Page 11 of Crushed By Love

One second we’re facing off and the next he’s pushing me up against the side of the car and stepping between my legs. Eyes locked, he whispers low. “I already know all about your daddy issues. But guess what, Ardie?”

Ugh, that terrible name again. But I can’t think of that right now. All I can think of is him. Of our close proximity, and the way I’m burning up again, burning with humiliation, but also burning with something I don’t want to name. He’s so close, so attractive, and so all-consuming. I can’t help but want him even closer, to be keenly aware of every inch where our bodies touch.

I don’t know what to say, so all I squeak out is a measly, “What?”

His face softens, those blue eyes almost silver now. He looks like he’s going to reply with something important, something close to a confession. But instead, he reaches behind me, and opens the door, which draws me even closer to him. He’s hard all over and I gasp.

Leaning down, he whispers in my ear. “Get in the car.”

“Tell me what you were going to say,” I insist breathily.

He was saying something about daddy issues and I need to know what it was. I stay rooted to the spot, secretly loving the way it feels to be pressed up against him like this. Okay, maybe not so secret. He must be able to see it on my flushed face and hear it in my husky voice. He must feel it between us, the same way I can.

“I don’t want you either.” He steps away and I go cold.

Ouch.

That. Was. Fucking. Low.

As he rounds the car for the driver’s seat, I climb into the back and force the threat of tears to turn to anger instead. Anger for being rejected, but also anger because of course he doesn’t want me. Same as my daddy probably never wanted me as a daughter.

And why do I care so much?!

Why do I feel like I’m in the middle of the desert whenever I’m around this man and he’s the only water source available? Why does someone who is a complete jerk to me feel like he could be my oasis? God, I really do have issues, he’s obviously the mirage and not the oasis. I should be ashamed of myself, but strangely, I’m not. Because I’m pretty sure he’s lying, that he really does want me too, and for the first time since arriving here, I don’t feel so powerless.

Five

Someone pounds on my door, and normally that would wake me up considering it’s the middle of the night, but I’ve already been awake for hours. The twins are throwing a raucous party, complete with the low thumping bass of rap music and the occasional obnoxious squeal. I’ve been trying to read to distract myself but can’t think through the noise. Next time I’m in town, I’m buying earplugs.

The pounding continues.

“Oh, hell no,” I mutter. I’m off duty and I’m not answering.

“Ardie,” Cooper’s voice calls out, “your services are needed out here.”

“I’m sleeping!”

“No, you’re not.” He knocks on the door again. It’s past 2 a.m. now and the party still sounds like it’s raging on, so I guess he’s right about my lack of sleep. “Come on, Ardie.”

It’s now been a full three weeks of them calling me Ardie instead of Arden. Yeah, I’ve stopped correcting them. I know when I’m fighting a losing battle.

“Well, if I was sleeping, I’m not anymore thanks to you people,” I yell.

“You mean your employers?”

It’s not like he’s the one paying for my salary but I wrench open the door to a very disheveled Cooper. In all honesty, that shaggy hair always makes him look a little disheveled, but tonight it’s apparent that someone has been running their hands through it. Probably a woman. Bree is here more nights than the other girls, but Cooper’s had a parade of women sleeping with him in the time I’ve been here. The guy is the walking definition of a fuckboy. But when it comes to Bree, I haven’t said a single word about what happened at that club a few weeks ago. I can tell she hates it, so at least in this one thing, I’ve won.

“What do you need me to do?” I don’t like being out of my element like this, woken up in the middle of the night. I prefer routine and predictability—sleeping seven hours a night, waking up early for a run, and following my plan for the day. Rinse and repeat.

He stares at me for a second, his eyes roaming over my pajama shorts set. I’m obviously not wearing a bra under the top but I’ve got my arms folded over my chest, and he smirks at that. At least he’s not calling me a slut for being sans bra like Ethan did. “We need you to clean up a mess.”

“I’ll do it in the morning,” I say, closing the door.

He catches it and pushes it back open, stepping in closer, his hooded eyes locked on me. “If you wait until morning for this one, you’re going to regret it.”

“And why’s that?” I cock my head.

“Because it’s vomit,” he deadpans.

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