Promiscuous Lies (Vengeful Lies #2)

33. Posie

CHAPTER 33

Posie

I don’t like that I like his family. In fact, I feel so comfortable around them that it makes me want to run. His father made me feel awkward the first time I met him in Dutton’s office, and now he’s getting my son a glass of ice water so his mouth doesn’t go dry from the burgers.

It’s weird. And they’re nothing at all like Dutton.

Where Dutton is cool and calculated, his mother and sister are full of life and shine so brightly that it’s almost intimidating.

Everything I’ve read about this family paints them in a bad light, yet I like them.

I also find it interesting to watch how other people act around Dutton. Most are wary of him, which is expected, but his family is clearly the exception. Even as his sister talks with him, he acts as if he’s indifferent, but I can tell he’s listening attentively. She’s lecturing him about something, and he’s indulging her, and when he looks at her, his eyes are filled with love. He might not understand what it’s like to have a child, but he certainly isn’t unfamiliar with doing anything in his power for his family. This is obvious since he dragged me here just because his sister asked him to.

“So, we meet again,” Dawson drawls as he stands beside me. Honey is building a card tower with Bentley. Despite hosting a party for their daughter, it appears Bentley is getting most of their attention.

“We do,” I say as we watch his wife and my son play together. I glance at Dawson and admire the way he stares at Honey. There’s so much love in his gaze, and I almost envy it. It’s how my parents used to look at each other.

Although their son might not know how to act around children, it’s very clear his parents adore them.

“Any update with you and my son? Have things changed between the two of you, by chance?” he asks with a too-innocent smile. And I can’t help almost smiling back, because I realize behind the businessman, there might be a man who has a little bit of cheek in him, just like Dutton. I imagine not everyone gets to see this, not from these powerful men who have built their reputation on being ruthless. But I’ve seen how Dutton cares for his employees and ensures their safety, especially the women. I suppose it’s because of this man that he learned those values.

“He’s still just my boss,” I reply.

Dawson’s smile curves wider. “Ah. Yes, of course. I was my wife’s boss once upon a time as well.”

Honey looks up at him as if knowing he’s speaking about her. She’s beautiful beyond measure. I can tell where his sister gets her looks from; she strongly resembles her mother. And while Dutton takes more after his father, I can also see Honey in him.

“It’s not like that,” I inform him.

“Yet here you are, at a family function. Want to know how many women Dutton has ever introduced to us?”

“Not really,” I mutter, which makes him laugh. “And it was more like I was dragged here by your son. Not that I’m not grateful to be here,” I add that last bit so I don’t seem rude.

“He’s brought none.” I turn back to him to see him raise a brow. “We wanted to meet you. And although we admittedly had to apply some pressure for him to agree to bring you, it doesn’t take away from the fact that he did, in the end, bring you… and your son. Dutton sometimes needs a push in the right direction.”

I laugh at that. “With all due respect, Mr. Taylor, you don’t know me. You don’t know if pushing him in my direction is the right thing. I’m a single mother, focusing only on her son and his future.”

“Yes,” Dawson agrees. “Which is precisely why you’re perfect for him. For all my son’s achievements, he needs to focus on something other than himself and his empire. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone take his attention like you have, and that speaks volumes, whether you or he want to admit it.”

I go to speak but can’t find the right words. The pressure of it makes me want to run the other way. I can’t outright tell his father we’re only having casual sex because it feels like it’d only offend him.

Dutton excuses himself from his conversation with Billie, and when Dawson notices, he turns to his wife and Bentley. “Now, Bentley, how about some ice cream?”

“He’s allergic to nuts,” I’m quick to say.

“Good to know,” he replies as Bentley hops down from the chair, and Dawson offers him his hand. Out of habit, I immediately reach for Bentley to protect him. But Bentley smiles big at Dawson and practically skips over to him, then slides his hand in Dawson’s. Just as they walk off, Dutton is back at my side. He makes no attempt to touch me. Slowly but surely, this man is learning to respect my boundaries.

“He’s safe. My father is many things, but kids love him, and he loves them. He was a great father.” I look at him then, taking my eyes off Bentley as he and Dawson go to the front of the restaurant to order the ice cream.

“You don’t need to sell me on anything,” I say.

“Sell you on anything?” He gives me a quizzical look.

“Yes. Why am I here, Dutton? My son is very important to me, and introducing him to strange people willy-nilly isn’t okay.”

His eyebrows furrow. “My family aren’t ‘strange people,’ and I wanted to introduce you to them.”

“Why?” I urge.

“You confuse the ever-loving fuck out of me. I could ask you the same thing. Why do you leave every morning before I wake up?”

I’m baffled. Is he really upset about that? I thought that’s what men preferred. No strings attached or awkward mornings. “We only agreed to fuck, not tell each other our life stories.” I give him my best eye roll and then look away to find Bentley again. He now has an ice cream cone in his hand, and Dawson hands him a napkin.

“Are you ever going to tell me who his father is?”

I sigh, irritated that he’s pressing me all of a sudden when he won’t answer my fucking questions. “He’s dead for all I care.”

“So he is dead, or you wish he were?” he pushes.

“Why are you asking so many questions but won’t answer mine?” I stare at him.

He reaches for my wrist, but I pull away. His eye twitches as he nods toward a corner of the room. It looks to be a private bathroom. “You clearly need to be punished.”

“You can’t be serious right now. Here?” I whisper-shout.

“Your son is safe with my father. Do you really think I’d bring you to a place where you or your son aren’t protected?”

I want to argue with him and tell him I never asked for his protection, but the urgency in his gaze has me stepping toward the bathroom. As we approach, a woman exits. After waiting until no one is paying us any attention, I enter, and Dutton slips in behind me. A light automatically turns on, and he locks the door behind us. It’s a powder room with two toilet stalls.

When I turn around to berate him, his lips crash into mine. My brain fries as I try to register what’s happening. He already has my hands behind my back, locked in a tight grip.

My body melts against him, all of my frustration rising to the surface.

“Why are you here?” he growls, pushing me against the counter. My arms begin to ache, but I appreciate the burn as I try to break free of his grasp.

I bite down on his lip as I viciously say, “Because you invited me.”

“You could have said no. It’s not like you don’t know how to use that word.” He’s kissing along my jaw and down my neck. My hips begin rolling of their own accord.

“I did say no,” I reply breathlessly, arching into him.

He releases his grip around my wrists, then orders, “Hands on the counter, and they don’t move.” I do as he says because he immediately rewards me by putting his hand up my dress. He wastes no time pushing my panties to the side and pinching my clit.

Fuck. He’s mad.

“You can’t demand answers when you’re not willing to hand them over yourself. Do we understand each other?” he declares. His intense blue gaze has darkened with lust, and I flick a glance at his pants, where his cock is straining against the material. I lick my lips, wanting more than just his hand on my pussy.

“Are you going to put that to good use?” I ask, pointedly staring at his cock. He squeezes my cheeks and angles my head to look up at him.

“This is a punishment, not a reward,” he chastises.

“Seems like punishment for you, too,” I bite back.

A tic jumps in his jaw. “You’ll beg for this cock like a good girl, Mostriciattola .”

I moan as he shoves against me, and I can feel his cock poking into my stomach. “To answer your question, I can’t get enough of your sharp tongue or this cunt of yours. You can label it whatever the fuck helps you sleep at night, but let me assure you, you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

I fucking hate him as much as I crave him.

“Do you understand?” he growls. “And don’t you dare fucking say no.”

He brings his face close to mine, inhaling me. My gaze jumps from his lips to his eyes, like I’m desperate for him. My appetite for him grows and grows.

“I won’t play games,” I say breathlessly, which is better than a no.

He smiles then, and it’s anything but the charming gesture he sometimes offers others. No, this is all feral—the monster beneath. “You’re the only one who’s been playing games, Posie. Let me in. ”

There’s so much loaded into that last sentence. Is it a request or a command? I don’t know what he wants or how this will end, but I feel a small part of my guard slip as I breathlessly say, “Okay.”

His expression softens ever so slightly as if he wasn’t expecting my submission.

“Get on your knees so I can feed you my cock,” he demands. “You don’t get sweet nothings today. You’re going to be brutally fucked to within an inch of your life for the hell you’ve been putting me through.”

He releases my jaw, and I drop to my knees obediently, licking my lips as if grateful to be granted permission to unzip his pants and free his cock. I swallow because the size of him startles me every time.

I slide my mouth over his cock, rolling my tongue around its thick head. His hands thread through my hair, and he growls, “Look at me as I fuck your filthy, defiant mouth.”

I look up at him through my eyelashes as he slowly rocks his hips into my mouth. He hits the back of my throat every time, and I choke, and then he begins thrusting almost angrily, punishing me for my defiance during the day.

This is definitely not a reward, and yet I’m getting wetter by the second as he ruthlessly fucks my mouth. It is as if this brutal claim is the only way he can communicate something unsaid.

Tears stream down my face as he grunts, fucking my throat like it’s his personal toy.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” he grits out, and it floods me with pride. “You like my cock, don’t you?”

I can’t nod, so I make a sound of agreement because I do. I love the way he overpowers me, the way he feeds off my defiance and turns it into something so pleasurable. I love the way he threatens to punish me but always gives me the best orgasms I’ve ever experienced.

Fuck. This man, in all his ruthless beauty, is so hard to deny.

“Are you going to swallow my cum like a good girl?”

I make another noise, choking on his cock.

He smirks, and it’s devilish and sinister. “That’s not good enough, Mostriciattola . I want to come in that sweet mouth of yours and mark my territory from the inside.”

Fuck, I’m dripping.

“Are you ready to take me raw like a good girl?”

I nod eagerly, desperately even.

He pulls out of my mouth and tugs me up by my hair. He immediately grabs me by the throat and hoists me onto the counter. His hand is up my dress and dragging down my panties in seconds.

He’s circling my clit with heavy, firm movements, and I whimper under his bruising touch. Today, I really pushed him; I can tell by the way he’s taking it out on me through sex. But I fucking love it. Thrive on it.

He kisses me—more like devours me—as he rubs himself against my folds. He yanks me toward him, and I jerk back, almost hitting my head on the mirror, but he’s quick to catch me.

I scream as he impales me, the movement so fast and jolting that I don’t even have time to breathe or adjust around his size. He cradles my head as he begins pounding into me, and I can only press my palms against the mirror behind me as I come undone.

The slapping of our skin is the only sound I can hear, and the music and chatter outside the door fade into the background.

I whimper as he bruises me with punishing kisses.

“Fuck, you drive me insane,” he grits.

I wrap my arm around him, clawing my nails down his shirt, claiming him in the same way he often likes to leave marks on me. Because I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there’s some truth to whatever this is between us. That this man of ice knows how to match my inner fire.

“I’m sorry,” I breathe out, not thinking straight as he rattles my brain from how hard he’s fucking me.

Tingles move up my legs, and I’m startled by how quickly this raw fucking is getting me over the line.

“No, you’re not!” he seethes between kisses. He’s biting, sucking, tugging, and it’s my undoing. I moan, clinging to him with my nails digging into his back as I wrap my legs around his waist.

“Please. Please. Dutton,” I beg.

“Tell me what you want,” he says with urgency as he grunts.

“You,” I whisper without thought.

“Fuck!” he shouts as he breaks. This carefully put-together man comes apart inside me as he jerks and then rests his head on my shoulder. I buck under him, seeing stars as I orgasm and squirt all over his cock and the counter.

I can’t breathe. I try to calm my shaky breaths as I cradle his head to my shoulder, shuddering around him as he jerks inside me again. Heavy panting slowly begins to fall into slow, rhythmic breaths as he leans back and looks at me, that intensity ever blazing in his eyes.

I’m startled when he gently cups my jaw and kisses me. It’s slow and sensual, as if he’s thanking me.

I melt into him, caught off guard by how something so raw and feral can turn into something so… sweet and endearing. I don’t even know what we were arguing about before or how it led to now.

My legs stop shaking as he pulls away, and the moment his lips part from mine, I want to pull him back to me, but the reality of how long we might’ve been gone sinks in.

He’s quick to tuck himself away as I adjust my dress. I look at the mess we made, unsure what to do. He chuckles as he grabs a hand towel. “Let me.”

I scrunch my nose up, shocked by what we just did. “That’s kind of gross.”

“I don’t mind you walking around with my cum dripping down your legs, Posie.”

“Clean it,” I deadpan, and he chuckles.

As he does so obediently, I watch him, wanting him over again. The urgency of it has become increasingly apparent the more time we spend together. And that’s concerning because, somehow, this man with a heart of ice is getting into my bloodstream.

“I’m on birth control, by the way,” I inform him.

I’ve only been with one other man, and the night I fell pregnant with Bentley was because we were both so drunk that we’d forgotten to use protection. The nurse had told me the chances were slim to get pregnant so easily, but since then, I haven’t taken any chances.

“I don’t fuck women without condoms. Well, usually.”

“Are you fucking other women?” The question is out of my mouth before I even realize. I sounded… accusatory.

He raises an eyebrow but looks me dead in the eye. “You’re plenty enough to handle. And, no, I haven’t been with anyone else since you walked your tight ass into my club.”

I roll my eyes. “I doubt that.” Because men say shit to make women feel special. Until they get what they want, and they’re done with them.

He finishes cleaning my legs and then kisses me again. It’s hot and heavy and ever so demanding, just like before. Dutton breaks the kiss, and his gaze penetrates when it meets mine. “You are my only focus. So stop trying to push me away. And I swear to God, if you’re comparing me to other men…” he growls.

I shove him away. “Yeah, I get it. You’re going to carve messages into their chests. Well, if I find out you’re sleeping around, I might be inclined to use my bat.”

“That sounds like a jealous girlfriend,” he says, following me to the door. I comb my fingers through my hair and then wipe the makeup smudged around my eyes. I’m red and raw all around my mouth, and it’s obvious what we’ve just been doing, but there’s no helping that.

I turn to him with my hand on the doorknob. “I never said I’d use the bat on the women.”

He chuckles as I open the door and re-enter the lively party. I search for Bentley, spotting him laughing at something Dawson and Honey are saying to him. I can see they’ve somehow found him a coloring book and pencils.

I begin making my way over to him, but Billie, who is dancing with a girlfriend, grabs my attention.

“Hey, did you want to dance?” she slurs, a little drunker than when we last spoke.

“I don’t dance,” I tell her, and Dutton coughs behind me.

“Oh, okay. Well, what about a drink?” She holds up her glass. “I also really want to escape… but family.” She gives me an eye roll.

“Hey, we’re not all bad!” says a woman with short blonde hair, blue eyes, and a curvaceous figure.

“Pssh. You’re the chosen ones,” Billie mumbles. “This is Ivy Walker. And the red-haired one is Hope Ivanov. And this sharpshooter here is Jewel Monti. But don’t draw too much attention to her, or Eli will come and steal her. It took me so long just to get her to stand here.”

“Not a dancer or a big drinker,” Jewel says with a smile. There’s something edgy about her, but I imagine marrying a mafia boss, you’d have to be. “I never thought I’d see the day a woman would woo Dutton.”

He glares at her over my shoulder, and I can’t help but want to laugh, realizing he really is just an ass to everyone. “I still can’t believe you fell for my cousin’s lack of charm,” he bites back.

“At least he tried to charm me. You just chloroformed me the first time we met,” she replies.

My head whips in his direction, and he shrugs. “She infiltrated a party.”

“Don’t worry. I threw a dagger in Eli’s leg, so I’m not all rosy.” She winks at me, and I’m baffled how casually they talk about this stuff. Definitely not your ordinary family.

“Will you come out with us next time we organize a girls’ night?” Billie asks, and she looks like she’s almost pleading with me. I realize then that all of these women seem to be around my age. Although all entirely different from each other, they’re freely and unapologetically living their lives. It’s something I’d recently been wanting to explore again—time for myself. Fun. And I know without a doubt this group of women would be a wild time.

“Maybe, if I can work it out with Bentley’s babysitter,” I tell her, meaning it. “Happy birthday, and thanks for letting me crash the party. I hope you get fucked up; that’s always my favorite thing to do on my birthday. But if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I take my son home.”

She lunges for me, wrapping me in a hug, and I’m stunned once again by how welcoming his family is. “Okay, but I’ll hold you to that night of getting fucked up sometime.”

“If Posie has a free night, I can assure you she’ll be spending it with me,” Dutton says. She pokes her tongue out at him, and I can’t help but laugh as I turn to find Bentley.

He spots me first and smiles big. “Momma! Mr. Dawson said I can have this coloring book. Look, it’s Transformers.”

“That’s very specific,” I say, looking at Dawson.

“It didn’t take long for my assistant to get one from the shops. I have a whole bag of other options here, too, if you’d like to take them home,” he offers. Honey is smiling sweetly behind him. Okay, now I understand why I have the impression Dutton was spoiled as a kid.

“Tell them thank you, but it’s time we leave,” I say to Bentley.

“Close to bedtime?” Honey asks, her smile lines evidence of the bright, happy person she is.

“This kid needs more beauty sleep than I do.” I chuckle, picking him up and putting him on my hip.

I bump into someone. At first, I thought it was Dutton, but then the smell of leather hits me.

I hate the smell of leather.

It reminds me of one person.

“Posie, is that you?”

My stomach drops at the familiar voice, and my gaze meets the dark brown eyes of Waylon Striker. When I left Boston, he was a member of the same motorcycle club as Bobbi.

I liked Waylon. He was nice… Well, as pleasant as a ruthless biker could be. One night, I saw him beat someone’s head in for talking back to one of his men. Then he proceeded to get drunk a few minutes later like it never happened. But he always had respect for women, though I can’t say the same for the rest of the men he worked alongside. What the fuck is he doing here?

“Long way from home, girl,” he says.

“Do you two know each other?” Dutton asks, quick to size Waylon up. I’m ashamed of the way I use Dutton as a shield to keep Waylon from seeing Bentley, but I know he’s already seen him.

Waylon is dressed in black jeans and a long-sleeved black shirt, and his face has days’ worth of scruff. I’ve always found him super attractive, in that perfect bad-boy way.

“Don’t tell him you saw me here,” I beg, and all the fire that’s usually in my tone feels like it’s been sucked out of me.

“Bentley, let’s meet your mother outside,” Dawson says, reaching for him. At first, I’m reluctant to hand over my son, but Bentley goes willingly, and I’m honestly grateful for Dawson getting him away from Waylon.

Eli and the twins stop a few feet away, looking on.

Why is Waylon here?

“He went looking for you, you know,” Waylon says, referring to Bobbi.

A shudder runs through me. I bite my lip as Dutton’s hand anchors on my hip, and for once, I welcome his touch, if only to feed me strength. Waylon notices, his brow raising as his gaze swings to Dutton.

“I’d suggest you listen to the lady,” Dutton tells him.

Waylon raises his hands in the air and shakes his head.

“You know I don’t want any bad blood with you, Dutton.” Waylon looks back at me. “But, Posie, you know he’ll eventually find out if that’s his kid.”

“He threw money at me and told me to fix the problem,” I hiss. “So I did. I left.”

A flash of understanding passes over Waylon’s expression. “He still loves you.”

“No, he loves control. Nothing more.”

The tension is palpable as Waylon glances back at Dutton, who looks like he’s ready to snap Waylon’s neck at any moment. But the last thing I want is to start a fight between these two men. I know Dutton can hold his own, but I’ve seen the levels of loyalty and violence Waylon offers.

Besides, the desperate need to run is flooding my bloodstream.

“I was invited by your cousin,” Waylon says, gesturing at Eli. “But it seems I might be unwelcome after all, and I hold no ill will about that.” He places his drink down. I glare at him as he turns to leave. When he walks past Dutton, he offers a curt nod. Eli follows him out.

What the ever-loving fuck is he doing here in Manhattan?

“Fuck,” I murmur, beelining straight for Bentley. I grab him and thank Dawson before I hurry outside. I see Waylon get on his motorcycle. Just before he slides on his helmet, he nods at me. And I know he’ll tell Bobbi he saw me and where. Which means it’s only a matter of time before he comes for me.

“Where are you going?” Dutton questions.

A car pulls up to the curb, and I realize it’s Dutton’s. Dutton tips the valet and takes the keys. “Get in the car, Posie.”

I buckle Bentley into his booster seat in the back, and then I climb into the passenger seat.

With a calm voice, I ask, “Why was Waylon Striker at that party?”

Dutton seems to understand my tone. Despite Bentley almost falling asleep immediately, I don’t want him overhearing us having an intense conversation.

“My cousin has business with him. It’s not uncommon to invite those we’re in business with to family events such as these as a gesture of goodwill.” My jaw clenches as he asks, “And how do you know the president of the Boston Delinquents?”

“Waylon’s the president? Since when?” I whip my head to face him but quickly glance at Bentley to make sure I haven’t woken him.

“For a year now,” Dutton tells me, and I sink back in the seat. I just want this all to go away. “Why are you so scared of that club? What are you running from?”

When I don’t answer, he falls silent. We’ve come a long way from the insufferable man always demanding answers. I don’t know why I don’t want to tell Dutton. I know he’s a powerful man and could protect us, but I don’t want to ever have to depend on a man again. I also don’t want anyone revisiting the past with me.

The more I tell Dutton, the more I’ll come to depend on him. Won’t I? And then he’ll leave me. It’s only a matter of time. But what if my stubborn pride is preventing me from taking advantage of the best way to protect Bentley?

Fuck .

I need to think.

My knee is bouncing out of control as we arrive at my house. We get out of the car, and I grab a passed-out Bentley from the back seat and then try to grab his booster, but Dutton stops me. “I can get that,” he says, then unlatches it with an efficiency a man who doesn’t have kids shouldn’t have. By the time he meets me at the door, I’m struggling to get the keys out of my bag, so he helps me and unlocks the door.

“Posie.” His voice is quiet. “Let me understand,” he pleads.

“You can go now. Thanks for tonight,” I tell him, walking inside.

I’m not ready to accept this man into my home, into my family, and my heart. Surely, I’m just a novelty to him, a season that will pass. I need to find someone who’s ready to become a pillar for me and Bentley.

I hear the front door close as I carry Bentley to his room and lay him down in his bed. After removing his shoes, I tuck him in.

I’ve only ever thought of Bentley, and the more time I spend with Dutton, I want to be selfish. I want to spend even more time with him. But won’t that take away my time with my son? I try to push back all of my irrational fears.

My heart is not ready to be disappointed, even though I’ve told myself for so long that I’m okay with what I have.

But I realize I’m using my son as an excuse to keep us in a bubble. I thought I was protecting us, but have I been doing more harm than good?

When I walk back toward the living room, I sigh guiltily because Dutton’s silhouette is visible against the glass beside the door.

This man doesn’t know how to give up, and I hate how much it’s starting to wear me down. I tell him I hate it, but a small part of me is beginning to fall for it, to expect it almost. And I know I’ll feel winded when he’s not there anymore.

When I open the door, he straightens and turns to face me. He looks so out of place in his perfectly tailored suit, the porch light shining down on him. This exceptionally wealthy, successful, and beautiful man is sitting at my front door, just waiting for me.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I know I can be short-tempered. I… I get scared about what might happen to me and Bentley in the future. I want to make sure he’s safe. I hate his father with every fiber of my being, and I don’t want to give you his name so you don’t get caught up in my mess.”

“Do you want me to kill him?”

“What?”

“The man you seem to be terrified of. Do you want me to kill him?”

“You’d do that?” It’s not much of a surprise that Dutton kills people, but this is him outright admitting it. Again, I should be terrified of him, and he should be more careful as to who he trusts with this information.

“Yes, I will, if that’s what you want.” And I know he means it.

I hate that the offer is appealing, which is an ugly side of me. It’d be easy to wipe this world of Bentley’s father and never have to worry again. A small part of me feels protected by Dutton, knowing he’d go to such lengths for Bentley and me. But I can’t help but be cautious because that would mean he would hold something over me for the rest of my life. And I never want to give another man that much power. That, and it’ll direct attention to his family if he were to kill Bobbi. It could get them killed. I know his family is powerful and deadly in their own right, but this isn’t their burden to carry.

“No, I don’t want you to kill him.” Sighing, I suggest, “You should go, Dutton.” I want to slide down the wall beside him and simply lay my head on his shoulder. I want to use him for comfort instead of sex, and once I step past that boundary, I’ll come to depend on him. And then he’ll vanish.

I hear the rev of a motorcycle, and I tense. Dutton reaches for me, but I push his hand away.

“I can stay,” he offers. “You seem unsettled.”

My heart pounds as I tell him to leave. I don’t like anyone seeing me like this, and this is now the second time he’s seen me vulnerable and having to face the demons of my past. It’s been six years, and I’ve become complacent.

He shakes his head as if disappointed but doesn’t push the matter, which I’m grateful for. It would appear that my boss is starting to understand me a bit better. Or should I say, we’re both understanding one another, which is painfully obvious.

He lazily stands up and leans down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. My gaze follows him as he walks away. I quickly close the door and lock it behind him; then I grab my bat. After making sure the house is locked up tight, I go to my room. I set the bat next to the bed and then get undressed.

I try to sleep, but it’s a lost cause. When the sun begins to peek through my curtains, I know it’s pointless. I get out of bed, turn on the coffee machine, and peer outside my front window. I’m surprised to find Dutton’s car still parked at the curb with him in it.

He stayed all night.

And I hate him for it.

Why can’t he stay the arrogant asshole I’ve been calling him?

Why is he ever so slowly trying to wedge himself deeper in my heart and show me that I can rely on him?