Chapter Sixteen – Dylan
The drive home is a riot. Fawn, in Torin’s truck, head lolling against the window as she repeated, “I never drink. I’m so, so sorry. I’m a lightweight.” She says it as if she is confessing to something major. It’s actually pretty cute.
The plan was to drop her off safe at home . . .
However, Cal called, and it seems Delilah asked him to come back to the house she shares with Fawn. If we dropped Fawn back, that means Delilah would have had to look after her all night.
Torin and I might be a lot of things, but we aren’t about to cockblock our guy from some fun. The guy has essentially lived like a monk for a year.
So, we reassured Delilah we would take care of Fawn. Delilah called Fawn to make sure she was okay, and made me and Torin promise we wouldn’t do anything stupid. She added that if we did, she would break our legs. I believe her.
Now, I sit on the edge of my bed, watching Fawn squirm, trying to dig her head into the mattress.
“I’m — not drunk,” she insists for the fourth time, looking up at the ceiling as if it’s offended her personally.
Torin is standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, shaking his head like a disgruntled father. “Fawn, you’re so fucking drunk, you couldn’t even tell the time.”
She sits up, swaying like a newborn animal. She blinks at us, then at my nightstand.
“Uh, I can tell the time.” She points at my clock. “I’m not drunk,” her words slur.
Fuck me. She’s arguing with an inanimate object. I can’t help but burst out laughing so hard, I smack my face.
Torin is biting his knuckle with a tight-lipped smile, his body shaking with repressed laughter. My guy wants to burst out laughing, I know it.
At this point, Fawn is still swaying, her hair frizzed out like she’s been zapped, her cheeks flushed a bright pink that screams lightweight in trouble.
“What are we gonna do with you, Fawn?” I ask myself, because, quite frankly, I know I’m going to be babysitting her tonight.
Then suddenly — boom — her arm is around my neck. Her eyes are half-closed, as if she is making every effort to come across as sexy.
“I can think of a few things you could do with me,” she says softly, twitching her button nose.
Behind me, Torin makes a choking sound, and she pauses, trying to remember the next words. “But even though you’re so hot, nooo . . . sex for a year. No lovers for a year. I’m doing well!”
Gently, I lift her arm and set it down next to her like something fragile.
“God, you and Torin are so fucking hot,” she mumbles, sounding sincere and half asleep.
Torin turns away. I know that fucker is trying to hide a smirk.
I, on the other hand, am about two seconds from calling Delilah and asking why she hadn’t warned us her roommate turns into a total flirt when she’s had a few drinks.
“Fawn, you need to get some sleep,” I urge her, pressing on her shoulders to coax her to lie down. She bats at my hand like it’s a bothersome fly.
“I need to admit something—” she declares, very dramatic and serious-sounding.
Oh, fuck. Isn’t this how horror movies start?
“I thought you two were sooo sexy,” she continues, blinking slowly like a sleepy cat. “I checked you and Torin out on social media. Well, stalked. But not in a weird way. In an I wanna see if they’re single kinda way . . .” The words trail off.
Her cheeks turn crimson as she giggles. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to hold myself together. This woman is an adorable menace.
We barely have time to register her cute stalking revelation when a growl emanates from Fawn’s chest — big and definitely not comforting.
Torin’s hands go up like he’s being hauled off to prison.
“I’m cool with blood, broken bones, whatever,” he declares, stepping back quickly, “but I’m fucking out when it comes to vomit. ”
And that fucker is gone.
Literally, he dashes out of the bedroom faster than I can blink. Thanks for having my back, pal.
The sounds travel up Fawn’s chest, then her throat.
Scrambling, I gently grasp her curly hair, because although I can be a chaotic creature, I am most definitely not a monster. I guide her toward a bucket Torin placed earlier.
She lets out a terrifying noise, and all I can think about is how this is probably not what her readers imagine when they think of her.
“I’m so sorry—” she manages to cry out before vomiting again. I jerk my head to the side so fast, I almost pull a muscle. Nope, not looking at whatever demon just left her body. My hand stays where it is, holding her hair back.
“I’m absolutely never letting her forget this,” I mutter to myself. “Tomorrow’s gonna be fun.”
Well, after she is no longer actively dying.
She groans into the bucket, and I can’t stop myself from grinning.
She finds me attractive. Did not see that one coming. I thought an intelligent girl like her would go out with, I don’t know, men who read poetry by fireplaces or with turtleneck sweaters who drink red wine.
But nope. Evidently, she likes me — a sweaty, chaotic, cocky hockey player.
Yeah. That just made my night. Guess my dance moves really paid off. Thank you, Shakira.
Despite that, she also said Torin is hot. And to watch them together . . . I wasn’t jealous, but I felt a strange twist in my gut. I’m not angry about him kissing her. I’m not anything.
Well, at least, I don’t think I am.
“Dyl—” Fawn groans, pulling me out of my trance-like state.
I lean forward to respond immediately, carefully raising her head. “You okay?”
She gives a tiny nod, her eyes still closed. The poor thing is like a sleepy kitten. With the lightest touch, I turn her head — vomit insurance. I sit there for a second, just watching her, making sure she’s breathing okay and won’t choke or fall off the bed.
With her eyes closed, she asks a question. “Why aren’t you making a move on me? Am I not your type?”
What kind of person does she think I am? I should be offended, but instead, I scoff. “You’re pretty, Fawn. That’s not the problem. It’s just that you’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“You think I’m pretty.” A giggle comes out, winded, barely there.
“Yup, you don’t even realize it. And somehow, that makes you even more beautiful,” I admit, delicately moving a stray hair from her face.
“Since you made a confession . . . well, here’s mine. Every day, I watch that video of you falling over at the rink, so I get to see your pretty face again. And when Cal mentioned how nice you were, that’s when I knew I wanted to get to know you.”
It’s the truth, but I know she won’t remember this tomorrow.
Before she can answer, she is out, mouth slightly open, a tiny line of drool on my pillow. Oh, that’s somewhat disgustingly adorable.
“Good night, princess.” The words come out in a whisper and I can feel the ridiculous smile pulling at my mouth.
I’ve never been one for nicknames, but princess feels right for her. Smoothing the blanket over her, I hang out for a moment. Her eyelashes flutter, like she’s having a nice dream, hopefully of me.
She stirs, mumbling something I can’t understand.
Then, she kicks the blanket off, as if it has wronged her.
I bend over to pick it up, ready to tuck her back in, but I freeze when I notice her dress has crept up past her perfect thighs, exposing her.
I force my eyes away from her black panties; everyone in the bar saw enough earlier.
Another rush of protectiveness hits me just thinking about anyone other than me — and for some reason I can’t place yet, Torin — seeing her like that.
I feel like I already can’t get enough of her.
My eyes roam over her stomach, and that’s when I see them — soft, faint, silvery lines across her skin. Stretch marks.
Some of my teammates have them from gaining and losing muscle, but I’ve never seen them this close up before. Not like this. Not on a woman.
God, she’s something.
Like beautiful water ripples, like the world put its mark on her.
My fingers itch to touch them, even though it’s a dumb, selfish impulse.
I manage to stop myself. I won’t cross that line, not when she’s passed out, when she trusts me enough to sleep here in the first place.
With care, I lift the blanket and delicately lay it over her, trying my best not to wake her.
Her heart-shaped lips open as she breathes heavily.
Fuck. I always tell women I’m just looking for something fun, nothing long. It’s simple, distant, and, well . . . safe.
Fawn doesn’t give off that just-for-fun vibe, you know? I’m interested for some reason. I want to get to know her.
Hang on. I’ve had a few drinks, alright? Maybe I’m being a total sap right now. I seriously have to take a piss, but I can’t leave her just yet, not until I know she won’t vomit again.
After that, it’s straight to the couch for me.