Page 101 of Danger
“Night, buddy.”
When we step back into the hall, Danger doesn’t speak. He just pulls me into his chest, slow and careful, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast I’ll disappear.
I rest my head against him.
He holds me, not possessive, not claiming.
Protective.
And I realize something terrifying: This isn’t pretend anymore.
Not to Fisher. Not to me. And judging by the way Danger’s holding back tears, not to him either.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
danger
If this is karma,it’s got a hell of a swing. But booze isn’t the reason my head’s wrecked this morning.
I am.
Last night, I broke the last rule I had.
The past six years I had two rules: No fucking. No feelings.
She managed to get me to do both.
She’s still here. Winnie’s bare leg is draped over my thigh like she’s known me all her life. Her foot flexes with every breath, toes pointed all pretty and perfect. I don’t want to shatter this moment. Not yet. Maybe in another life this could be something I can keep, have everyday, one where I had the balls to want what I can’t have, and I’d let myself keep her. But this one—this life—is already written. And it never ends well for people like me.
She stirs, hair a mess, sleep still clinging to her eyes. “You awake?”
“Technically,” I say. “You snore, you know that?”
She elbows me. “Liar. I’ve been told I’m a delight to sleep next to.”
“Who told you that?”
She shrugs, a smile tugging at her mouth. “Oh, you know. It’s just been mentioned a few times. I’ve had really great reviews.”
“Funny,” I say. “I was about to file a complaint.”
She snickers, and I look at her—really look—and instantly regret it. Last night flickers through my mind. Her hands in my hair, the taste of her skin, the sexy sounds she made right before she lost control. I want to tell her it’s not just the memory that’s eating me alive. It’s the fact that for one stupid, perfect night, it felt like I had a heartbeat. I didn’t feel the pain or the agony. She took it all away.
I want her, Fisher wants her, but no matter what we want, I don’t deserve her.
I know it. She knows it. We both know this can't ever be something real.
She rolls away and reaches for her shirt, the one I practically tore off her at some point. I stay where I am, watching as she pulls it on slowly, like she knows I’m looking. Everything fits her just right. She stands, stretches, then glances back at me with a knowin’ smirk that says she’s well aware of the damage she’s doing.
“You want coffee?” I ask, because if I say anything else I’ll break my rules all over again.
She blinks, thrown for a second. “That’s surprisingly domestic of you.”
“I have my moments.”
I check Fisher’s room on the way to the kitchen, and he’s still asleep. I do my best to pretend I don’t notice Winnie’s eyes on my back. She wraps herself in a blanket, sits on a stool at the kitchen counter, and just… watches me.
I make the coffee, and when it’s done, I pour some into a mug and pass it to her. She wraps both hands around it and stays quiet. Even when there’s silence, it’s always comfortable with her… which is exactly the problem.
