I hop off the bed and race to the bathroom. As soon as I flick on the light my reflection jumps out at me. “Oh wow.”
My cheek is scabbed over and swollen. Blue and purple swirl together below my eye. And my hair. Ugh. I wet my hands in the sink and try to smooth out the frizz that’s pushing its way through the silken strands of my ponytail. Pulling the long ends over my shoulder, I comb my fingers through when I hear the front door shut.
“Crap.” Redoing my hair as fast as I can, I check my reflection. “Good as it’s gonna get.”
I head out of the bathroom and find Rex leaning against the wall just outside the door.
His tall frame takes up most of the space. Here in the light of the hallway, his blue eyes look glossier than they did before I went to bed. I watch in awe as they travel from my lips to my eyes and down to my cheek. They flare for a moment and then squint before they move to my hair and soften. He tilts his head and dangles a clear bottle filled with light amber liquid from his fingers. He flashes a small smile and lifts his eyebrow that’s home to two small barbells. Heat warms my belly.
“You game?” he says.
“Of course.”
Liquor works like a truth serum. I only hope we’re strong enough to handle what the truth brings to light. I turn toward the living room, but he heads in the opposite direction, back to the bedroom.
He climbs onto the bed, leaning his back against the headboard and crossing his ankles.
My feet are locked to the floor in the doorway, weighted by everything the intimate setting implies.
He turns toward me, but in the dim light I can’t make out his expression. “Change your mind?”
“You want to drink tequila in bed?”
“Is there any better place?” He throws back a healthy gulp and sucks air through his teeth when he’s done. “Come on.” He holds out the bottle. “That couch is for midgets. I just thought it’d be more comfortable in here.”
I’m still stuck in place, the thought of getting drunk in bed with Rex bringing too many images to mind that are as confusing as they are tempting.
I love Rex. I’ve always loved him. Those feelings combined with his rugged good looks, piercings, and tattoos do things to my body that I’m not totally comfortable with and yet are all-consuming.
“Don’t worry, Mac. I won’t touch you.” He chuckles low in his chest; the sound washes over me like warm oil. “Trust me.”
“Flattering. Thanks.” I move around the foot of the bed to slide in next to him. “Nice to know I’m safe from your advances.” I try to keep the sarcasm light, but it’s hard to hide the hurt in my voice. He doesn’t find me attractive. He probably likes the little blond girls, someone like Layla or the dozens of bleached blond groupies that hang off of him like a wet towel. Whatever.
He hands me the tequila. “Yep, you are definitely safe.”
I rip the bottle from his hand and press it to my lips. The liquid burns the whole way down and I force myself to swallow another mouthful.
“Damn, Mac, pace yourself.” He pries the bottle from my mouth. “You know how fun puking with a split cheek is? None at all.” He stabs his thumb into his chest, drawing my attention to how the cotton fabric is stretched taut over his pecs. “I should know. I’ve done it.”
“Ugh.” I hand him back the bottle. “I hate puking.”
“Me too. And if you toss, I’ll toss.” He caps the bottle and sets it in the space between us. “So let’s slow that shit down.” Arms folded behind his head, he slides down a few inches to rest against the pillows.
I flip to my side and face him, my head resting in my hand. “This Emma, your girlfriend—”
“Not my girlfriend.”
“Just your neighbor-friend?”
“Mm-hm.”
“You said she’s out of town. Do you ever go with her?”
He’s still gazing up at the ceiling, but his eyebrows are pinched together. “What? No. Why would I go with her?”
“Do you like her as . . . more than a friend?”
“Mac, are you asking me if I hook up with my neighbor?” He rolls his head to look at me. “No. I’d never do that to Emma.”
Why does the tender way he speaks about her make me want to break every piece of furniture in this place? “She’s pretty. So why not?”
He props himself up on his elbows to look at me, his dark eyebrows pinched. “How do you know what she looks like?”
Oh shit!
I drop to my back and stare up, avoiding his glare. “I thought I saw a picture of her in the living room.” That’s a lie, but I’m hoping like hell that the pictures in the living room have her in them.
“Oh.” He drops to his back too. Something about lying here next to him, the silence in the air between us, feels so natural.
“She’s a good girl. Good girls aren’t my type. What about you?”
“Yeah, good girls aren’t my type either.”
He laughs low again, sending waves of butterflies through my chest.
“You and Hatch ever date?”
“No. I told you he’s my roommate’s hookup.”