Little Sunshine

7. Don’t Share More Than the Minimum

“Mila, baby, wake up.” A gentle touch. “Mil—whoa. Easy, killer.”

My eyes shot open to meet amused hazel ones.

Standing outside the car, Ash leaned into the passenger side. My wrist was clutched in his large hand, my fingers still curled into a fist.

The man is trying to help me, and I almost punched him.

Meh.

He kind of deserves it.

“Sorry.” I only half meant it. “Not used to someone waking me.”

“Not even your roommate?” he shot back with an infuriating smirk.

Maybe it’s not too late for that punch…

I really thought the doctor would let me go once I’d mentioned a roommate. I hadn’t expected him to care enough to confirm his existence. I’d even made my fictitious roommate male so they’d misogynistically think I had someone to protect me.

Glaring up at Ash, I ignored his outstretched hands and carefully stood. Despite my efforts to stay awake, I was pretty sure I’d fallen asleep before we’d even left the garage. I wasn’t sure how long we’d driven, but my bones and body ached like I’d been in the same position for centuries, not minutes.

He didn’t back away as he studied me closely. “You okay?”

“Not as bad as I expected,” I shared honestly. “I really think the doctor snuck me something magical in those shots.”

“Yeah. Needed vitamins and nutrients.”

Ash hovered close as we walked, and I could barely see anything around his massive frame. From my small glimpse, it was the cleanest garage I’d ever seen. There were labeled storage cabinets, typical yard equipment, and a tarp-covered car that was on cinder blocks.

That explains why he’s using his boss’ car. His must be broken down.

Having a usable garage put him in fancy house territory, but the busted car was somehow comforting.

Familiar.

I mean, sure, it wasn’t parked in the front yard and surrounded by uncut weeds, but still.

Maybe we’re not so diff?—

My thoughts didn’t trail off. They froze.

And so did I.

Because when Ash turned on the light in the kitchen, I saw I was so very wrong.

The one room was triple the size of my entire apartment. Not only was it that expansive, but it was also nicer than any room I’d ever seen in person.

No chips or chunks were missing from the dark cabinets. No scuffs on the gleaming counters. No bong water stains from the previous tenant, faded linoleum flooring, or outdated appliances that looked like fire hazards.

The gorgeous space was something out of a magazine or a display from one of the ritzy home remodeling conventions that came to the city every year.

“Little girl, I asked you a question.”

I scowled up at Ash. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Tried using your name, but you weren’t answering.” He didn’t look apologetic about the annoying nickname, but he did seem concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Just tired.” It wasn’t technically a lie. “What did you ask?”

“Are you hungry for some of those vitamins and nutrients in food form?”

I was.

Starving, actually.

But the time on the clock said it was nearing two in the morning. Ash had dealt with my hoopla all night and must’ve been exhausted. I didn’t want to keep him awake any longer.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’d gone to bed on an empty stomach.

“No, I’m good. If you want to show me to the guest room or couch?—”

“You’re eating.”

“I’m fine with a floor?—”

I didn’t get the chance to finish when he carefully lifted me and sat my ass right on the flawless island countertop.

“Why did you bother asking if you were just going to do what you wanted anyway?”

“I was trying to be polite.” He gave me his back as he opened the fridge.

“I think you failed,” I muttered.

I’m being a cranky bitch.

Before I could apologize, he shot a small smile over his shoulder. “It’s a work in progress.”

Ash pulled a stack of glass containers from the fridge and set them to the side. He grabbed the smallest one and opened a drawer to get a fork before passing both to me.

“Eat that…” he started, but I was already tearing the lid off.

A salad.

It looked even better than the one I’d had at Moonlight.

I dumped the enclosed cup of ranch on before I dug in.

Ash took another container and opened a drawer, setting it in.

“Uhhh, whatcha doing?” I asked, wondering if he was more sleep-deprived than he let on. Not that he looked it. There were no bags under his eyes, and he wasn’t yawning.

Not even a single wrinkle in his pristine clothes.

I didn’t know how I looked, and I didn’t care.

Much.

So long as I repressed any thought of it.

“Heating up dinner.” There were a couple of beeping buttons before the quiet hum filled the silence.

I looked down at what I thought was ordinary cabinetry. “Your microwave is a drawer?”

He lifted his chin like a cabinet microwave was a totally normal thing.

Not wanting to see any more of my surroundings, I stared down at the bowl while I picked at my salad. It was delicious, but my appetite was lost to the discomfort that sat heavily in my stomach. I felt caught between the uncontrollable impulse to scrub my hands so I didn’t dirty everything I touched and the need to flee from the house altogether.

I didn’t belong in that kitchen. I didn’t belong in that house.

I sure as hell didn’t belong anywhere near the behemoth in shining armor.

I was there because he felt pity for me.

I was charity.

I have to get out of here.

Only I have nowhere else to go.

Nowhere safe, at least.

“Did you win?”

At Ash’s question voiced from close to my ear, I jolted and nearly dropped the heavy glass container. “What?”

“You were having a staring contest with your salad.” He took it from me, replacing it with a warm container before stepping away again. “Did you win?”

“I would’ve, but you interrupted.” I glanced down at the new food he’d given me. It smelled delicious, but I wasn’t sure I could even politely pick at it.

And not just because of the pit still occupying my belly.

“Meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans,” he filled in unnecessarily.

I loathed meatloaf. My nan had made it often. She’d called it cheap comfort food. I assumed the emphasis was on the cheap part since hers could’ve easily been ground cardboard covered in brown water that tasted like it’d once spent time near some beef.

Essence of beef gravy.

Not wanting to be rude—or ruder than I’d already been—I took a small bite. Then a bigger bite. And another.

I may have had the dish countless times as a kid, but it’d never tasted like that. Savory and rich, with a sweet tomato glaze and seasoning. So much seasoning. When I tried the mashed potatoes, it was even better. Buttery and herby, with chunks of actual potato in it.

Nothing like the packets of powdered potatoes I got from the dollar store—and I thought those were pretty good to begin with.

“You like it.” It wasn’t a question, just another unnecessary statement. If I could’ve inhaled the whole thing without getting violently ill, I would’ve.

Still, I nodded.

“Vera was right.”

I stopped with my fork halfway to my mouth. “What?”

“She said you needed comfort food.”

I didn’t know who the all-knowing Vera was, and I wasn’t about to ask. It wasn’t my business.

Just like I wasn’t hers.

I slammed the dish down harder than I meant to. “You told someone what happened to me?”

“Just that you were in an accident.” He stepped closer. So close, my knees spread automatically out of his way, though he stopped before that point. “Not any of the details.”

Even if he wanted to share, there wasn’t much he could. I hadn’t told him or the doctor more than the bare minimum.

Less than that, actually.

That didn’t mean I wanted the mysterious Vera knowing anything about me. I didn’t want to picture him and some equally gorgeous woman talking about my misfortune. Looking down at me with pity as they discussed what to feed the poor, starving little girl.

“Little girl,” Ash said, unknowingly echoing my thoughts. The already annoying nickname cut like a knife.

I easily hid my reaction before letting a yawn free. “Sorry, I’m exhausted.” I slid off the counter, expecting him to back away. To give me space.

He didn’t.

So close.

Too close.

My body nearly touched his, and I could feel the heat radiating from it. If I wanted to meet his eyes, I would’ve had to crane my neck to do it.

I didn’t want to, though. I’d seen enough sympathy for the day.

Or a lifetime.

Looking to the side, I asked, “Can you point me to the bathroom and then the couch?”

“No energy for a slice of fancy poison cake?”

I shook my head as I squeezed out from between him and the island.

He muttered something under his breath that I didn’t catch. I assumed it was something about how rude I was, but when I forced myself to look at him, his mouth was curved into a smile.

“What?” I snapped defensively.

“Let’s get you to bed.” He started for a stairwell on the other side of the room, leaving me to trail him.

Which I did.

When we reached the top, he continued halfway down a lengthy hall before stopping. Ash pushed a door open and stepped aside for me to enter.

Decent-sized, my ass.

Not following me in, he pointed things out from his spot in the doorway. “Bathroom. There’s stuff in there for a quick shower if you promise not to fall asleep and drown. Pajamas on the bed. There’s a phone charger and TV remote on the nightstand. Some books in the other room. I forget anything?”

“A chocolate mint on the pillow,” I joked, taking it all in.

He chuckled. “My bad.”

I turned to face him, trying to muster up adequate words. He may have broken his promise of no hospitals and bossed me into… basically everything, but he could’ve easily done nothing and left me to fend for myself.

Or called the cops and let them sort out my messy life.

That alone deserved gratitude and not a bitchy attitude, thanks to my own hang-ups.

I didn’t get the chance to express any of that before he ordered, “Get some sleep.”

And then he closed the door in my face.

Ohhhhkay.

I turned back and stepped farther into the palatial room as I looked around.

Wait.

I don’t think this is…

Scowling, I stomped over to open the door and confront Ash, but he was already gone.

“Ash!” I snapped, looking up and down the long hallway.

Nothing.

Shit, I am too tired to deal with this right now.

I closed myself back in the room.

Saying it was nicer than my apartment or even The Roulette’s nicest suite—and I used that term loosely—was a given.

But when I was a kid, my mom and nan used to watch every show about Vegas—separately, of course.

Travel specials.

News coverage about new hotels or remodels.

Reruns of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

If it involved Vegas—but especially the Strip—they watched.

Just not for the same reason.

My nan loathed everything Vegas stood for. It wasn’t only because it was packed with all seven of the deadly sins—with many more added for good measure. She hated even the mundane.

The heat.

The traffic.

The various trees and plants.

The street layouts.

The surrounding areas.

When I was a kid, I used to wonder why she didn’t move away. When I got a little older, I understood.

She loved to hate it.

To complain.

To clutch her Bible and fake pearls as she bemoaned all the sinners from her position as a self-appointed saint.

Moving would take that from her.

Like most things, my mother was the exact opposite of her own mother. All the reasons Nan had hated Vegas were exactly why Veronica loved it.

She lived for the glitz and glamor. She’d raptly watch each show and special, going on about how it was her future. How she deserved it. She couldn’t keep track of picture day or parent-teacher conferences—or even if I’d eaten that day—but she could tell you every last detail about her big plans.

Where she’d stay.

Where she’d eat.

What pool she’d lounge by when that was her life.

Not our life.

Hers.

Even at a young age, I’d picked up that exclusion. Yet I’d still eagerly savored that time with her. I would make mental notes of what I’d watched with my nan so I could tell Veronica about it. I would hang on her every word like she’d weaved a fanciful fairy tale and not lies with a hefty side of delusions.

So while my firsthand experience in luxury hotels was nonexistent, I’d seen enough on TV to know that most of those extravagant rooms were a dumpster compared to Ash’s guest room.

Or so he’d claimed.

Because the more I looked around, the more I was sure it was his bedroom.

The furniture, doors, and molding were the same dark, rich wood. The matching slatted headboard was pushed against a textured black wall, contrasting with the cool blue of the other walls and bedding. The bed itself was massive. I didn’t even know they made them that big.

The owner was stupidly tall, so it made sense his bed would be, too.

Across from the bed was a wide, raw brick pillar with a fireplace and mounted TV. I circled the pillar to find a whole other freaking room with two insanely comfortable-looking armchairs and walls lined with stocked bookshelves.

The fireplace was viewable from either side and looked like the best place to spend a rainy day.

As badly as I wanted to flop down on the bed or an armchair or even the lush rug, I needed a shower.

Badly.

I was covered in dirt and grime and hands.

A shudder rocked through me as I hurried into the bathroom. Rather than the cool, peaceful blues of the bedroom, that echoingly cavernous space was all moody dark blues and grays.

This is way too fancy for a room with a toilet.

Even the shower was needlessly complicated. I turned and twisted various knobs like I was trying to crack a safe. I was close to settling for a gross scrub down from the sink when the water kicked on.

From the showerhead, plus multiple sprayers and a freaking waterfall.

A jet of icy water shot all over me and the floor, and I yelped as I instinctively slammed the etched glass door closed.

Well.

Shit.

Climbing into a cold shower was less than ideal. But so was the idea of letting water spray all over the pristine bathroom while I fiddled with the controls.

Ash probably wouldn’t care about the water spots, but I would.

At the thought, an idea formed.

When I’d agreed to go home with Ash at the hospital, it wasn’t because I needed someone to take care of me.

I could—and had always—done that myself.

It definitely wasn’t because I was desperate to spend time with the bossy behemoth.

It wasn’t even the promise of cake—though that’d been a perk.

I’d agreed because those douchebags from the alley had stolen my license. They had my name. They had my address.

The new lock I’d installed was better than the old one, but trying to operate Ash’s shower would slow someone down more than the flimsy door would.

I wasn’t stupid. I wasn’t going to be the stubborn, headstrong woman in the action movie. The one who was determined to prove themselves by going alone.

And then promptly being the first to die.

That didn’t mean I would hide forever, but a few days would be smart. Long enough to let things cool off. For them to…

Well, I wasn’t going to say move on since weak assholes like them moved on by targeting a new woman.

Instead, I hoped that while I took a break in a luxurious house, they moved on by getting hit by a car.

Or maybe eating at a cheap buffet, getting food poisoning, and dying from shitting themselves.

Or having a thousand bees swarm and sting their tiny peckers until they died burning, painful deaths.

Whatever way, I was open so long as the result was them leaving me and other women alone.

Although I’d done the smart thing—hopefully—by going with Ash, I wouldn’t be charity. As I grabbed a towel and crawled around to wipe the water spray, my idea turned into a plan.

While I was there, I would clean. It wouldn’t be charity if I was working off my stay.

After I got every drop from the floor, I quickly stripped and dashed into the frozen tundra of a shower. I fiddled with the knobs again, going from icebergs to hell before finally finding a middle ground.

Whoa.

Once I did, my body relaxed for the first time in… forever. Powerful jets worked at my aching, stiff muscles. The pelting heat worsened the burning on my skin, but the way it seeped into my bones was worth the pain.

When I was in danger of falling asleep and drowning like Ash had joked, I wiped the water from my eyes and looked for soap. There was a built-in shelf stocked with men’s personal care items. Minimalist black labels marked beard conditioner, sandalwood-and-whiskey body wash, and the like.

On the shelf below, though, was a line of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from an upscale brand whose name I couldn’t pronounce.

I sneered at the items, my brain briefly wondering if they belonged to Vera. But it was just a quick thought because I was too tired and the shower felt too good for me to care.

It was none of my business.

I was just his temporary housekeeper.

Since smelling like his girlfriend would be awkward but smelling like him was awkward and intimate, I used as little of the products as I could get away with. Even still, the smell of honey and vanilla filled the enclosed space.

I hated to admit it, but it was incredible.

I turned off the water and climbed out, wrapping my hair and body in plush towels. I used the packaged toothbrush on the counter, but I steered clear of the hairbrush sitting next to it.

Ash’s hair was cut close to his head, so it was a safe bet it wasn’t his. The idea of sharing anyone’s brush grossed me out. Using a mystery woman’s was totally not happening.

My long hair would knot and tangle to the point it’d take me forever to fix, but I would just deal with that.

Just like I would have to take whatever pajamas Ash had mentioned. It wasn’t like I could sleep in my dirty clothes. Or out of them, for that matter.

If using his soap had been too intimate, sleeping with my naked bits all over his bed was definitely off the table.

When I returned to the room and picked up the black set, I immediately dropped the towel, no longer hesitant to wear them.

For one thing, they were insanely soft. Like baby angel wings had been woven together with clouds to make pajamas capable of easing someone to sleep just by wearing them.

For another, tags still hung from the label.

They still may have belonged to someone else, but they hadn’t been worn, so whatever.

I could deal with that.

I got dressed before forcing myself back to the bathroom to hang the towels so they didn’t make the room musky—a scent that lingered. When I stepped into the bedroom, I froze, tightness settling deep in my chest.

It was far from a cramped room, but it was unfamiliar and dark.

Too dark.

And quiet.

Tooquiet.

There was no light pollution. No sounds of traffic. No drunk neighbors loudly fighting. Or drunk neighbors loudly fucking.

I flicked on the bathroom light and left the door ajar so some streamed out. The tightness in my chest instantly loosened, and I inhaled deeply. Not bothering to get under the covers, I flopped onto the bed, and my deep breath rushed out in an exhale that bordered on a moan of pleasure.

This doesn’t even feel real.

The cushy bed. The house.

The man.

Maybe I was hit harder than I thought, and I’m actually still unconscious in the alley.

If that’s the case…

I’ll start throwing hands at whoever wakes me.

I scoffed at my loopiness as I rolled to the side.

It’d been one of the top five worst days in my life, but even I had to admit there were worse ways for it to end.

I was nearly asleep when a hazy thought hit me.

Beyond the strong scent of laundry soap…

I was right.

This bed smells like the behemoth.

And then I was out.

Ash

She’s asleep.

I think.

Or she’s quiet because she snuck back out through the kitchen and is going to pull a Juliet by getting lost in the desert.

It wasn’t possible—no way she could bypass the security system—but the thought set me on edge.

After Maximo had rescued Juliet from her sack-of-shit father and brought her to his house, I’d thought the cameras in her room were overkill. Not only had her door been secured by high-tech locks, but someone had almost always guarded it. I’d figured there was no way she’d get past the lock, one of us goons, and then all the way through the house to the front door.

And I’d thought that right up until she’d done exactly that.

Even once Juliet had decided to stay, the cameras had stayed up. Not because Maximo worried she’d run again, but because he liked to watch her. Something he still did when they were apart.

I didn’t judge, but I also hadn’t gotten it.

Until right then.

Because with Mila around the corner, I’d give my left fucking nut to see her. In my room.

In my bed.

Christ.

My hard cock ached.

I’d tried to explain to it that she was injured.

That she’d been through a shit-ton—and clearly not just that night.

That she wasn’t mine.

But my dick and I were sick bastards.

It wasn’t just about the possessive need I had no right to feel. I wanted the reassurance she was okay. Sleeping instead of tossing and turning as she relived whatever she’d gone through.

Shit.

I ran my palm down my face.

Once I was sure she was settled, I turned off the muted TV in the loft space and went to one of the guest rooms, heading straight for the en suite. I left the water cold as I climbed in, hoping my dick would get the message.

It didn’t.

I made the shower quick and got ready to crash for a few hours before my mental alarm clock would wake me. I was just nodding off when my cell pinged.

I grabbed it to see a text from Cole.

Cole: One Video

I downloaded the attachment to see the lobby of Moonlight. A few seconds in, Mila walked through the door with her hood up. She kept her head down and face covered as she approached the front desk. The video cut and angle changed as a different camera took over. I could only see the back of her head, but I could hear her clearly.

“Ash. Beard. Short hair. Behemoth of a man.”

Hearing her ask for me hit me in the gut.

Hearing her call me a behemoth of a man made me smile.

But hearing and seeing the dismissive disgust from the prick working the counter made me want to take him down to The Basement.

He’d tried to turn her away. With the condition she was in, I doubted she’d have made it far.

Even if it wasn’t Mila, that was fucked.

But it was Mila.

MyMila.

Which meant he was fucked.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me?

Cole: I know. Boss says the desk clerk is fired, and it’s your news to deliver.

Cole: However you want to deliver it.

As tempting as that was, I had more important targets to hunt. My full attention was dedicated to whoever had made it so a walk across the lobby required Mila to clutch onto the counter.

Me: One of you handle it. I have bigger fish to catch, filet slowly and painfully, and torch.

That wasn’t a metaphor.

Cole: On it.

I watched the clip again before tossing my cell on the bed and leaving the room.

I needed to see that she was okay.

Safe.

That she wasn’t trying to hobble her injured ass across the desert.

If I was a better man, I would’ve stopped outside the closed door. I would’ve given her privacy. She’d trusted me enough to come home with me, and I was invading the space I’d offered.

I would’ve at least hesitated.

I didn’t.

Opening the door, I moved silently across the room, not needing the light from the bathroom.

Another thing to handle tomorrow.

When I got close to the bed, panic stopped my damn heart in my chest.

Fuck.

Sprawled diagonal in bed on top of the blanket, Mila looked like she’d passed out. I was about to shake her awake when she kicked a leg out and rolled before flipping around to roll again.

Good, she didn’t faint, but now I gotta worry she’s gonna throw herself out of bed.

Checking on her was one thing. Getting close enough to cover her would push it.

But since I was already watching her sleep—fully owning the fact it was fucking creepy—I did it anyway.

I tugged the blanket from under her and barely dodged the tiny fist of fury she flung my way.

“Don’t wanna wake up,” she muttered, burying her head beneath a pillow.

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re surprisingly violent, sunshine?”

She tilted her head to peek out from under the pillow at me. “Behemoth?”

I’d liked hearing it on the video.

I liked hearing it in person a fuckuva lot more.

“Don’t worry,” she mumbled. “Still alive.”

I let her think that I was there to follow concussion protocol. “Be back in a couple hours with your meds.”

Her response was to kick her leg out.

When I returned to my room, there was another text from Cole waiting.

Cole: She good?

I thought about all that had happened at the hospital. The minimal amount she’d shared. The way she lied like a pro. The smart mouth she let slip through only to lock herself down again.

Me: No.

Me: But she will be.