8. You Dirty Dog
YOU DIRTY DOG
DEEPIKA
I woke up warm. Too warm. And confused about why my pillow had a heartbeat.
My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the morning light streaming through the hotel curtains, and that’s when I realized three things in rapid succession.
One: I was naked.
Two: I was tangled around Liam James like a very desperate octopus.
Three: We had somehow managed to break not one, but both the queen-size beds.
I lifted my head from where it had been resting on his very bare, very muscular chest (which was unfair that someone I hated had abs like a Greek-God) and surveyed the destruction.
Both beds were collapsed in the middle, frames bent at unnatural angles, mattresses askew. We were currently sprawled on the wreckage of one, and I was using Liam as my personal body pillow, his arm wrapped possessively around my waist.
Oh God.
Oh God.
The night came back in flashes. The elevator kiss, stumbling into the room, his hands in my hair, my dress on the floor, the first bed giving out with a spectacular crash before moving to the second bed which had lasted a few minutes before crashing, that had made us both laugh hysterically and—
There was a definite throb between my thighs and soreness that confirmed everything my brain was trying to deny.
We had sex multiple times. Enthusiastically.
Oh my God. What have I done?
Heat flooded my face, spreading down my neck and chest. I needed to leave. Now. Immediately.
Before he woke up, and we had to acknowledge that we—
I tried to extract myself carefully, slowly lifting his arm, but the man apparently had octopus instincts too, because he tightened his grip and made a sleepy noise that was far too adorable for someone I was supposed to hate.
“What are you—” he mumbled, eyes still closed.
“Shut up,” I grumbled, trying again to escape. “You’re annoying.”
His eyes opened, those stupidly gray eyes that looked even lighter in the morning sun, and he glanced down at our very compromising position, with me sprawled half on top of him, both of us naked, tangled together like we had been doing this for years. Instead of once while incredibly drunk.
A slow smirk spread across his face. “Not annoying enough for you to use me as your bed.”
“I was cold!”
“Uh-huh. You just used me for body heat as a survival instinct,” he said, his voice rough with sleep, and I hated how attractive it was.
I finally wiggled free, immediately missing the warmth, which was not something I was going to examine too closely. I grabbed the sheet, wrapping it around myself.
“You snore,” I announced, because attack was the best defense.
“You drool.”
“I do not!”
He pointed at his chest, where there was indeed a small wet spot. “Evidence suggests otherwise.”
I grabbed a pillow and threw it at his smug face.
He caught it, laughing, and I hated him. Hated his stupid laugh and his stupid abs and stupid handsome face!
I retreated to the bathroom, locking the door behind me and immediately texting Priya.
Emergency
Thankfully, I didn’t have to wait too long for her reply.
Priya: It’s 7 AM on a Sunday. Someone better be dead. Did u kill Liam?
I started typing. Woke up tangled with Liam. But nothing happened. He’s still the last man on Earth I’d sleep with. Actually, I’d rather be celibate forever. He’s still that same arrogant jerk from childhood.
I stared at the text, finger hovering over send.
Then I deleted it and typed.
No, I didn’t and it was nothing. Everything’s fine.
Priya: Boo, Id have helped u w/that shovel I thrifted and anyway, u r a terrible liar.
I turned off my phone.
In the mirror, I looked as if I had been through a war. Hair everywhere, makeup smudged, and… ah, yes, drool.
I splashed water on my face, trying to look less like someone who had the best sex of her life with her childhood nemesis.
“Deepika?” Liam knocked on the door. “Are you alive in there?”
“Go away!”
“Need your dress?”
I looked down at the sheet I was clutching. My golden dress was definitely out there, probably in a crumpled heap next to his pants and the condom wrappers that were evidence of our spectacularly bad decision-making.
Two condom wrappers, my brain helpfully supplied. Two.
“Just... hand it through the door,” I called out.
Silence, and then his deep voice, “I saw every inch of you last night. You can get it yourself.”
The audacity.
I was about to storm out there, naked as the day I was born and dignity be damned, when there was another gentle knock.
“Deepika.”
Something in his voice made me crack the door open just enough to stick my hand out.
He placed the dress in my palm, his fingers brushing mine. That simple touch sent warmth spreading through my body, betraying me completely, and then—
Something wet touched my hand.
“What the hell was that?!”
Through the crack in the door, I could see him smirking. “My tongue.”
“EW! EW EW EW!” I snatched my hand back, trying to wipe it on the sheet. “You just licked my hand! What’s wrong with you?!”
His laugh echoed through the room, rich and genuine and so fucking infuriating.
“I licked something else too last night,” he called out, voice full of wicked amusement. “And you didn’t react this way.”
I slammed the door, face burning, and got dressed while trying to ignore the mental images his words conjured.
When I finally emerged, he was standing by the window in nothing but his pants and his unbuttoned shirt from last night, hair tousled like he just rolled out of bed which, technically, he had. The morning light hit him just right, making his eyes look unbearably light gray, almost silver.
He glanced at me, and I immediately turned around.
“Zip me up,” I demanded, lifting my hair.
For the first time, he obeyed without taunting, moving behind me. His knuckles brushed my spine as he slowly pulled the zipper up making me shiver.
I lifted my hair completely so he could zip easily and caught my reflection in the mirror above the dresser.
And that’s when I saw it. The hickey on my neck. It was a light shade of purple and looked very obvious.
“You gave me a hickey, you… you dirty dog!” I spun around and grabbed the nearest pillow, launching myself at him.
We crashed onto one of the broken beds, and I smacked him repeatedly with the pillow while he laughed, trying to defend himself.
“You need to find new insults if you’re using Bollywood dialogue on me, Sharma!”
“I’ll show you Bollywood—”
We rolled, and suddenly he had me pinned, hands above my head, both of us breathing hard. His face was inches from mine, flushed and beautiful and… stupid.
His eyes dropped to my lips, then back to my face. “Are you slacking off, hm?”
“Let me go,” I said, squirming and trying to ignore how his weight felt on top of me, how right it felt despite everything.
He hummed, licking his lips in a way that should be illegal. “I don’t think I want to.”
“Let me go now or I’ll scream.”
His smirk turned wicked. “Like last night?”
And then the absolute menace pitched his voice higher, mimicking me, “Oh, Liam! Right there! Hurry up, please!”
I am going to murder him.
He must have seen it in my eyes, because he loosened his grip, and I immediately smacked his chest, shoving him away.
“You’re sick! Sick in the head! Sick everywhere!”
He rolled onto his back on the broken bed, still laughing, and I grabbed my purse, shoving everything back inside that he had emptied last night in his haste to find—
I paused, staring at the two empty condom wrappers on the nightstand. We had done it twice.
I need to cleanse myself in the River Ganges.
I took a deep breath. This was fine. Everything was fine. We were both adults. Adults who made a spectacularly poor decision, fueled by champagne, tequila and seventeen years of unresolved tension.
“We tell no one about this,” I said, turning to face him.
He was buttoning his shirt, fingers moving efficiently. “Duh. It’d be a disaster if we did.”
“Complete disaster,” I said.
“Not to mention, it’ll ruin my reputation.”
“Your reputation?” I asked, crossing my arms. “You mean the one that’s already ruined with your playboy image?”
His jaw tightened. “You should worry about yourself, Sharma. I’m not the one whose boyfriend slept with my identical twin sister—”
The words hung in the air.
His face changed immediately, realizing he had gone too far, but the damage was done.
My expression went cold, all the warmth from moments ago evaporating. “I’m leaving.”
I grabbed my purse and headed for the door, vision blurring slightly because I would not cry in front of Liam fucking James.
Before I could reach the door, his hand wrapped around my wrist.
I turned, ready to unleash, but he just stood there, mouth opening and closing, clearly trying to find words that wouldn’t make this worse.
My annoyance increased with each passing second of silence.
And then my stomach growled.
Loudly.
I covered it with my free hand, mortified, and he said quietly, “Let’s grab breakfast.”
I should have said no and walked out, called a cab and gone home and pretended this never happened.
Instead, I heard myself say, “Fine.”
Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I added, “I hope you choke.”
His laugh was softer this time, almost fond. “There she is.”
He released my wrist, and I hated how much I missed the contact.
I’m so screwed.