23. Ariella
TWENTY-THREE
ARIELLA
PSH. THERE WENT MY CHONIES TOO, GURL…
Swapping spit with a man while your cousin lay only feet away was wild behavior. But also very on-brand for Gracie.
My noise-canceling headphones were fighting for their lives, trying to keep out the sound of them going at it. Tingles ran up my left arm, which had gone numb about five minutes earlier. To make matters worse, I desperately needed to pee, but I was too afraid of what I might see if I crawled out from the sheet I’d hidden under.
What a way to spend a Sunday night.
Honestly, this situation was one wrong move away from someone committing a crime—either indecent exposure or attempted murder, depending on who broke first.
“I do look good in orange,” I mumbled to myself, turning up the volume on my phone.
I couldn’t really blame Gracie. I was the one crashing on her couch, not the other way around. And she’d held off on bringing anyone around all weekend.
Until tonight, that was .
A notification popped up at the top of the screen, the name sending my heart into overdrive. I hadn’t spoken to him since after the Pilates class on Friday. The amount of texts I’d started but never sent to tell him that I wished I’d taken him up on his date offer was criminal.
I was bad at regular relationships but apparently even worse at fake ones.
It would be so much easier if I didn’t have a damn crush on the guy because how the fuck did this all work into my plans?
The screen lit up again, reminding me of the unread text and firing up the butterflies that now permanently resided in my stomach.
Dalton:
Hey. What are you doing?
I rolled my eyes, but my lips pulled up at the corners.
Me:
Is that the best you can do?
Those three dots toyed with me, and I found myself gnawing on my bottom lip, wondering if he would respond. My fingertips hovered above the keyboard, debating whether or not I should send another message.
I couldn’t take the suspense and shot off something.
Me:
I’m actually being held hostage on the couch by my cousin and a random man making out…
Dalton:
Wait, what?
Dalton:
I’m aware being a hostage usually means you are unwilling, but my brain can’t manage to figure out how you got into this situation. Can’t you like…move rooms?
A picture of how his brows were probably furrowed in confusion popped into my mind, causing me to grin like an idiot.
Me:
Studio apartment. Nowhere to go unless I hide in the bathroom, but I already experienced another of her hook-ups walking in on me while I was in the shower.
Why was I sharing all of this with him?
Dalton:
Get dressed. I’m coming to pick you up.
Dalton:
Don’t bother arguing. I’m already on my way.
My bottom lip was back between my teeth, a maelstrom of giddiness overtaking my body. Normally, he’d be right, and I would argue, but I really wanted him to come to get me—and not only to escape the weird sexcapade happening on my cousin’s bed.
But I needed to at least pretend to play hard to get.
Me:
You don’t even know which apartment I live in…
His response showed up almost instantly, as if he’d already prepared it and was ready for when I pushed back.
Dalton:
Don’t try me, Ariella. I will knock on every damn door in that building until I find you and carry you out over my shoulder.
Never in my life had I experienced the urge to squeal and kick my feet until that moment.
Knock on every door? Carry me out over his shoulder?
I popped up from under the floral flat sheet, shielding my eyes and scrambling to find a matching pair of tennis shoes.
Shit. My hair.
Gracie called out after me, but I was too busy running to the bathroom to throw on mascara and deodorant. I had to put that shit on everywhere with the heat in Dallas.
“Where the hell are you off to?” she asked, standing in the doorway. I smirked at her bob, which had obviously had a hand running through it—and not her own. “You know you don’t have to leave.”
Through the vanity mirror, I could see that while her words said one thing, her face said another.
“It’s no problem. You have your sexy time or whatever you two are doing.” Our eyes met in the reflection. “Dalton’s picking me up.”
Gracie lit up with excitement, and she literally jumped up and down for joy at the news.
“Ahh! It’s happening.” She clapped her hands, ignoring whatever his name was as he called out, asking what was going on. “I’m telling you, you two are going to fall in love.”
I rolled my eyes, focusing on taming my hair.
“This whole thing is fake, Graciella. Remember?”
She let out a hum, turning to leave. “Until it’s not, Ariella. Until it’s not…”
Dalton:
Ariella, you better come get in the car. Or your neighbors are about to be pissed that I’m banging on their doors.
Dalton:
And I’ll tell them it’s your fault for not following directions.
Did he speed here or what? And why did my stomach do a weird flip when he mentioned me following his directions?
It felt like he’d just told me he was coming to pick me up, and now he was rushing me to get out the door and into his posh leather seats. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that part of me wanted to stay where I was to see if he really would knock on every door to find me, but the sounds coming from Gracie’s bed made that decision for me.
“Bye, kids. Make sure you use protection,” I called out, running and trying not to look too closely at what was happening in the blanket they were hiding under.
God. I really needed to move into a place where I’d have my own bedroom—with a door.
The door was the key element.
I practically skipped down the stairs to the guest parking spots in the garage, my stomach performing acrobatic feats the closer I got. When I rounded the corner, I stopped in my tracks. Instead of waiting inside the way I’d expected, he leaned back, booted feet crossed at the ankles.
My mouth went dry the farther up his jean-clad legs I dragged my gaze. They fluttered shut when I hit his thighs and that sinful spot where his jeans bunched up at the crotch, giving just enough of an impression of what was behind the zipper.
He had plenty going on there. I already knew from his shorts.
Híjole, I needed to find a confession booth for these mental images.
“Are you praying?” My eyes popped open at the sound of his deep rumble. The crooked grin, slight five-o’clock shadow, sharp jawline, mossy eyes…it was all too much. “Plan on sinning tonight, darlin’?”
And there went my panties.
Had I been out of the game that long, I’d forgotten the mouths on men? Or was the particular skill of incinerating my chonies a specialty only Dalton had?
My guess was the latter, but I didn’t want to dwell on that reality too long.
He chuckled at how he’d left me stunned, unable to come up with anything remotely appropriate to say. Dalton never failed to surprise me with his mouth.
Wholesome hockey captain to the public, but this man had something else lurking under that polished surface, and I liked what he showed me.
Finally, I managed to get my mouth working.
“Depends, Dalton.” I moved in close enough that we were nearly touching, trying to act as casually as possible while my heart raced like a workhorse.
I relished the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his corded neck, how his eyes nearly glowed as he dragged them over my body, stopping when he reached the sliver of tanned skin below my white cropped tank and above the waistband of the cut-off jeans shorts I’d thrown on.
He cleared his throat, uncrossing his legs to stand with them splayed out. I smirked, guessing what might require adjustment.
“On?”
“If you use that line on all the girls you threaten to throw over your shoulder?”
His expression grew serious, and he closed the gap between our bodies, so close I had to tilt my chin to keep our eyes locked. “Let’s get one thing straight. I’ve never told another woman I’d knock on every door in a building to find her. And it wasn’t a threat, Ari. It was a promise.”
Damn.
His words lingered between us, thick and charged, and I had to force myself to breathe, my pulse pounding in my ears. He leaned closer, his gaze dark and intent, and for a moment all I could think about was the heat rolling off his body and how much I wanted to close the gap entirely.
“Dalton,” I murmured, finding my voice, “I—” my eyes caught on something I hadn’t noticed when I first walked out, too distracted by his dickprint in those jeans. “Please don’t tell me you went and bought a new car because of that comment I made about you not fitting in yours.” I pushed him aside to get a better look at the pale blue restored Bronco. “I mean, it’s gorgeous, but that’s insane to buy a new vehicle because of me.”
A smirk flickered across his lips, and he raised his hand, brushing a stray hair from my face, not bothering to take his attention off me. “I didn’t get a new one. I just have an old one I thought you might like to see.”