Page 86 of Handle Me

Bright light burst through my eyelids, and I bolted upright. A couple of things were readily apparent. I was home and in my own bed. I blinked, trying to adjust to the light. Grabbing a pillow, I tried to smother myself with it.

“Never again,” I announced into the pillow. It wasn’t the first time I’d said I would cut this shit out, but it was the most recent.

I wasn’t expecting anyone to answer me.

“Until tonight?”

I froze at the sound of that voice, still holding the pillow over my face. Had I actually smothered myself? Was I dead? Lifting the pillow, I peeked out from under it and found Lola Bishop staring back at me.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

LOLA

I’d gone mental.

There was no other explanation for why I was standing in Anders’ bedroom.

Except that I had been summoned once again to get him under control.

But that wasn’t the real reason I was here. I just wasn’t about to admit to anyone, even myself, that I was here because I fucking cared. Not when caring had left me with a broken heart for the last five weeks, two days, and two hours. But who was counting?

He sat up quickly, his broad chest and chiseled abs on full display. His T-shirt was wadded on the floor next to his bed, but thankfully, his jeans were still on—even if they were undone like an invitation. I turned my head away, hoping the flare of heat I felt didn’t make it onto my cheeks.

“Are you real?” he mumbled.

“No, I’m the ghost of Christmas past.” I rolled my eyes and dared to glance back at him. He looked like shit. Really hot shit. Like damn-him-for-still-looking-like-sex-on-a-stick shit. But shit, nonetheless. His hair was an artful mess, his chin deliciously stubbled, purple circles rimmed his eyes, and I could smell last night’s drinks from here. But the smirk, the body, the whole package was still fully intact.

I felt a deep pang in my chest. He was drowning. It was obvious. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe that had anything to do with me. He had left London after he’d made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with my kind of people. No, this has more to do with what was going on in his own head and on the track. Wilkes had told me as much when he’d called.

“I need a drink.” Anders threw his legs over the side of the bed. Apparently, he wasn’t remotely curious as to why I was here.

“Good to see you, too.” I circled around and blocked him from getting up to leave. Crossing my arms over my chest, I swept my eyes over him, careful to keep my concern tamped down. But that wasn’t easy.

He sighed and ran a hand through his mussed hair. “Why are you here, boss?”

My body went molten, clearly recalling exactly what the man behind that voice—that damn nickname—could do to me. But I wasn’t going to let him see that, especially since he clearly hadn’t spent the last month replaying the nights we’d spent together while sadly getting himself off. Nope, only I had been that pathetic. Going to work and closing deals, growing Bless like crazy, and then going home to mastur-cry into my pillow.

“I have a challenge for you,” I told him.

“Oh yeah?” His tongue licked over his lower lip, and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Not that kind of challenge, Your–”

“Don’t call me that,” he snarled, and I took an involuntary step back. He hung his head and fumbled an apology. “Sorry. Just don’t fucking remind me that I’m one of them.”

Them. It hit me in the chest like he’d thrown a knife at me.

“Got it.” There was no need to remind either of us of the life he hated so much. Instead, I reached into my pocket, pulled out a key fob, and tossed it to him.

“What’s this?” He turned it over in his hand, his thumb brushing over the McLaren logo.

“I finally bought a car.” I shrugged, determined to act like this was no big deal and not like I was having an internal panic attack. “Teach me how to drive.”

“You came here so I could teach you how to drive?” he asked slowly.

“I figured you were the best person for the job, and you offered, remember?”

“I did.” His eyebrows knit together, and I realized he was looking for a way out. “It’s just, um...”