I knew that.

I also knew that Deek Fausten coming to a charity event, one that I didn’t even know about, and seeing his daughter there wouldn’t have anything to do with that contract.

But because I was still feeling it, fuuuuck him.

28

Cheyenne

Cut was coming over, and I was trying not to freak out about it.

But I was. Because I could. And I was happy, and my mind was racing, my pulse was racing, and my sweat glands were racing. I almost wished I had some wine here, but then the buzzer sounded, and a weird, calming sensation came over me.

Cut was here.

I hit the button, unlocked the door, and I was still standing there when it swung open.

He stood in the doorway, fresh from practice, and he not only had flowers in one hand, but he had dinner in the other hand. He raised up the bags. “Z-man sandwiches.”

My mouth was watering. “Yes, please.”

He moved in, putting the bags on the table, and I went around, grabbing for the other one. “Did you get—”

“I did.”

The seasoned fries were in there.

Wait.

I grabbed him, standing up, and I pressed a kiss to his mouth. “Thank you, and hi, how are you?”

He laughed, but his hand snaked around the back of my head and he held me still. “Wait.”

“Hmm?”

He pulled back, still holding me. “Are we to the kissing part yet? I mean, I think we’re moving fa—”

“Shut up.” I was laughing, but then I pulled him back down.

His mouth fit over mine, and I could’ve sighed from contentment.

Lust and pleasure, and warmth, and my toes were curling, and I was sagging in his arms. Or I felt like sagging, because my knees were getting weak and that’s such a cliché response, but it was true. Heart palpitations. Well, I already had my heart racing from before, but it was more now. It was for a whole different reason, and I couldn’t remember why I tried walking away from him…

Except I could, and a voice started to whisper in my head—I hushed her. She needed to shut up.

Then Cut’s mouth was opening over mine, his tongue moving inside, and all thoughts were silenced.

This was like the first night.

He was claiming me.

I could taste him, and I wanted him to taste me, and then I was climbing up his body. His hands went around my ass, he was palming me, and he lifted his head. “Are you—”

“Yes.” No more talking.

I squeezed my legs, starting to move against him, and he cursed into my mouth. “Fuck.”

“Yes.”

“Babe.”

He turned me, sitting me on the table. The food was shoved to the side.

I wound my legs around him, burning up from the inside out.

I made my decision at Bresko’s, before Bresko’s even. I was in. I had to be in. I had to try.

I had to let him choose, and he chose me, and he was moving down my throat, his hands moving down to my hips.

An inferno was lit inside of me.

Forget my brain.

Forget my fear.

Forget everything.

Just forget.

I wanted to forget.

I slid my fingers through his hair, grabbing ahold—BUZZ!

He stiffened.

“No,” I groaned.

BUZZ!

BUZZ!

BUZZZZZ!

His head lifted, and those eyes…those adorable eyes were filled with lust, and my heart jumped in my chest, because that’d been for me. I reached down, my thumb grazing his lip.

Simple things like that.

I could do that.

I could touch him like that.

That took my breath away.

BUZZZZZ!

“Jesus Christ.” He tore from me, stalking to the door.

I flicked my eyes upward.

Then he was hitting the button. “Who is it?”

A crackle, and then, “Melanie.”

I tensed because that wasn’t happy and fun-fucking-and-shitting Melanie. Her voice was trembling.

Cut looked back at me.

We sighed at the same time.

I started to slide from the table as he hit the button to let her in.

He raked a hand through his hair. “You okay?”

I nodded, dumbstruck from all the sensations still flooding me. My throat was full, for some reason, and a second later, we both heard Melanie hurrying down the hallway.

“I’m going to make myself sparse for a bit.”

He was going down the hallway, and he stepped inside the bedroom just as my door swung open.

Melanie burst into the room, and I could smell the booze in her backdraft. “You’re fucked. I’m fucked. We’re all fucked.”

I opened my mouth… and nothing. I had nothing.

I closed it and waited.

Melanie went to my fridge, opened it, and stared for thirty full seconds. “You have no booze.”

She rotated, her head turning to stare at me. Her fingers were curled over the top of the fridge door. “Why don’t you have any booze?”

“I went back on my meds, remember?”

“Right.” She closed the door and went to my sugar container. Lifting the lid, she pulled out a container of tequila.

My mouth dropped. “You had that there this whole time?”

She snorted, going back to the fridge and pulling out a container of orange juice. “You don’t eat sugar. It’s my own personal stash.”

I watched, feeling like I should be dumbfounded, but not being dumbfounded at all. I was more impressed, as she poured a hefty amount of tequila into a glass. The OJ was next, and she swished it before popping some ice in the glass. Once done, she turned, hitched her hip to the counter and gave me a head tilt.

“I was just dumped, and your dad’s a dickhead.”

The dumping part got my attention first. “Wait. What? You were dumped? What happened?”

“Cassie and I were having dinner tonight when she brought up your dad.”

“My dad?”

I was not following this conversation, at all.

She snorted, cursing at the same time. “Your fucking dad, whom I want to drop a shit on because he’s a major fucking asshole. You remember mentioning that Dean proposed a charity gala at Come Our Way?”

Vaguely, because I felt bad nixing it so quick.

That was days ago.

Wait— “He didn’t?!”

“He did.” The drink was swirled around once, and she took a long drag. “And I know this because Cassie asked me about Deek Fausten. Ask me how Cassie knew about your dad. Do it. Ask me.”

I didn’t want to. So, I didn’t.

Melanie didn’t need the extra prompting. Her eyes were almost feral by now, and she was showing me her teeth. “That fucker had the balls to call the Mustangs. Cassie informed me that she’d been asked why Deek Fausten, who apparently has some connections to the Mustangs’ owners, why he’d think going to a charity event for Come Our Way would be a conflict of interest and why that had anything to do with Cut?”

I—was staggered.

It took a beat, and my brain never needed to take a beat, but it did this time.

Deek. My dad.

Mustangs.

Come Our Way.

Conflict of interest.

Oh, no.

No, no, no.

No.