for me and that stunning rosy hue spread. I took in the swell of her breasts, not too big and not too small, the taper of her slender, but not too skinny waist, the arc of her hips, and the glistening slit between her thighs. I licked my lips, not knowing where I wanted to start. So many things to do and try.

I zeroed in on her breasts and smirked. Kylie liked nipple play. I leaned forward and placed my hands on her outstretched arms, then ran my hands from her wrists, over her armpits, and down to the soft swells of her breasts. Kylie let out a little mewl when I circled her dusky nipples and lightly pinched them, rolled them just hard enough for her to feel. Kylie’s lips fell open, but she stayed quiet and instead used her eyes to beg for more.

My cock kicked and I grinned. I pinched harder, but not quite as firm as she wanted. Still, her reaction was beautiful. Kylie panted as the anticipation built. Her chest heaved up and down and her ribs went in and out as I played her body like a finely tuned instrument. Once I got her nice and worked up, I gave her nipples an aggressive twist and squeezed… hard. She groaned and her bucked hips off the bed. It was so hot, when she shouted my name my dick ached from the rush of blood.

Oh fuuuuck.

“Seb! Oh god…”

“You like it rough,” I said, mostly to myself, confirming what I already knew about her. I did it again.

Kylie moaned loudly and her back bowed. “God yes. H-harder.”

Jesus. It felt like every drop of blood in my body rerouted to my cock. It pulsed and throbbed painfully. I wanted to plow that sweet pussy so badly my balls hung heavy and my dick spit up pre-come. But I wasn’t done exploring. I wanted to take my time and enjoy my new playground. Instead of twisting her nipples, I licked my lips, bent over, and took one in my mouth, using my fingers to manipulate the other. I pinched the tight bud and simultaneously bit down.

Kylie screamed and my cock jerked angrily. An honest to god fucking screamer. One of my biggest kinks. Well, after the chains, and cuffs, and a tiny bit of pain… whatever. Hard no longer described the state of my dick. Tire iron was more appropriate.

In the hours that led up to that moment, ever since our rendezvous in the hotel attached to the arena, I had constructed a million different scenarios, various versions of foreplay. Most of them involved bringing Kylie to the edge of orgasm over and over as she writhed and bucked. Her skin would be covered in bite marks and bright red handprints and she eventually begged me to fuck her. Cried for it. Every last one of those fantasies went up in smoke as I watched Kylie lose her ever-loving mind from a bit of nipple stimulation.

She was fucking made for me.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god…” Her head thrashed from side to side and her body twisted what little it could within the confines of the chains. I couldn’t look away, thoroughly entranced. Kylie’s reactions went way beyond anything I’d experienced, and we hadn’t even got to the good stuff yet.

“Maudit calvare,” I muttered under my breath. Kylie was breathing so hard and fast she didn’t hear me. In fact, the glazed-over look in her eyes said she was off in another universe. The fact that I did that to her, sent Kylie soaring, and with so little effort, blew my damn mind.

Moving faster than should be possible without a pair of blades on my feet, I unclasped the cuffs on Kylie’s ankles and rolled on the condom I’d dropped on the bed. Fuck foreplay. My dick was going to snap off if I didn’t get inside her. Without instruction, Kylie kept her legs spread. She panted heavily and waited to see what I did next.

“I’m sorry.” I growled in desperation. “I planned to draw this out, but I can’t wait any longer.” With that, I shoved my cock in her tight pussy and kept going until my balls touched her skin.

Kylie groaned as I split her open. The silken walls of her pussy clenched and rippled around my dick and already, a familiar, tingling sensation rocketed down my spine. I squeezed my eyes shut and stayed perfectly still to keep from shooting my load. How fucking embarrassing would that be?

Once the urge to blow receded, I stared at Kylie. She looked up and with the force of a heavyweight’s swing, the breath punched out of my lungs. Hands cuffed to the bed, hair mussed, lips puffy, and cheeks crimson, Kylie lifted her sinful legs, wound them around my waist, and clasped them at the ankles. The sight was beyond erotic, it was pure fantasy porn, not to mention it brought me thatmuchcloser to her, which pulled my cock thatmuchdeeper.

Physically, Kylie was a perfect ten, but it wasn’t her body that had me captivated. I was riveted by her eyes, the reflection of desire, need, and overwhelming trust.

She made me feel like a god.

I began to move. Slowly at first. I studied her carefully and shifted positions based on Kylie’s reactions. When I stabbed in deep at one particular angle, she yelped each time. Bingo. Keeping that position, I sped my thrusts, hammering her fast and hard, over and over until her body glistened with sweat, her muscles quaked, and her loud moans morphed into one long, unending wail.

I felt the first spasms of Kylie’s pussy, and lifted her leg to drape it over my shoulder and expose the side of her luscious ass. I waited until her climax took hold, lifted my hand, and brought it down. It landed on her skin with a loud crack as she came.

Kylie arched her back tight as a bowstring, and screamed my name. Her entire body shook and the chains rattled as the pleasure overcame her. I smacked her ass a second time, using the pain to draw out the orgasm. Kylie’s eyes took on a hazy, faraway look—she was flying.

That was my cue. I picked up the pace and pistoned in and out, the wet heat gripping my cock like a slick glove. Sweat dripped down my cheeks and I struggled to hold onto Kylie’s hips as my fingers slid across her skin. It only took a few thrusts for my rhythm to stutter. I came so hard I thought I might black out. Lights sparked and my vision went fuzzy. I gripped her hard enough to leave bruises and emptied my balls deep in her pussy, spurt after spurt of glorious ecstasy. It wasn’t until I pumped every last drop from my balls that I groaned, collapsed on top of a panting, wrecked Kylie, and closed my eyes to catch my breath.

I wasn’t sure how long we stayed like that, me slumped over Kylie, except that it felt… weird. Not bad, weird. In fact, it felt the opposite. Good, weird. Except I don't cuddle. Ever. I fuck, I get up, I get dressed, and I leave. The mere fact that my first instinct wasn’t to spring from the bed and hustle Kylie out the door, had me worried.

“Can you…?” The rattle of chains drew my attention.

Shit. I was so out of it, so relaxed and content, I forgot to release Kylie.

“Yeah.”

I shuffled to my knees, ignored the fact that my legs felt like jelly, reached up, and slid open the buckles. Then I massaged Kylie's arms and shoulders to get the blood flowing. She’d be sore tomorrow, but hopefully it would be a feeling she enjoyed. Maybe think of me every time a muscle twinged.

“You okay?”

From the blissed out look on Kylie’s face, the question was redundant. Even so, I shouldn't have cared how she was doing. Never did about any of the other women.

Again, until Kylie.

I climbed off the bed, pulled on my jeans, and fled to the safety of the bathroom. Behind the closed door, I ran the faucet to make it sound like I was actually doing something useful rather than hiding. I propped my hands on the sink and stared into the mirror.

Instead of the moody, glaring, angry man I was familiar with, the guy in the reflection looked... happy. He smiled and his eyes sparkled with satisfaction. I wasn’t sure who the fuck the asshole thought he was, but his stupid grin unnerved me.

I splashed cold water on my face and haphazardly dried off, chucking the towel on the floor. There would be plenty of time to have an existential crisis later. After all the shit I'd been though, I deserved a break. Five fucking minutes of happiness.

Satisfied I could play it cool and not start drawing little hearts with our names inside, I took a deep breath, ignored the unfamiliar, fluttery sensation in my belly, and exited the bathroom. My ability to play it cool sucked, because my gaze went directly to the bed.

And my stomach promptly did a triple lindy and splattered all over the floor.

Good things didn’t happen to me. Happiness didn’t happen to me. I was forever destined to be bitter and angry.

Karma, you vicious little bitch.

The bed was empty.