I can practically see Skye’s blood boiling. Why the rest of the family can’t understand they’re about to set her off, I’ll never know. I can always see it from a mile away.
She slams the slider closed behind her and disappears into the house. Storm moves to get up and go after her.
“No, don’t, I’ll go.” I don’t know what possesses me to volunteer, apparently my lack of sanity is directly tied to how little clothing Skye is wearing.
When she bent over to dry off after climbing out of the pool, I couldn’t even choke back my groan of appreciation. She’s so fucking beautiful and such a pain in my ass. I didn’t know it was possible to want to fuck someone so much and yet still want to strangle the life out of them. God knows, I want to do both to Skye most of the time.
The silence of the house is odd. It’s usually so busy and loud, but I can hear my own breath and it’s a little unsettling. I search for her, making my way through the familiar rooms and halls. I finally find the locked bathroom door down the back hallway.
Here goes nothing…
I knock. No response. I knock again. “Skye, it’s me, open up.”
Something slams. “Fuck, why can’t you people just leave me alone?”
I ask myself the same question every damn fucking day.
Her nasty comment may have dissuaded the rest of the family, but not me. I’ve never been afraid of Skye or her attitude. Maybe that’s a huge mistake on my part.
“Knock it off and open up, Skye.”
A resigned growl slips from under the door and the lock clicks. I push it open and enter just as she sits on top of the toilet. She pulls her knees up to her chest. Anger radiates off her in waves.
I pull myself up onto the counter next to her and wait for her to say something.
She doesn’t speak, or even acknowledge my presence.
Well, this is going to be fun. I might as well just dive right in.
“So, what’s your problem?”
“I don’t have a problem.” Her reply is cool, and she keeps her eyes locked on the tile floor.
Her dark hair is still damp from the pool and a strand clings to the side of her face. I have to consciously force myself not to reach out and brush it off.
Concentrate on why you’re sitting in a fucking bathroom.
“You’re going to kill your mother going off on her like that. You should ease up a bit.”
Her hard eyes snap up to meet mine with an icy glare. “Mind your own fucking business, Gabe.”
I refuse to look away despite the fact that my eyes naturally want to slip down to her exposed cleavage. The towel she has wrapped around her doesn’t conceal much of anything. “It is my business, Skye. I love your mother, and sometimes the way you act around her is just…well, childish. It upsets her, and I don’t like seeing her upset.”
Her eyes narrow on me and a sneer overtakes her perfect lips—lips that have been on mine, lips that taste like fucking vanilla and everything I shouldn’t have.
“Maybe she was upset because she saw that damn hickey on your neck. Maybe she’s sick of you being a total manwhore, and just doesn’t have it in her to tell you how much she hates the way you go through women, the way normal people go through underwear.”
Well…Shit.
She saw it.
It terrifies me how much I hate that she’s viewed the evidence of last night’s fuckfest. The feeling in the pit of my stomach is new to me—it burns and twists and stabs at me from the inside. I think it might be guilt, and that’s something I certainly have no reason to be feeling in this particular situation. There are a lot of things I’ve done in my life I should and do feel guilty about, but sleeping with that completely willing woman is not one of them. And I certainly shouldn’t feel guilty about Skye being upset by it. I’m nothing to her. Not really.
Before I can even contemplate a response to her outburst, she jumps up from the toilet and stomps out of the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her, and effectively, in my face.
That went well.
I slide off the counter and turn on the tap, waiting for a minute until the water gets ice cold before splashing it on my face. The freezing spray cools and feels incredible on my heated skin.
Getting called out like that by Skye, my best friend’s little sister, would be bad enough under normal circumstances, but knowing it’s making me actually feel guilty is a whole new fucking ballgame.
Talk about fucked.
I dry my face with my sleeve and pull my collar down, exposing the offending mark.
Jesus, what adult gives someone a hickey like this?
Quick flashes of stumbling into my condo with blondie last night come back to me, and I cringe. I actually fucking cringe remembering a hot night of sex.
Fuck.
The door to the bathroom opens, and Storm stares at me with a slight smirk on her face. “Given the way Skye flew out of here, I imagine it didn’t go well.”
I drop my collar back into place, praying Storm didn’t see the evidence of last night. The last thing I need is judgment from her too. “Yeah, not exactly.”
She leans against the jamb. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Where is she, back outside?” Storm pushes away from the door, and I follow her down the hallway toward the back patio.
“No, she’s gone. She was supposed to catch a ride home with us since we picked her up, but some guy pulled up out front in a brown Jeep, and she left with him. Of course, she didn’t bother to say goodbye to anyone. I only know this because I saw her leave when I heard a car door slam and looked out the front window.”
Some guy?
My stomach roils at the thought of who that “some guy” might be and what they might be on their way to do. I wish I could say it was some altruistic, brotherly, protective feeling, but I’d be lying. I’m jealous, and fuck if that doesn’t make me want to break something.
Storm heads outside, but I stop in the kitchen to grab another much-needed beer from the fridge. I gulp it down in three swallows, praying the cold brew will help calm my heated temper. This isn’t right. I can’t be jealous of Skye’s boyfriend, or whoever he is, because she’s nothing to me—nothing more than my best friend’s little sister.
Placing my hands on the counter, I drop my head down and close my eyes, trying to picture her as that little girl with dark pigtails instead of the voluptuous woman she is today.
Total. Miserable. Failure.
All I can see is the pain in her eyes when she kissed me and the way her lips glistened and called out for me to take them with mine. I don’t know what would have happened if I hadn’t stopped that kiss—probably something we would have both regretted in the morning and every single day after that.
So why the hell can’t I forget it, and her?
“You okay?”
I glance over at Lucas and offer a half-hearted smile. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just family stuff, ya know?”
He grins before returning his eyes to the road. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Fuck no.
Lucas is funny, sweet, and pretty damn good in bed, but the last thing I want is to go down the “feelings” road with him. It’s the one thing that has made this work for the last couple months—he never pushes me to talk. I tell him what I need, and he gives it to me without getting bogged down in the whys.
He’s certainly not what I anticipated when he invited himself to sit at my table in the hospital cafeteria. I was ready to tell him to buzz off when he introduced himself, but instead, I found myself laughing within minutes and easily falling into conversation with him. Despite the fact he worked in human resources, he wasn’t a total nerd, and his background as an EMT before he went into HR, and mine as a nurse practitioner, gave us a lot to talk about. It helped me avoid discussing anything too personal.
He doesn’t know about Star. He doesn’t know what agony it’s been without her the last four years. He doesn’t know that I go to her grave once a week to talk to her like a fucking crazy person. He doesn’t know I should have been there—in that car with Savage and Star. He doesn’t know how that guilt eats away at me every fucking hour of every damned day, and I don’t plan on telling him. Lucas is easy, and I want it to stay that way.
“Well, I’m glad you called. I didn’t think I’d see you today.” His hand slides across the center console and finds my thigh. He rubs it gently, and it reminds me of how good he is at releasing my tension.
“Me too.”
Thank God he was in the area and able to pick me up from Mom’s. A good fuck should help me forget about the family drama, and Gabe, and that goddamn hickey. My hands curl into fists just thinking about it.
What adult walks around with a fucking hickey on their neck?
We pull up and park on the street in front of my apartment building.
Lucas turns to me. “Are you working tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, I’m seven to seven tomorrow.”
He grins and turns off the ignition. “Excellent. I go in at seven thirty.” His door opens, and he climbs out then pops the back door and grabs a bag. I watch him over my shoulder, unease overtaking the anticipation of awesome sex tonight.
Before I can open my door, he comes to my side and does it for me, holding it like a true gentleman.
What exactly is going on here?
First, he’s asking me if I want to talk about my family drama, and now, he has an overnight bag and is opening doors for me?
It’s not like we haven’t spent the night together before, but those were usually sloppy drunk nights when we came back and fucked and passed out. This is different. This is something he apparently thought out and planned for.
His hand settles on the small of my back, and he guides me up the walkway to the outer door. “We can ride to work together tomorrow.”
I stiffen at his words, freezing with my keys midway to the lock. He leans forward and searches my face. “Is that a problem?”
Hell yes, it’s a problem.
We aren’t exactly public about our relationship at work, and there’s a good reason for that. Even though I work in one of the private family practice groups affiliated with the hospital, and am technically not a hospital employee, the last thing I want or need is all the gossipy nurses discussing my love life and questioning me incessantly about it every time I go in.
If I say it’s a problem, I have a feeling it will start a fight I’m not ready for and will also mean I’m not getting laid tonight. I don’t want or need either of those things to happen.
“No, Lucas, it’s fine. I’ll just catch a ride home when I’m done.” He almost always leaves before five—one of the perks of an office job instead of direct patient contact. I play off my momentary concern for being worried about getting back here after my shift. He grins and seems to buy my quick lie.
The moment I close my apartment door behind me, Lucas tosses his bag onto the couch and pulls me against him. His lips find mine, and the heady rush of anticipation for sex momentarily makes me forget the drama of the day.
He’s pretty good at that and, on a day like today, I can really appreciate it. With a nudge, he urges me to walk backward toward my bedroom.
Guess we aren’t wasting any time. Thank God.
Time means talking; talking means thinking; thinking means examining the weirdness that’s going on with him today, and I just don’t have the fucking time or energy for that.
We fall on the bed. He sits back long enough to pull his shirt up over his head, exposing his great body—tanned skin, hard, cut muscles—and I let myself drink it in. I grin at him, and he smirks.
“What?”
“Nothing, just enjoying the view.”
He drops back down to me and slides a hand over my bare stomach. “I think I like you in nothing but a bathing suit and a towel.”
“I’m sure you do.”
“Makes for easy access.” His fingers slip under my bikini top and find my right nipple.
I groan, and he catches the sound in his mouth. He twists my sensitive flesh, and I drop my head back with a gasp.
Yes!
Forget about Gabe, Skye. Enjoy yourself.