Shit, had she always been this cute when her brows pinched together and she bit her bottom lip?
“You’re what?”
“Never mind.”
Her teeth sank deeper into her bottom lip
“Ren.” My hand went to her face to rescue the abused flesh. But before I could pull her lip free she dipped her chin and planted her forehead on my chest.
“No talking,” she mumbled.
Any other woman said that to me it would be music to my ears. Coming from Lauren, it sent my teeth on edge.
“This only works if we talk.”
Where the fuck did that come from?
Lauren lifted her head and she had that look, the one that was full of attitude. Seeing as I was smart and the last time she squinted at me she spewed a list of fucked-up rules that pissed me right the fuck off, I decided it was smart to cut her off.
“I might be an asshole, Lauren, but I’m not some dick that’s gonna fuck you then walk out the door. Like it or not there will be conversation. And I’m not the sorta man that takes without giving. There’s a lot your body will tell me, but I’m not into forcing women to do shit they don’t like.”
When she still didn’t tell me what was on her mind I prompted, “What’s going on in your head, Ren?”
“I’m nervous,” she blurted out. “I’m not…”
“You’re not what?”
“I’m not like that waitress at the bar.”
“Well, thank fuck for that.”
Her eyes got narrower and lines crinkled around their edges—clear indicators she didn’t believe me.
“I’m trying to tell you I’m not skinny.”
“I got eyes, baby, and I’ve spent a fair few hours over the last year staring at your ass thinking about how good it looked, how good it would feel in my hands, and dreaming about you bent over taking my dick from behind. And now that I’ve had my hands on your ass twice, I can confirm it feels as good as it looks. That weight you were talking to Quinn about shifts off your body, I’m gonna be seriously unhappy. You’re perfect exactly the way you are.”
Some of the tension in her face left but it was clear she thought I was blowing sunshine. I wasn’t fucking a woman with less body fat than me. That had never been appealing. I like ass and tits and thighs.
“Trust me?”
Jesus fuck, did I seriously just ask her that?
Never, not once in my life, had I ever asked a woman to trust me.
“Actually, I do trust you.”
Fucking shit.
My blood heated and my skin crawled.
No woman should ever trust me. I had too much darkness inside of me, too much pain waiting to get out, too much anger simmering under the surface.
But it was too late to take back my question and unhear her answer.
Lauren trusting me terrified the shit out of me. The kind of fear that went straight to my soul and sliced my heart because it felt so fucking good when I knew it was wrong.
Dangerous and wrong.
Soft hazel eyes stared at me. And there, just behind the nervousness, I saw the trust she proclaimed to have. Instead of doing the right thing and ending this before any damage could be done, I did the opposite and kissed her.
Closed mouth and soft. A slow brush of my lips. A silent vow to myself that no matter what I would walk away before I could inflict any harm.
I broke the kiss and ordered, “Go to your room and wait for me. I need to go out to my car.”
“Car?”
“Condoms.”
“Right.”
I waited and watched Lauren walk across her living room and disappear down the hall before I moved to the front door.
I pushed aside all thoughts about why it felt so good to know Lauren trusted me. I shoved all the memories of my violent childhood back into the box where they lived, and I jogged out to my car.
You’re one stupid sonofabastard if you think you’re coming away from this unscathed. When she wises up and kicks your sorry ass to the curb you’re going to be the one in pain.
I shoved that thought away, too, and I got the three boxes of condoms.
6
I was staring out my bedroom window into my plain, ugly backyard, wondering why I’d lived in this house for five years when I didn’t like it. I didn’t have to turn around and look at my bedroom furniture to know it was cheap and ugly. At the time of its purchase, I bought what I could afford, and since it was still in good shape, even though I could afford better I’d never replaced it.
That was my life in a nutshell. I got by on mediocre. I lived my life the way I’d furnished my house, taking what I could get and never getting better.
Over the last week, I’d thought a lot about why I wasted time spinning my wheels. Why I didn’t allow myself to replace the ugly and get what I wanted.
And that was what I’d been thinking about on the drive home from Balls. How in the world that had turned into me giving myself permission to have sex with Logan I will never know. I mean, in what universe did I think that I could have no-strings sex with the man I’d been lusting after for the better part of a year?
Guy Stevens!
And there it was—the reason. The last boyfriend in a list—a short one but still a list—of men who had screwed me over. I was sick to death of being lied to, cheated on, and dumped. I was tired of my heart being trampled on.
I could totally do this. I could have great sex with a man who wanted nothing from me in return. He wouldn’t lie to me because no promises would be made to be broken. He wouldn’t cancel dates because there would be no dates. He couldn’t cheat on me because there would be no relationship. He wouldn’t beg me to be exclusive, tell me things I wanted to hear to get me into bed then turn around and screw a hooker.
Logan was upfront and honest. He wanted sex and nothing more. Perfect. That was what I needed—honest sex. Easy. No relationship. No hearts on the line, no bullshit avowals of love. Logan’s way was so much better. Love was not in the cards for me and once I’d come to terms with how the rest of my life was going to play out it was almost a relief. No more dating games. No more putting myself out there. When Logan and I were done, we’d move on, no hard feelings. No broken hearts. No relationship postmortem where I relentlessly went over every detail wondering what I’d done wrong.
Shit, I forgot to shave my legs. When I got home from the bar I’d had just enough time for a quick shower to wash all the important parts but not enough time to shave.
I bet they’re prickly.
I reached down and at the same time brought my leg up and rubbed from ankle to knee. Sure enough, they were cactus-like.
“What are you doing?” Logan asked from behind me.
Damn.
I dropped my leg but didn’t turn around.
“Nothing.”
There was no way in hell I was going to explain to Mr. Hot Guy with his perfectly sculpted arms, six-pack abs, and hard pecs I was checking how hairy my legs were. I’d already ruined the moment once with my insecurity. No way in hell was I doing it again.
Logan was here for sex. I doubted he cared my legs weren’t perfectly smooth.
I heard something drop on my dresser but I still wasn’t ready to face him.
That is gonna be a problem, sister, when it comes to getting down and dirty.