Page 58 of Sweet Ache (Driven 6)
But my thinking about candy gets derailed as I watch him walk toward the front door, loving the way his jeans hang low on his hips, the knowledge that he’s not wearing any underwear beneath them making him seem even sexier. Like that’s even needed. When he leaves my line of sight, I smile at the sound of his feet padding down the hall. It’s an oddly comforting sound and I’m glad for the interruption because it just saved me from a monumental screwup with the question I asked.
Realization hits me several seconds before I hear the slide of the dead bolt. I’m on my feet and scurrying down the hall, my first thought that it might be Colton and how ugly it might get if a random man opens my front door without a shirt on. I don’t care how old I am, Colton will always see me as the little girl that no guy should touch.
Unfortunately for my last date that ended up staying the night, his face met Colton’s fist when he told him to butt out. And I didn’t talk to my brother for a week because he needed to grow up.
I turn the corner just in time to see light framing Hawkin’s body and a rather rough-looking Luke looking at him with an expression of surprised displeasure, mouth lax, eyes glaring, shoulders square.
“Hey,” Hawke says with a shrug of his shoulders, hands jammed deep in his pockets. “Sorry, man.” He drops his head, awkwardness rising between them. And a part of me loses a tiny piece of my heart to Hawkin in the moment. He could be a royal asshole to Luke right now, be arrogant and gloat that he got the girl, but he doesn’t do any of it. Instead he is contrite and humble.
A disbelieving laugh falls from Luke’s mouth as he shakes his head when he looks over and sees me walking up behind Hawkin. His eyes take in my attire, the shirt Hawke had on last night not going unnoticed. Guilt pushes the contentment I’d felt this morning away because Luke is a good guy, and he definitely didn’t deserve to find out this way.
Hawke takes note of Luke’s change in focus and shifts sideways to spot me. I glance his way, tell him in the visual exchange that it’s okay. Hawke turns back and nods his head to Luke before walking past me with a quick brush of his hand against mine in reassurance before disappearing into the house.
Stepping into the doorway, I chew the inside of my lip as I get the courage to meet Luke’s eyes now that we’re closer.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he says.
I snap my head up. What? “I’m the one who should be apologizing, Luke.” I step forward, the soother in me wanting to hug him to take the sting out of all of this and the other part of me knowing I can’t add insult to injury, comfort him with my body I won’t offer to him in other ways. “I … It kind of just happened…. I didn’t mean for … I’m sorry.”
I feel guilty for lying, for not telling him that Hawke and I already had a little something started because then it just makes him feel like the date I’d accepted was a consolation prize. I’m feeling about two inches tall right now, even though I know I made the right decision last night, because sometimes all kinds of right for me can still be all kinds of wrong for someone else.
“Nah,” he says with a shrug of his shoulder, trying to play off the disappointment and hurt flickering in his bloodshot eyes. “I let my ego get the best of me. Got plastered trying to prove I was the guy you wanted instead of Hawke—not exactly great behavior for
a first date. Sorry for being an ass.”
The sadness in his voice kills me. “Luke …”
“No. Don’t.” He forces a smile as he steps in and places a kiss on my cheek, my own tears threatening because I feel so bad. “Thanks for … I’ve got to go.”
He nods again and turns to walk away. “Luke,” I call his name, remorse heavy in my voice.
He stops, his head hung down. “I’m here if you need me.” It’s all he says before he walks away.
Chapter 17
HAWKIN
Why am I still here?
Why the hell am I propped back on the pillows of her bed watching her through the partially obscured view I have of her as she applies her makeup in that close-up mirror thingy in her bathroom?
I’m usually long gone by now: do the deed, have some niceties, and then out the door. And yet with Quinlan, the deed has been done over and over and needs to be done a few more times today if I have my way.
I glance at the drawer in her dresser, the one that she surprised me with when she pulled it open to a minimart of protection, and wonder if we could work our way through the remainder of them throughout the rest of the afternoon and into the night.
It’s a pretty lofty challenge but one I’d rise to the occasion for.
And shouldn’t I be freaked by the fact she has so many condoms? What does that say about her? I laugh at myself and scrub a hand through my hair at my hypocrisy. Why is it that I can have a supply of them and she can’t or else it looks bad?
When I look up and watch her apply her lip gloss in the mirror, my hypocrisy is forgotten because all it means is that she wants to be safe, stay healthy. Can’t blame her for that and can’t blame my dick for already hardening at the sight of her.
She has on a yellow tank top, the blond curls of her hair pulled forward over one of her shoulders, and that delicate font tattooed between her shoulder blades. There’s something so damn sexy about it. The words and the simplicity of its placement, not for show, but solely for her just like my tattoos are for me.
When I read the words, Make it count, I can’t help the satisfied sigh that falls from my lips because we sure as fuck made it count last night. My dick pulses at the thought, wanting it again with her so damn close and so goddamn tempting. She shifts in her chair to grab something and the movement leads me to fixate on her sexy-ass lace panties that mold to the cheeks of her ass.
And that is exactly why I’m still sitting on her bed in my jeans, ignoring the bullshit texts from the guys asking if I fell in and got lost.
They can fuck off because I kind of think they’re right. I think I’m lost and not sure I want to find my way back.
