Page 26 of Riding Dirty

And fuck me, because I goddamn love it when she says my name. Yup. She’s going to be my fucking ruin, or maybe I’m going to be hers. I’m not sure how this is going to play out, at least not yet.

Then she continues speaking before I can respond to her saying my name. I want her to scream my name, or maybe whisper it in my ear on a moan, I’m not sure which. But I don’t want her to simply say it. I need to be inside her the next time she does.

“I should want to get the hell out of here as fast as humanly possible,” she says.

I hold my breath before letting it out slowly as she continues. “But I don’t. I never want to leave, and I have a feeling that’s going to be a big problem. I didn’t know that fear and desire could feel the same, but they do.”

She’s right. It is a big problem. But I have the same fucking sentiments. I want her to stay right here, in this room, and more specifically, in my bed. It’s a big problem because I know without a doubt this won’t end well.

And she’s right to fear me, though I know I’m wrong to desire her. Because once I decide to keep her, there is no walking away.

Moving toward her, I lift my hand to cup her cheek, sliding my thumb across her bottom lip, just like she did to me this morning, as my gaze searches hers. I need to be closer to her. I need to feel her.

Leaning down, I touch my lips to hers, and I say something I don’t think I should. The fact of the matter is that I don’t think.

“I don’t want you to leave. But you should.”

“Should I?” she asks in a whispered breath.

I hum, releasing her cheek and taking a step backward. “Come on, let’s get you some coffee and go over last night, so you can head home with Alex.”

She nods once. I watch her, and I can tell there’s a sadness to her eyes. I don’t ask her about that, though. I need to get my fucking shit together. I’m almost fifty years old, and I’m pining after this girl.

I’m talking about wanting to keep her here.

I’m talking a bunch of fucking nonsense, but I can’t stop.

“Coffee,” she says.

“Coffee,” I confirm.

“And then what?” she asks.

I can tell she’s searching my gaze, looking for some kind of answer. I don’t give it to her. Instead, I take another step backward, turning away from her, and walk out of the room. I can’t continue the conversation. If I attempt to, I’m going to look like a fucking pussy.

CHAPTER

TWENTY

ELODIE

I have no right to be pissed. I don’t even have the right to be mildly annoyed. Wrath, Coast, whatever the hell he wants to be called, never promised me anything. He was very clear about what he wanted and the way he wanted it.

He wanted me, but only my body. And I wanted him to make my body sing. He did just that, but in the daylight hours, my brain and heart cannot get on the same page, because I want him to fall in love with me, or at least to want more than some fun between the sheets.

And here I am, like a fool, falling in love with him. No, not like a fool—like the idiot I am. Okay, maybe I’m not stupid-stupid, but I am naive, inexperienced, and I can’t turn off my feelings. They’re there, and they are needy.

Now I’m offended that he didn’t respond to me—that he didn’t answer my question, “And then what?”

Dumb. So damn dumb of me. There’s a reason I don’t date a bunch, and there is a damn good reason I’ve stayed away from bad boys, and yet, here I am with the worst of them all, feeling all the things I know I shouldn’t.

I’ve finished the perfect donut and have his sweats on, something I wish I didn’t have to wear because they feel so comfortable and smell like him. I’m going to keep these forever; I’ve already decided, and this is so damn dangerous to my heart.

Gathering my clothes in my arms, I begin to shuffle out of the room, my shoes in hand. I’m an idiot. I fell in love with this guy when I knew I shouldn’t do any of that, and here I am, falling. Hard and fast. Maybe I already fell.

I make my way toward the bar, and when I walk into the room, my gaze instantly finds Alex. I wait for his eyes to widen and for the judgmental expression to cross his face. He’s going to judge me. I know it. I continue to watch, bracing for it as he lifts his head. His eyes slowly slide up my body before they connect to my own, and there it is. He knows exactly what I’ve done.

He stands from his chair, his knees straightening, and then marches directly toward me with purpose. My teeth sink into the inside of my cheek, biting down until the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth.