I kept munching the toast and drank half the water.
“Take some ibuprofen, too,” Nix said, nodding at the pill bottle. “Thought I had some electrolyte powder, but no dice. That’s the real key to beating a hangover before it starts. This should help a lot, though.”
I took the pills. “You sure know all the tricks,” I muttered.
“I’m in a motorcycle club,” Nix said with a laugh. “Comes with the territory.”
So maybe I was just another drunk asshole on a long list of drunk assholes Nix had dealt with at Ballast. But if that was the case, why was he such a calm, steadying presence to be around? Shouldn’t he be annoyed? And he was doing me a favor, taking care of me instead of letting me crash in my truck in the parking lot of Ballast. I’d sure as hell feel better tomorrow than I would’ve if I’d passed out in my back seat.
Nix thumbed through one of his books idly, keeping one eye on me as I finished the toast. It was more than a little embarrassing, though, to be tended to like this, especially when outside Ballast I’d had plans that involved getting fucked within an inch of my life—not eating snacks to cure the spins while stretched out on his couch.
At least I hadn’t puked in his truck.
In the cozy, welcoming space of Nix’s apartment, sobering up thanks to the food, the water, and the painkillers, I suddenly felt like a complete asshole. “Sorry,” I muttered. “I was kind of a dickhead at Ballast.”
Nix nodded. “Accepted,” he said.
I blinked. That was easy… I shifted a little awkwardly on the couch, then moved to pick up the plate and glass.
“I got it,” Nix said, levering gracefully off the chair and grabbing the dishes. “Don’t get up, I don’t want you to get the spins again.”
“How’d you know I had the spins?” I asked.
“One foot on the floor,” Nix said, throwing a grin over his shoulder. “A classic tell.” When he returned, he chucked a pillow at me, and then dropped a blanket on my feet. “Here you go. Get some sleep.”
I pulled the pillow away from my face and blinked owlishly at him, but Nix had already moved on. He faced me and pulled his shirt quickly over his head, but I only had a moment to stare at the muscled plane of his chest before I jerked my attention back to his face. Despite how exhausted and slightly miserable I felt, the sight of his body still made desire flare in my gut.
Nix tilted his head at my expression, curiously, like he was waiting for me to say something.
But really, I’d been expecting him to say something. I’d thought he was going to chew me out for my drinking, or at least mention something about my asshole behavior at the bar. But other than what he’d said at Ballast, he hadn’t mentioned it at all. Hadn’t told me I drank too much, or that I’d behaved like a dickhead, or anything. He’d just dropped me on the couch and fed me, and now I had really soft blanket, and I was really fucking confused.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I asked, a little blearily.
“Why shouldn’t I be?” Nix said with a small smile.
Something in his expression made my stomach turn again, but this time it was with a familiar feeling of shame. He was looking at me so softly, and openly, and—no one ever looked at me like that. There was no reason for it. But Nix’s head was still tilted like he was genuinely expecting an answer.
“Because I was being a huge dick to you?” I said in a questioning tone. “Because I don’t deserve it?”
“That’s not true,” Nix said easily, with a warm smile like we were sharing some private joke. Except if we were, I didn’t understand it at all. But Nix didn’t explain further, he just shut the light off and crawled into his bed in the corner of the room.
In the cool dark of the room, with only the hum of the fan and Nix’s evening breaths, I was only more confused. Despite how exhausted I’d been in the truck, now, my circling thoughts kept me from passing out immediately.
What was Nix’s deal? What did he mean that wasn’t true? I was being a dick, that much was certain. Of course, I didn’t deserve his kindness. I’d acted like an asshole, gotten myself into another scuffle, and I should’ve been left to deal with the consequences on my own. Instead, Nix had brought me to his apartment and tended to me like we were old friends, and he hadn’t brought up the hookup—or even the kiss we’d shared outside Ballast.
And why did that make me so much more ashamed of how I’d behaved? It was true, sometimes when I drank a little too much, I made mistakes and acted like an asshole, but I was usually able to handle the consequences without too much problem. But Nix’s acceptance, his kindness, made me feel even worse. Because despite my rules about flings, I wanted him—and I wanted him to want me back. But after tonight, he probably just thought I was pathetic. And that itched at me.
Why had he gone through the trouble of taking care of me? What was his deal? Why did he even bother?
My thoughts ran in circles through my mind, to the point that I almost wanted to get up and see if Nix had any beer in the fridge to help me fall asleep—I’d gone too far in the direction of sobriety. And it was only the thought of what his expression might look like if he caught me that kept me from doing so.
And eventually, lulled by the soft, deep sound of Nix’s breathing, I fell into a fitful sleep.
2
Nix
As the coffee brewed, I took a moment to gaze down at Dawson, passed out on the couch. Undoubtedly, he’d wake up soon, stirred back into the land of the living by the smell of the coffee and the sounds of me moving around my small apartment.
Right now, though, he was still dead asleep. He must’ve gotten hot sometime in the night because he’d stripped out of his shirt, even though he was still in his jeans. His bare feet stuck out from beneath the blanket, and his sandy blond hair was a mess on the pillow. He looked younger in sleep, with his plush lips parted, and the morning sunlight falling in stripes across his chest.
Everything about him like this made me want to touch him. I wanted to run my lips across the curve of his jaw, the column of his neck. I wanted to smooth my hands over his firm chest all the way to his hips. I wanted to kiss him until he moaned my name against my lips.
And god, that was really fucking confusing.
I’d never even considered getting with a guy before. I never had a problem with it, really, I’d just never been all that interested—hell, I hadn’t been interested in anyone for a long time. And I’d never wanted to devour a man the way I wanted to with Dawson. As much as I’d loved her, I hadn’t even wanted Sienna with this kind of physical, primal intensity.
And besides all that, if there was anyone I shouldn’t get involved with, it was Dawson. He was in serious denial about his drinking, and a textbook example of the kind of person that could drag me back into my own habits. I’d learned a lot since I got sober, and one of those things was that I wasn’t infallible. I had a strong will, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t slip.
I knew my triggers, too. I was solid enough in my sobriety that picking up shifts at Ballast wasn’t a problem. I’d been honest with Blade and Priest, cluing them into my history of addiction that Dante and Mal unfortunately knew well, and they’d told me I didn’t need to enforce at Ballast at all if it’d put my sobriety at risk.