Chapter 15
Meg
I close my bedroom door and plop down on my bed for a minute. I’m need to get a grip and not be an idiot. This is where in the movie I would be yelling at the female protagonist for being stupid.
Apparently I’m not handling this situation in the way I thought I would. Of course, when does one ever really think they would be in this situation?
I blame Piper, she is the one putting these ridiculous thoughts in my mind. Sitting up, I decide to put on some pajamas. Pulling on some leggings and an oversized shirt, I jam my feet into slippers and open the door to my bedroom.
Sterling is in the kitchen with his head in the refrigerator. He turns around with another beer in his hand. Twisting the top off he holds it out offering it to me, wordlessly.
I take it— hesitantly. While Sterling may not say much, he is a man of action. Anyone can see that. He turns around and grabs himself one. Taking advantage of his back being turned I swirl around and head into the living room.
Just as I sit down I get a text message.
Looking down at my phone, I see it is from an unknown number.
A chill goes down my spine. Normally, I wouldn’t think anything of a random number texting me— but now?
All of a sudden it feels like the world is closing in on me a bit.
I take a deep breath and shake my head. Hoping to alleviate some of the pressure that is building up in my chest.
“What’s wrong,” I jump. I hadn’t heard him follow me. Looking up at him, I mull over my options. Deciding to just be upfront, I plow forward.
“I just got a text from an unknown number, I’m sure it isn’t anything. I haven’t opened it yet, but suddenly this situation got a bit too real for me,” I breathe out.
He grabs my phone and opens it. His face darkens and he gets a dangerous glint in his eye. I go to reach for it and he pulls it away.
“Hey, that is MY phone. I want to see what it says,” I raise my voice and stand up. The trouble is he is a at least a foot taller than me, so every time I go to reach for it I am reminded of the differences in our physicality.
“You don’t need to read this shit,” he huffs out and starts making his way towards the spare bedroom. I follow hot on his heels and see him grab his phone off the nightstand. He quickly taps a few buttons and holds it up to his ear.
“Yeah, it’s escalated to text messages,” he speaks in more of a growl. “We will need Carter to get on this shit ASAP,” he orders and then hangs up.
He looks over at me as I lean in the doorway. I hold out my hand. He looks at it. “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he begrudgingly sets the phone in my outstretched palm.
Taking a deep breath, I look down at the phone. The message is still up on the screen.
You are going to pay you fat bitch.
Ouch. Now they are criticizing my appearance. Great. Trying to hide my discomfort, I fall back on sarcasm.
“They don’t have a very diverse vocabulary. That is like the second time they have called me a bitch,” I joke.
Sterling raises his eyebrow at me and opens his mouth. Before he has a chance to respond, I head to the couch and turn on the tv. I start chugging the forgotten beer that I left on the coffee table.
Sterling sits down next to me. There is 2-3 inches of space in between us.
Not wanting to shift too far over and call attention to the lack of space I try to focus on the show.
Some woman is wandering around with a full face of make-up and her hair done, wielding a hammer and doing her best to convince us that she remodels houses for a living.
I snort out loud, before making it my mission to finish the rest of this beer in under 3 minutes. I’m doing pretty well. And then a large masculine hand reaches over and stalls my progress.
Sterling’s touch is firm but gentle. He takes the bottle out of my hand. Just when I thought I could avoid having a conversation about this atrocious night, the universe laughs in my face.
“Hey, look at me,” he demands in his deep voice. It is impossible not to follow the order. My head swivels up and I catch the look in his eye. I’m not sure what his blue-grey eyes are trying to convey but they look like the ocean before a storm.
“This asshole isn’t going to bother you long, I promise. Holt and I will get to the bottom of this. Nothing is going to happen, I swear,” he is adamant, and I believe him.
Slowly I nod. Again, it is on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he cares, but I am honestly too scared of the answer. Our eyes seemed to be locked in a trance when I realize that my hand is clutching his. I drop it quickly and stand up.
“I guess I should go to sleep,” I say quickly and busy myself by grabbing the almost empty bottle and bringing it to the kitchen. Needing to escape what was a major faux pas on my part. I was clutching his hand like I was dangling off a cliff. Such a fool.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I spin around from the sink and collide nose first into a solid muscular chest. Sterling’s hands come up to steady me and they stay on my arms. I am frozen in place and speechless.
We are so close that I can feel him breathing.
Which means he can feel ALL of me too. My soft stomach against his hard six pack.
My rolls against his muscular physique. The thought of that shakes me out of my stupor and I start to pull away.
Just as I open my mouth to apologize for practically mowing him over, his mouth slams down on mine. Muffling any noise that I might have made. One of his hands glides down to my lower waist and the other skates up to where my chin and neck meet to hold me in place.
He takes full advantage of my mouth being open and slides his tongue against my lips. He dominantly enters my mouth as if on a mission to claim foreign land. The hand on my low waist starts to slide lower.
Just before it reaches my ass he slows down and steps back. My heart is racing, and I can’t catch my breath. It is what I would imagine I would feel like while running a marathon.
“Good night,” he says abruptly and walks into the spare room quietly shutting the door behind him. I gape after him, wondering what the hell just happened. I run my hands through my hair and stare up at the ceiling.
I cannot believe that happened, am I in some alternate universe? This trope happens in romance novels, not in real life. I stumble to my room and close the door. Laying on my bed on top of the covers I start to obsess over that kiss.
It was…wow. I mean, not that I have a lot of kisses to compare it with— but when they say “toe-curling” in novels I finally get what they mean. I bring my fingers up to my lips and lightly touch them.
Stop that. Don’t even go there. Reality slams back into me.
He stopped. He must have realized it was a mistake.
Nothing is going to happen here. Don’t set yourself up for another disappointment.
It won’t do you any good. It will just lead to more cracks in your armor that will need to be patched.
Pieced back together. There were already enough of those.
Being overlooked by the opposite sex your whole life will do that to you.
That old cliché—always the bridesmaid never the bride? Well, it has a kernel of truth to it.
Sitting up, I take a deep breath and promise myself that I won’t make a big deal about it tomorrow.
It was an anomaly. It just happened, it meant nothing.
I pull down the covers and shut off the light.
Hoping that when I wake up in the morning this hollow feeling won’t be so pronounced and that I can ignore it.