I twist my key in the front door and push it open to a dark and quiet house. Hatch’s bike wasn’t in the driveway, thank goodness. Not that I’m afraid of him. What happened last night was a simple case of putting my face in the wrong place at the worst time.
Heading straight for a hot shower, I pass Trix’s room. The door is open and she’s up.
I lean into the doorway. “Hey. Why are you up so early?”
She turns from the pile of laundry she’s folding and her eyes go wide on my face. “That motherfucker! He did that to you?”
My fingers lift to the scab and swelling on my cheek. “Yes and no. I kinda did it to myself.”
Moving toward me, she squints to study the damage. “Damn. Does it hurt?”
“Not so much now. Just sore.” Like my stupid heart. Ugh.
“He told me what happened. I got out of the shower and found him in the kitchen all beat to shit with a box of your popsicles pressed to his face. He said you jumped between him and Rex and took a punch.” Her squint gets tighter. “Why would you do that?”
To protect Rex. “I was trying to break it up.”
“Hatch has mad respect for you now.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s an idiot.”
She moves back to her pile of laundry, and I follow her in. Exhaustion weighs heavy and I flop down on her bed. “Why are you up?”
“My schedule at Zeus’s is all over the place. I slept all day yesterday. Couldn’t sleep worth shit last night.” She folds socks together. “I figure I’m up, so I might as well do laundry.”
I yawn and pull a pillow under my head.
“So you and Rex, huh?” A sly grin pulls at her lips.
“No.”
“But you banged him last night, right?”
“Ew, Trix. No I didn’t bang him last night.”
“Blow job?”
“No!”
“Handjob?”
“What? No!”
“Really?”
“Yes. Really. He was worried I had a concussion and didn’t want me to be alone. He was a perfect gentleman, even slept on the couch.”
She tosses two handfuls of skimpy panties and lace bras into her drawer. “Well, damn. I was hoping to get the deets on that fine man. He’s never hooked up with any of the girls from the club.” Spinning on her feet, the sly smile is back. “I saw his band play at Cochella. He took his shirt off, so I know his nipples are pierced, but I want to know if he’s pierced”—she bounces her eyebrows—“everywhere.”
Everywhere? Like . . . down there? No, he’d never do that. Would he? The thought has my body suddenly heated.
“Thing is, the guy never hangs out at Zeus’s like the rest of his band and a few of the UFL dudes.” She hangs a skin-tight mini-dress that looks as if it’s made of rubber. “Too bad really. He’s hot as hell.”
“Keep your claws to yourself, Trix. Rex isn’t like those other guys.” I learned that the hard way tonight. How many guys would turn down a kiss from a woman? Especially a kiss that might lead somewhere else? Would I have allowed that kiss to go further? The fluttering excitement in my stomach confirms my head’s resounding hell yes.
How did I go from loving Rex as a brother to wanting him in this way? If I’m honest with myself, I’d have to acknowledge this has been building over the last few months. I’ve been steering women away from him at The Blackout, telling them that he’s got a girlfriend when they ask. I did it under the guise that I was protecting him from being taken advantage of, from being turned into nothing more than a piece of meat that would satisfy the carnivorous cravings of the female Las Vegas drones.
A woman would have to be dead not to fall in love with Rex. He’s gorgeous, polite, and tender in a way that isn’t found in most men. His skin might be covered in tattoos, but even those can’t hide his beauty. And he’s . . . pretty. He always has been, and no amount of ink or metal can cover that up.
That’s why they paid for him.
The words hit my consciousness like a wrecking ball, shattering progress and bringing me back to my purpose: to make things right between Rex and me—make good on my promise to help him, even if I’m fourteen years too late.
“I need a shower. I’ll catch you later,” I say and leave the room before she can see the tears building in my eyes.
“Later.” Trix waves me off and digs her hands back into her laundry basket.
How could I be so fucking selfish? This isn’t about my feelings. This is about Rex. After the talk we had about our nightmares, his mixed messages about forgetting the bad but remembering the dreams, I think he’s worse off than he seems. On the outside, he looks like a successful athlete and musician, but is it possible that’s all a cover up for what’s going on inside?
He needs me, just as he did back then. But rather than pull him from the circumstances of his present, he needs answers to the past. Answers that I can give him.