Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
STORM
The whirring sound of a blender screams through me. I squint, lifting my head, groaning as I look around the bright room. Fuck, it’s too bright. “Ughhh,” I groan, flopping my head back down on the pillow.
“I would have thought you knew not to mix your drinks by now,” a deep voice mocks. It takes a moment for my hungover brain to catch up. Drix?
I lift my head again, trying to force my eyes to open a fraction more as I roll over onto my back. My eyes land on a sweaty bare-chested Drix. I must be dreaming. I blink once, twice, but when nothing changes, I frown, looking up at him.
“Drix?” I murmur.
“The one and only. Here, drink this,” he says, holding out a glass of green liquid.
My stomach recoils. “God no. Thanks,” I say, covering my mouth with my hand, fighting the urge to not throw up.
I take few deep breaths and once I’m satisfied I’m not about to empty the contents of my stomach everywhere, I push myself up to a sitting position and clasp my head.
“I thought I told you to take me home,” I state, remembering that part of the night.
“I was going to, but it was late. Enzo was dropping Maisy home, and he wasn’t planning on going home, so he just dropped us back at mine.
Don panic, I text your dad,” he says, taking a sip of the green sludge he just offered me.
I can’t help but appreciate his toned tattooed body as he drinks.
My gaze trails down his body, to his grey jersey shorts, and the very visible outline of his junk right before my eyes.
HOLY FUCK! He finishes drinking it and catches me looking. “Getting a good enough look there, BB?”
I quickly look away, feeling my cheeks heat, lifting the blanket to cover my embarrassment. “You have that thing practically in my face. Where else am I supposed to look?” I protest.
He smirks, enjoying my suffering far too much. “Sweetheart, if it was in your face, you wouldn’t be able to talk.”
I drop the blanket and surge to my feet, instantly regretting that decision when the room spins. “Whoa!” I mutter, holding out my arms to try and steady myself. Strong arms wrap around me, holding me tightly. I blink, steadying my vison, and look up into Drix’s opulent blue eyes.
He tucks a strand of my hair affectionately behind my ear, and flashbacks of last night replay in my mind; us in a similar situation, kissing. My eyes flicker to his mouth and he grins.
“Remembering last night?” he teases.
I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t release me. “Reliving the horrors, yes,” I quip.
His grin deepens. “The only horror of last night was your singing in the truck. Never have I heard Foo Fighters The Best of You sang in that pitch before. Fucking lucky the windows in Enzo’s truck didn’t break,” he taunts.
I give him a snarky laugh. “Ha ha, so funny. Now, can you let me go?”
“What? You’re not going to beg?” His grin widens, that dimple in his cheek deepening.
My gaze narrows on him. “I’m too hungover for your games,” I sigh.
He surprises the shit out of me by pressing a kiss to my temple before stepping back. “I put fresh towels in the bathroom for you, and one of my T-shirts is in there for you to change into. Don’t be long. I’m making us pancakes,” he casually states before walking over to his kitchen.
I look around the room. Clearly I’m still drunk, or maybe my drink was spiked.
Sure, that’s got to be it. I will soon see pink elephants dancing around the room.
I make my way to the bathroom of his apartment, stripping off before I step into the hot shower, moaning at how good it feels.
I reach for the body wash, and as the scent of Drix fills my senses, I close my eyes, feeling my body relax.
Finishing up, I step out and quickly dry off.
I wipe the mirror and look at my reflection.
Most of the bruising on my face has gone, but the small scar on my lip will be a permanent reminder.
I drop the towel and look at my body; the bruising on my ribs is still visible, but thankfully the pain has eased, and I only get the odd twinge.
I pull on Drix’s T-shirt before heading out to the kitchen.
The smell of bacon and pancakes is making my stomach rumble, and surprisingly, Drix is still shirtless, but he’s now dressed in a pair of jeans, his hair damp at the ends.
He turns when he hears me enter, and his eyes sweep over me with a hunger I’ve never seen before.
I don’t shift awkwardly. Instead, I stand firm, folding my arms over my chest in a silent challenge.
He places the towel over his shoulder and stalks towards me.
It’s not a casual walk, but predatory. He stops mere inches from me, tilting my chin up before he leans down and presses his mouth to mine.
It’s a soft, yet possessive kiss that causes butterflies in my stomach, but it also sends a million confusing thoughts whirling through my head.
Did I miss something? Did something happen last night that I don’t remember?
He steps back and heads back over to the pan on the stove. I stand there, statue still. “I’m sorry, have I woken up in another fucking dimension?” I blurt out.
He throws his head back and roars with a deep laughter as he turns around and plates up two servings of food. “You remember what I said to you last night?” he asks.
I nod. “I think so,” I mutter, frowning down at my coffee. Surely I’ve forgotten something.
Drix carries the frying pan to the sink before crossing to the fridge. He pulls out a jug of orange juice and pours us each a glass with infuriating calmness. “I said when you trust me,” he says, setting the jug down. “When you’re ready. Remember that?”
I glance up. Of course I remember. I remember every stupid word. “I remember being incredibly frustrated,” I retort. “I practically offered myself to you on a silver platter.”
His mouth twitches, then the bastard actually laughs. “You have no idea how hard that was.”
I narrow my eyes. “Oh, poor Drix. What a tragedy for you.”
His grin widens. “BB, that was genuinely the hardest decision I’ve ever made.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
He shakes his head as he moves around the breakfast bar. “No.” His voice softens slightly. “I’m serious.”
Something in his expression makes me pause. The teasing has vanished, and the playfulness fades. Suddenly he’s just... Drix. Raw, honest, and dangerous.
He places our plates on the counter before resting his palms against the surface. “I told you I’d help you through it. Help you find yourself again.” I swallow as his eyes hold mine. “And last night, while you were asleep...” He exhales slowly. “I realised I can’t do this anymore.”
My pulse stutters. “Drix…”
“I can’t be your friend anymore.” The words hit me like a punch. His gaze doesn’t waver. “I’m done pretending that’s enough.” The kitchen suddenly feels far too small, far too warm. “You are mine, BB.” The certainty in his voice steals my breath. “You always have been.” My stomach flips.
Part of me wants to launch myself at him. The other part wants to throw my plate directly at his head. Possibly both. Simultaneously.
His lips twitch as if he can see every conflicting thought racing through my mind.
“I hate that look.”
“You haven’t even heard what I’m thinking,” I counter.
“I don’t need to,” he says with such arrogance.
I pick up my fork. “Then enlighten me.”
“You want to kiss me,” he states. I stab a pancake. “You want to throw that fork at me.” I stab harder. “And you’re debating which one would be more satisfying.”
I hate that he’s right. The smug asshole knows it, too. His grin grows.
“I am not easy to love,” I mutter.
“No.” The answer comes instantly. No hesitation. No uncertainty. Just cockiness.
Something in my chest squeezes painfully.
His expression softens. “But you’re worth it.”
Damn him. Damn him for saying things like that, and damn him for meaning them. The silence stretches, heavy and charged. Then his eyes darken.
“You also seem to think I don’t want you; all of you.”
I lift my chin. “Maybe I don’t want you.” I shrug
A slow smile spreads across his face, and it’s a smile that immediately puts me on alert. Predator. That’s what he looks like. A predator who has spotted prey pretending it isn’t cornered.
He rounds the breakfast bar, slowly, deliberately. My pulse picks up, but I refuse to move. I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can feel his warmth. Close enough that I catch the scent of soap and coffee and him.
“You’re lying,” he challenges.
“I’m not!” I huff.
His eyebrow rises. “BB.”
“I’m not,” I repeat.
“You are,” he presses.
“I’m not!” I snap.
His grin returns. “You blinked.”
“I did not blink,” I deny.
“You absolutely blinked.” He smirks.
I did. The traitorous twat noticed. Again.
His hands settle on either side of the counter behind me, not touching or trapping me, but somehow it feels worse. “I see the way you look at me.” His voice drops lower. Softer. Rougher. “I see the way your eyes follow me when you think I’m not paying attention.” Heat floods my cheeks.
“I do not—” I begin to protest.
“You do.” His head dips slightly as the corner of his mouth lifts. “And I definitely catch you staring at my ass.” My mouth falls open. His grin turns victorious. “Thought so.”
I want to kill him. Actually kill him. Possibly with the syrup bottle. “You are fucking insufferable.”
“And yet here you are, still here before me, in my apartment.” His eyes flicker over my face. Lingering. Warm. Affectionate. Far too affectionate.
My heart betrays me completely. “I don’t want to fuck you,” I announce. Each word is deliberate and careful. Final. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Fuck. You.”
Silence. A beat passes, then another as Drix studies me. Then he laughs.
Not a chuckle. Not a smirk. A full-bodied laugh. The kind that makes his shoulders shake.
“Oh, that’s adorable.”
I glare. “Excuse me?”
“That’s your tell,” he gestures.
“My what?” I furrow my brows
“Whenever you’re lying, you get extra dramatic.”