I frown. “So you want my heart?”
She shrugs and shoves her hands into the pockets of her shorts. Even in the dim light of a lamppost, I can see a faint blush coloring her cheeks. “Just a room would do for now.”
Yeah, of course what she needs is a room. But I can’t let her move in with me, even if the idea of her moving out of town makes me want to do something real stupid and ask her to stay. I can’t. She can’t.
It was different with Erin. I never reacted to her like I do with Dakota. My body was never interested, and Erin was in love with Tyler since ever. We were like siblings. Still are.
If Dakota were my sibling, I’d be in hell for incest already.
Wait, I’m already in hell. What am I missing?
“I get it. You don’t want me as a roommate.” She kicks at a pebble, and I wonder if this is a deal breaker, but she gives me a faint smile. “Have you found someone already?”
I shake my head.
“Never mind. It’s just…”
“Just what?” I’m really curious to hear what’s on her mind.
“Just want to take care of you,” she whispers.
I don’t know what to say to that. I could say I’m okay, but that’d be a lie, and I do want her close, there’s no denying that. I need her.
And yet I can’t have her.
“Hey, stop worrying about things. Everything will be okay.” She gives me a bright smile, and I try to smile back. “I’ll just go say hi to Marisa.” She points at a leggy blonde in a bikini who’s standing by the pool. “Be right back.”
I shrug, still lost in thought, and pull the cigarettes from my pocket. I toy with the pack as I watch her go. I’ve already let down my defenses with her. I’ve held her, kissed her, fucked her face-to-face. Had a damn breakdown in front of her.
And that’s not all. I miss her when she’s not around. I picture her face as I work, as I walk, for chrissakes, as I jerk off in the shower. When I hear a woman laugh, I strain to hear in case it’s her. If she moves in with me…
Move in with me. Fucking hilarious. If I scare her now, imagine what will happen if she lives with me under the same roof.
I light a cigarette and take a long drag, then look for a bar or cooler. I need a drink. Spotting a wet bar at the end of the pool, I head that way, passing by Dakota. She smiles at me, and some of the tension leaves me.
‘Everything will be okay.’ Her words echo in my head, and I wish I could believe them. Her voice follows me as I approach the bar. It draws me like an invisible string, so that I turn to look at her.
That’s how I see the moment she’s jostled backward by two guys clearly drunk off their asses. Her scream jolts me into action. The lit cigarette drops from my hand as I sprint toward her, shoving people aside, calling her name.
They’re swinging her between them, laughing, and she’s flailing and screaming again. Fucking assholes. I make a grab for them, and they falter, turning to look at me.
“Let her go. Let her the fuck down!” I’m grappling with one of them, and he drops her, turning, his fist flying.
It catches me in the jaw, and I stumble. The other guy is still trying to throw Dakota into the pool, and a few other idiots are cheering him on. Her face is white with fear. Can’t they see how terrified she is?
The guy tries to swing her over the edge, but I manage to grip his arm and pull him backward. He curses and digs his heels in, but I’m not letting go. My jaw hurts, my heart is racing, and I’m really pissed.
“I said let her go, bitch.” I shake him, and he finally drops Dakota to take a swing at me.
“You’re kidding me.” Have I mentioned how pissed I am? I punch him in the stomach, and he doubles over, gagging. Which serves him right. I hope he chokes on his own vomit.
Hands are pulling me back, because apparently, someone finally figured out not everyone was happy with the whole joke.
I push them off me, looking for Dakota. She’s walking backward, away from the pool, clutching at her arms.
Fuck.
Throwing the last person off me, I march straight to her and cup her face. “You okay?”
She nods and bites her lip, and goddammit, of course she’s not okay. Her face is ashen, her eyes all white with fear. She’s panting, short, sharp gasps.
I pull her hands to me, drag them up and loop them around my neck. “I’m gonna take you home, okay?”
She nods again, looking dazed. It makes me want to turn around, grab the two asshats who did this to her and smash their faces in.
Christ. “Hold on.” I bend my knees, slide an arm under her knees and lift her up. I hold her close to me, loving the way her head drops on my shoulder.
She looks up at me, her gaze clearing. “Zane?” Her hands tighten around my neck.
“S’okay. Let me take you home.”
Home.
It’s not until I’ve tucked Dakota into my truck and belted her in, not until I’m driving off toward downtown, when I realize I’m not taking her to Tessa’s apartment.
I’m taking her to my place.
Just for tonight, I think. I steal a glance at her. She’s twisted around, tucking her feet under her, and she’s still clutching at her arms, as if she’s cold.
Fuckers.
“Why are you so afraid of falling?” I find myself asking. “So afraid of the water?”
I want to know, and I dread knowing. If my own fear, and its cause is anything to go by, I won’t like what I’ll hear.
But she says nothing for a while, and I focus on reaching my place and parking the truck. I go around to open her door, and she climbs down. I want to carry her upstairs. Loved the way she clung to me before.
She looks up at me and shivers, and the hell with it, she doesn’t seem opposed to being carried. I lift her again, her slight weight sweet in my arms, and go up.
“Not afraid I’ll drop you?” I mutter as we reach the apartment door and have to put her down for a moment to unlock and open.
“You won’t drop me.”
She sounds so certain when she says it, and I just gather her up in my arms again and walk inside.
I wish I was as sure of it myself.
I walk blindly into my room and lower her on the mattress. At least the sheets are clean, I think. I changed them yesterday. The room is a mess, but in the dimness you can hardly see it.
Turning on the lamp on the bedside table, I sit down next to her and work on her boots, unlacing them and pulling them off. She wiggles her toes, and through the stretch fabric of her black tights, I can see that her toenails are painted black.
I run my hand up her leg, from her ankle to her knee. I want to unwrap her like a Christmas present.
“About the pool and the water,” she says, and I freeze, my hand resting on her thigh.
“You don’t have to tell me.” Because if she does, then maybe I’ll have to tell her about me, too, tell her more than I already have.