“No. You’re fucking with your own head by thinking she doesn’t love him. Listen to yourself, bro. Take a step back and honestly listen to what you’re saying here.”
Although he didn’t speak, Gavin’s eyes hardened like shards of glass splintering away from a broken mirror.
“Look, man, I’m just being honest. It’s a bad situation. You know it, and I know it.”
“I’m not denying that it’s a bad situation!” he tossed his hands up, the words cracking like thunder. “Do I look like some kind of asshole? A snake is a snake, no matter how many times it sheds its skin! He’s no fucking good for her!”
Blowing out a breath, Trevor walked over to the door. He turned around and looked back to Gavin. “You’re like a brother to me, dude, but I think you’re trying to vilify Dillon for your own personal needs right now. And, to tell you the truth, you’re putting me in a bad spot. I can already see this shit’s gonna get crazy, and I don’t want any part of it.”
Sitting back down, Gavin looked at him from across the room, defeat playing in his eyes. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”
“You need to forget about her. The whole fucking thing’s a mistake. And, more importantly, you have to remember that Dillon’s your friend.” Trevor exhaled heavily and shook his head before walking out the door. “I’ll call you later, bro.”
The advice was so simple. Just forget her. The words couldn’t be closer to the truth. This might have been a huge mistake, but the man at the receiving end couldn’t see that. He outright refused to. Emily would never be a mistake to him, no matter how many people he hurt in the process—including himself. Everything he and Emily could be was real for Gavin. When he said that he felt she was supposed to be with him, it wasn’t just a heated statement. It wasn’t just an inclination. From the first time their eyes met, he felt it down to the lowest depths of his soul, right down to the bottom of his core. She had been made for him in every possible way. Even though she was the very definition of off-limits, his mind and heart screamed to throw it all to the wind and let the whole fucking thing burn to the ground. Therefore, into the sea of uncertainty, he would plunge—trying to make her his—and he feared neither friend nor foe could stop him. He just prayed the woman that saturated his thoughts felt the same.
Emily awoke feeling as if she had swallowed a handful of nails. Her throat was burning raw as reckless images of the night before played throughout her mind. The thoughts, scattering around like marbles, only made her temples blossom into a full-blown headache. Guilt for what she had done to Dillon and their relationship burned almost as hot as her insatiable arousal for Gavin.
With thin and shaky breathing, she lifted her head and peered around the room. Dillon wasn’t in the bed. She let out a sigh of relief when her eyes glanced over to the nightstand. Along with a note explaining that he would be back soon, he also left two aspirin and a glass of water that she couldn’t consume quickly enough. The cool liquid and the magic little pills slid down into her stomach, eventually offering up some relief, but not nearly as much as she needed.
Groaning, she stared miserably at the drab light filtering in through the window shades. She whipped the blankets back over her head. She wanted the image of Gavin on top of her, kissing, touching, and tasting her to blur, melt, and recede away banished to a place she could never find again.
Nice try…
However, the more she rehashed the undeniable pleasure he produced in their all-too-short exchange, the more she craved him. His dominate yet soft kiss, his hard but gentle caresses, the way his fingers—oh God, the way his fingers tunneled deep inside her—had merely teased her senses with the sweet taste of what he was truly capable of. Not even the worst of hangovers could keep her body from yearning for more. The smell of his cologne still tangled in her hair did nothing to help ebb any of the thoughts that had her loins nearly teetering on the edge of orgasm right there alone in the bed.
Despite all of this, her head was under attack, barraged with her mother’s voice.
“Dillon’s a good man, Emily. Make sure you hold onto him and never let go.”
Clear visualizations played out of all the times Dillon had helped while her mother was ill. Emily had all but fallen to her knees before she died. Frozen with fear and unable to aid in her last few days, it wasn’t her that kept watch over her mother—it wasn’t even her sister, Lisa, because she had been in a near fatal accident a few days before—it was Dillon. There was no limit to the amount of times he helped her mother. He held her hair for her as she retched in a bedpan while Emily sat sedated in a chair across the room in utter shock at what was unfolding around her. Forget about him paying for hospital bills and taking care of the funeral expenses on his own, he even went so far as allowing Emily and Lisa to keep what little the life insurance policy provided.
And this is how I repay him?
The thoughts forced out hot, helpless tears as she slid from her bed and grudgingly padded into the bathroom. Lingering liquor sloshed around in her empty belly with every step. It was then that she realized she was still draped in last night’s clothing. She cringed as she tore them from her body, wanting to burn them in a blazing fire, along with the memory of what’d happened.
Ridding her flesh of caked-on makeup and the scent of Gavin from her lips, she splashed warm, soapy water onto her face, once again finding her stomach wretched with guilt. She looked at herself in the mirror with disgust, anger, and hate—but, in that moment, she decided she wouldn’t wallow under her own scrutiny of what she did. She was drunk; that was her story, and she was sticking to it. If sober, surely, none of it would have ever happened. Her body might want Gavin, but in no way, shape, or form did her mind. In all his pleasure, he was simply a serpent companion to the sexual demon hidden beneath the surface of her skin.
At least that’s what she tried to convince her short-circuited brain of on this particular Sunday morning.
Hovering over the sink to allow more water to flow into her cupped hands, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt a soft touch against her shoulder.
“Jesus, Dillon, you scared me,” she said, her voice timid and riddled with an acute underlying panic she was trying desperately to suppress.
Can he tell? Do I look different? Oh God, do I still smell like him?
He gave a soft smile, his tone low, calming even. “You’re shaking, babe,” he said, brushing the matted hair away from her face. “Let’s get in the shower, okay?”
Swallowing back the acid steadily building in her throat, she nodded as he slid her panties down to the ground, her body quivering in the process. She stepped out from them and unhooked her bra, her eyes never leaving his gaze. Grabbing her by the hand, he led her to the shower and turned it on. He gestured for her to get in. With unsteady breathing from mounting nerves, she watched as he undressed. Grabbing for the soap, she hastily ran it across her body in an attempt to get rid of Gavin’s lingering saliva from her pores. Stepping into the shower, Dillon pressed her back against his chest as he began to massage her shoulders. Drawing in the deepest of breaths, she let her head fall back, trying to savor the heat from the water.
“Is Olivia awake yet?” she asked, attempting to stir up any conversation.
“I don’t think so. Her bedroom door’s still closed.” He continued to massage her shoulders. “She must’ve gotten up from the couch because that’s where she was passed out when I came in last night.”
“What time are we meeting your parents?” she reluctantly asked.