“That’s because they’ve seen the worst.”
“People see what they want to see,” I countered. “Are there awful people in the world? Yes. Do awful things happen? Yes. But wonderful people exist and wonderful things happen too, and if you focus too much on the negative, you miss all the positive.”
Utter silence, made all the more awkward by the fact that I was still straddling Alex’s leg.
I was sure he would yell at me, but to my shock, Alex’s face relaxed into a hint of a smile. His fingers grazed the small of my back, and I almost jumped out of my skin.
“Those rose-tinted glasses look good on you, Sunshine.”
Sunshine? I was sure he meant that mockingly, but the butterflies in my stomach stirred to life anyway, fanning away my anger. Traitors.
“Thanks. You can borrow them. You need them more than I do,” I said pointedly.
A low chuckle slipped from his throat, and I almost fell to the floor in shock. Tonight was turning out to be a night of firsts.
Alex’s hand trailed up my spine until it rested on the back of my neck, leaving a cascade of tingles in their wake. “I feel it dripping all over me.”
He did not—what? An inferno consumed my body.
“You’re—you—no, I’m not!” I sputtered, pushing him away and scrambling off him. My core pulsed. Oh my God, what if I was? I couldn’t look, afraid I’d see a telltale wet spot on his jeans.
I’d have to move to Antarctica. Build myself an ice cave and learn to speak penguin because I could never show my face in Hazelburg, D.C., or any city where I could run into Alex Volkov again.
His chuckle blossomed into a full-blown laugh. The effect of his real smile was so devastating, even amid my mortification, that all I could do was stare at the way his face lit up and the sparkle that transformed his eyes from beautiful to downright breathtaking.
Holy crap. Perhaps I should be grateful he never smiled, because if that was what he looked like while doing it…womankind didn’t stand a chance.
“I’m talking about your bleeding heart,” he drawled. “What did you think I was talking about?”
“I—you—” Forget Antarctica. I had to move to Mars.
Alex’s laughter subsided, but the twinkle in his eyes remained. “What’s the next movie?”
“Excuse me?”
He angled his chin toward the DVD on the table. “You brought two movies. What’s the second one?”
The sudden subject change gave me whiplash, but I wasn’t complaining. I didn’t want to speak about my dripping anything with Alex. Ever.
My thighs clenched, and I gritted out, “Marley & Me.”
“Put it in.”
Put it—oh, the DVD.
I needed to get my mind out of the gutter.
While the opening credits played, I sat as far away from Alex as possible and “casually” placed two throw pillows between us for good measure. He didn’t say anything, but I saw his smirk out of the corner of my eye.
I was so focused on not looking at him I barely paid attention to the movie, but an hour later, when my eyes drooped and sleep beckoned, I was still thinking about his smile.
9
Alex
I silently cursed Josh as I carried Ava upstairs. That asshole always put me in situations I didn’t want to be in.
Case in point: sleeping in the same room as his sister.
I’m sure he would be even less happy about it than I was, but I hadn’t set up the guest room—I never had guests, not if I could help it—and it was pouring outside, so I couldn’t bring her home without both of us getting drenched. I could’ve left her on the couch, but she would’ve been damn uncomfortable.
I kicked open the door to my room and set her on the bed. She didn’t stir.
My eyes lingered on her form, noticing details I had no business noticing. Her dark hair fanned out beneath her like a blanket of black silk long enough for me to wrap my fist around, and her skirt rode up, baring an inch more thigh than modest. Her skin looked smoother than silk, and I had to clench my hands to refrain from touching her.
My mind flashed back to earlier in the night. Her skin had turned the prettiest shade of red when I made my “dripping” comment, and while I’d joked about her bleeding heart, a part of me—a very large part—had wanted to bend her over my knee, yank up her skirt, and find out just how wet she was. Because I’d seen the lust in those big, brown eyes—she’d been turned on. And if she hadn’t moved away when she did…
I tore my gaze away, my jaw clenching at the unwelcome thoughts crowding my brain.
I shouldn’t have been thinking about my best friend’s sister this way, but something had shifted. I wasn’t sure when or how, but I’d started seeing Ava less as Josh’s baby sister and more as a woman. A beautiful, pure-hearted but feisty woman who might be the death of me one of these days.
I never should’ve invited her in earlier. I should’ve gone on my date with Madeline like I’d planned, but truth be told, I couldn’t stand Madeline’s company outside the bedroom. She was gorgeous, rich, sophisticated, and understood she’d get nothing more than a physical relationship out of me, but she insisted on being wined and dined before each of our sex sessions. I only obliged because the woman fucked like a porn star.
A night in with Ava, as bad of an idea as it had turned out to be, had sounded far more appealing than another tiresome meal at a generic fancy restaurant where Madeline preened and pretended we were a couple in front of D.C.’s movers and shakers.
She didn’t expect any strings from our arrangement, but she liked status symbols, and I—as one of the richest, most eligible bachelors in the DMV area, according to Mode de Vie ’s latest Power Issue—was a status symbol.
I didn’t care. I used her; she used me. We got orgasms out of it. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, but my arrangement with Madeline had run its course. Her less-than-pleased reaction when I called to tell her I couldn’t make it tonight had cemented my decision.
Madeline had no claim over me, and if she thought a few dinners and blowjobs would change my mind, she was sorely mistaken.
I lifted Ava so I could tuck her beneath the covers. I’d expected her to sleep with a dreamy smile like the one she always wore when she was awake. Instead, her brows were drawn, her mouth tight, her breathing shallow.
I almost smoothed a hand over her brow before I caught myself.
Instead, I changed into a pair of black sweats, flicked off the light, and climbed into the other side of bed. A gentleman would sleep on the couch or the floor, but of all the insults people had thrown my way over the years, “gentleman” wasn’t one of them.
I laced my hands behind my head, trying to ignore the soft female presence beside me. Sleep wasn’t forthcoming, per usual, but instead of flipping to a specific day in my mental scrapbook, I let my mind wander as it pleased.
November 27, 2013.
“Trust me, dude, my dad will be thrilled he has someone to talk football with.” Josh hopped out of the car. “Me being an NBA instead of NFL guy is his biggest disappointment.”
I smirked, following him up the driveway toward his family’s imposing brick house in the Maryland suburbs. It wasn’t as large as my mansion on the outskirts of Philadelphia where I lived with my uncle, but it must’ve cost at least a million or two. Thick hedges lined the stone path leading up to the massive mahogany front door, and a fall-themed wreath of flowers accented with a silky bow hung over the brass door knocker.
“My sister’s doing, most likely,” Josh said, noticing my gaze. “My dad hates all that shit, but Ava loves it.”
I knew little about his sister other than that she was a few years younger than us, and she liked photography. Josh had bought her a secondhand DSLR camera from eBay for Christmas because she kept dropping “hints” about it whenever they spoke on the phone.