I clutch the blanket to my chest, ready to fight for my life, but when I see who is before me, I don’t know whether to be relieved or terrified. Bull is sitting in a ratty armchair in the corner of the room, playing the part of creeper perfectly.
Sitting casually with his ankle crossed over his knee, he watches me with those fucking devilish eyes. His fingers are steepled in front of his lips. I don’t know why I’m here, but when I realize where I am, my stomach drops. I’m in a motel room, a cheap one at that, with Bull sitting feet away.
The last thing I remember is…fuck.
I’m still in my bra and underwear, but where are my clothes? More importantly, why am I in a motel room with a man who is nothing but trouble?
However, all of that can wait.
“Wh-where’s my phone?” I sound like I gargled glass shards, but he’s heard me loud and clear. He gestures with his head toward the nightstand.
I pounce on it, unlocking it with unsteady fingers. I’m about to call Erika, but when I see a thread of messages, I cock my head in confusion. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes to ensure I’m not seeing things, I read over an exchange of texts from my cell to Erika’s.
Where are you?
Did you want me to feed Jordy?
Are you okay?
When that text wasn’t answered, Erika sent another string of messages, asking if Jordy should stay at her house, until finally, someone replied.
Tiger is working late. Yes, to all your questions. She’s fine.
Short and sweet—no guessing who replied on my behalf because I was too busy getting wasted instead of being a good mom.
Slumping back against the headboard, I run a hand over my face, beyond disappointed in my behavior last night. I was supposed to only have one drink, but that turned into ten when the man of the hour made me feel like shit once again.
I quickly send a text to Erika, thanking her for looking after Jordy and also letting her know I’ll be home soon. I leave out how I have to find my clothes first. Tossing my cell onto the nightstand, I gather the courage to look at Bull, whose poker face is still set in stone.
“Where are my clothes?”
He points at the bathroom but doesn’t speak. His silence only provokes my ire.
“Why am I here? In this cheap motel with you?” The moment the question leaves me, I pale before I begin burning up.
It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. I’m almost naked in a motel room with the man I’ve had this weird sexual chemistry with since the moment we met. I don’t particularly like him, and he most certainly doesn’t like me, which is the perfect recipe for hot, angry sex.
“Oh, god,” I groan, covering my face with my palms, uncaring that I’m no longer covered. What does it matter? He saw it all last night.
“Did we…?” I don’t even have the balls to ask him if we slept together. “I can’t believe after practically being a nun for years, I finally get lucky in a shithole, and I can’t even remember it. Please tell me we were careful?”
I omit my next question, which would have been, ‘Was I any good?’
“I may be a fucked-up, sadistic bastard who is into some weird ass shit…” Has his voice always been this smooth? “But necrophilia isn’t one of them.”
“What?” I finally uncover my face, arching a brow.
When he pushes off the chair and stands, I hold my breath. He ambles over, coming to stop at the foot of the bed. “You’re not wearing any clothes because you vomited all over them. And me. You’re here because I have no idea where you live, and I wasn’t going to rummage through your shit. This shithole is where I’m staying at the moment.”
He licks his upper lip, folding his muscled arms across his broad chest. “And no, we did not have sex.”
Well, holy shit. He answered all my questions, but I still have a thousand more. This is the most he’s ever spoken to me, though, so I don’t push my luck. I suddenly feel like the world’s biggest idiot for so many reasons.
“I’m sorry I called this place a shithole.” I apologize because I just insulted his home. “Thank you for taking care of me. I was a mess last night. I’m so embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t have drunk that much, especially around assholes like Carlos.”
He’s right. On both accounts.
I want to tell him the reason I did so was because of the way he treated me. The way he disregards me provokes me in ways I can’t explain. And whenever we touch, he makes it evident he’d rather take a swim in a tankful of piranhas.
I don’t know why he gets under my skin: he just does.
Thoughts of skin have me remembering how much skin I’m currently flaunting. I had no issues with my nakedness before because I thought he’d seen it all last night. But now that I know the truth, I realize what he did was actually really chivalrous, and in return, I’ve accused him of defiling my unconscious state and revealed the fact that I’m a born-again virgin.
This cannot get any worse.
“Is Jordy your…cat?” he asks, bringing home the fact that I’m a terrible mom.
Of course, he’d think I had a cat. What kind of mom leaves her son alone while she gets drunk with strange men?
I suddenly remember his reply to Erika. He called me Tiger. I suppose it’s short for my stage name, but Tiger and Bull—this can only lead to disaster.
Nodding quickly, I wrap the blanket tightly around me, before carefully getting out of bed. “Yes, he’s my cat.” I don’t know why I just lied. I suppose I’m not ready to share that I have a son with someone I just met—regardless of this strange connection we have.
“And I’m a shitty mom for leaving him with my friend. I better get home.” However, the issue of not having any clothes may hinder my departure.
Bull sighs before sauntering over to the dresser. He doesn’t even know he’s sauntering. This man radiates swagger. He produces a pair of sweats and a well-loved AC/DC T-shirt. “Here.”
With no other choice, I shuffle over, ensuring I don’t fall onto my ass, and reach for his clothes. Our fingers brush, but I muffle my whimper. “Thank you again.” I desperately want to ask why he came to my rescue last night, but I don’t.
I feel dwarfed in his presence as he holds me prisoner with an intense stare. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Two minutes ago, I thought we got busy, so you don’t have to ask permission,” I tease lightly.
But when Bull cocks a brow, appearing confused by my taunt, I clarify, “Of course you can.”
“What did Carlos whisper in your ear?”
I screw up my nose as I have no idea what he said to me because I’m sure it was the usual shit. But when Bull seems to hang onto my reply, I dig deep and remember. “He asked what it would take for me to come work for him.”
Bull clenches his jaw.
“I’ve told him I’m not leaving Lotus. She’s been good to me, and I would never do that to her. When I told him no, he offered to buy me a car. My reply was something along the lines of I’m not a whore. And his response was my girl could never be a whore.” I roll my eyes because his cheesy line still makes me want to hurl.