TWELVE

Mel

What I said cut him to the core, I know that, but it’s the truth. I can’t give myself over to a man who’s never shown an ounce of care of empathy for the women he uses and tosses aside like yesterday’s trash. He has to prove more, show the side of him other than the cocky sex-on-a-stick that he presents to everyone else. I like the guy under there, the man behind “Dog.” I want him to come out and hang for a while without him reverting back to the bullshit. I want the truth.

After the mess I’ve been through this past year, I think that’s the least I deserve.

He fidgets, his breathing slow and measured, and yet his jerky movements show that either sleep doesn’t come easily, or he’s still so mad at what I said he can’t find it in him to relax properly.

My hand inches forward, yet I pull it back, indecisive. I feel so bad for him that I just want to wrap myself around the back of him and kiss his shoulder, tell him I’m sorry, that I’ve missed spending time with him too. But what kind of hot and cold mixed signal would that be?

I told him he’s not right for me, that I’m not interested. Truth is I’m more than interested; I just need him to want it as bad, to drop all his pretenses and give me everything, ugly or not. Which is why I said to give it time—advice I need to take myself.

Hell, I’m fresh out of the woods after seeing nobody but my own reflection. Chances are this feeling will pass, that I’m simply so damn starved for attention that anybody would do.

I kind of hope it doesn’t though.

Dog finally slips into a deep sleep as I lay there, hand under my pillow to stop me from reaching out, and watch the rise and fall of his side with each breath he takes. The bed smells of him, warm and musky, which only serves to drive my obsession deeper.

All my thoughts return over and over to how his lips felt against my ear, and how that would feel on my own. Anger develops as I picture all the women he’s had, the look in his eye as he promises them a night of sweet nothings, and how it must burn to have him flip it all around the next day.

It’s that pain, the ache of loss that drives me in my resolve to let this play out naturally.

I can’t deal with both kinds of heartache at once. Dealing with Dana and Daddy’s death is enough for one girl to handle as it is.

One hurdle at a time.

I need to square away how returning home feels before I let anything else take up valuable emotional space. I’ve got to process things in the order they arrived, and unfortunately for Dog, he came last.

I just hope it doesn’t mean we both lose.

***

My leg jerks, something heavy pressed against the sole of my foot. I open my eyes with a groan, horrified to find my mouth has been ajar while I slept and the pillow is damn near stuck to my lip.

“Rise and shine, princess.”

“Don’t call me that,” I complain, although I’d have to give the guy a medal if he understood the garble.

I roll to my back, remembering at the last second that all I have on is a pair of panties and yank the blanket over my chest.

Dog chuckles, turning away from the bed as I crane my neck and look over at him. He steps up to his set of drawers, pulling out a clean black T-shirt while I bite my lip and let my head drop back to the pillow.

He’s doing it on purpose—I’m fucking sure of it.

The asshole wears nothing but a fawn colored towel that no doubt is barely adequate enough to dry him considering how it hardly stretches around his hips. Water droplets hang in the valley of his back, that sweet spot between the ridges of his muscles. He’s one of a very few with untouched skin around here, and the novelty isn’t lost on me. I appreciate ink, love how it looks on a man, but damn, I can see every highlight and shadow on Dog’s physique that perfectly defines the effort he puts into looking good.

In a way, he deserves to be screwed seven ways to Sunday, week in and week out, as a reward for that level of dedication.

“What’s for breakfast?” I ask as I roll to my side and fish around on the floor for the sweatshirt.

It’s not there. Damn.

“Think Sonya’s got eggs cookin’.” He tugs his T-shirt on and then tosses something at me. “She washed and dried this for you yesterday, though.” My bra, cut-offs, and tank hit the bed. “Your own sweater is still in the pile to be done.”

“Thanks.” I snatch up the bra and wrestle it on under the blanket.

He holds my eye as he reaches across his body with one hand and unhooks where the towel is tucked in on itself. The cotton drops, and I swallow hard, making a huge show of looking all around the wall to my left before daring to drag my gaze to the bed so I can locate my tank.

He chuckles to himself and fishes out a pair of boxer briefs in my periphery. I give in and eyeball his ass as he tugs them up his legs.

“I know what you’re doing,” I say, pulling my panties down my legs. No way I’m wearing them two days in a row.

“What would that be, Mel?” The clamor of his buckle as he yanks his jeans up makes me pause in my answer.

“Teasing. Playing unfair because I hurt your feelings last night.”

He grimaces, appearing to think the concept over as I wrestle my cut-offs on, commando.

“See,” Dog says with a twist of his lips, “you’re not quite right there.”

“Why?”

“Because to hurt my feeling’s darlin’,” he drawls, “I’d actually have to care.”

Burn.

“No love lost between friends, right?” He throws me a wink as he latches up his belt buckle, and then turns abruptly to put his cut on.

“Today’s going to be a bucket-load of fun, ain’t it,” I muse out loud as I throw the covers back and head for the mirror propped on his bureau.

He smirks, watching me with folded arms as I finger-comb my hair and retie it. Those deep amber-flecked pools never leave me as I turn for the door. I hold his gaze as I walk by, even further confused by the heat I find in their depths.

If he doesn’t care, then why the hell does he still look like he wants to devour me?

Because you’re a challenge, Mel. That’s all. And Dog? He’s never turned one down yet.