Page 65 of Throttle

“That was sweet. You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs. “Everyone has a backstory.”

I smile, unlocking my apartment. “And thanks for this.”

“You don’t have to thank me. Just doing my prospect duties. Now, get in there and lock up. You send me a text if you leave, got it? Throttle will have my head if I let you leave here alone.”

I roll my eyes. “Sure.”

After he leaves, exhaustion finds me as I lie on my bed. Just as I close my eyes, my phone vibrates beside me, revealing Angel's name, but I choose to disregard it. A nap sounded too good. To think, though, how much safer it’s been with Jasper gone, makes sleep easier. Throttle taking care of him doesn’t scare me like it should, but that in itself is terrifying.

I jolt awake to more missed calls and texts from Angel.

Angel: Excuse me. Do I need to call in the club brigade because you know I will?

Angel: Never mind. Talked to Brass. He’s your protective detail? Not bad (wink face)

Angel: Okay, seriously! Now I’m worried again.

I smile, texting her back.

Me: Woah. Calm down. I fell asleep. Please do not sick the dogs.

Angel: Well, thank the gods she’s alive.

While yawning, I walk to the kitchen and grab the leftover sushi before sending one more text. As I plop a savory piece in my mouth, the sound of a thump at my door makes me jump and causes me to drop the take home box.

It can’t be him. Can’t be Jasper, right?

As I peer through the peep hole, relief washes over me, but not entirely.

Throttle leans against the wood. I curse as I open it but stand my ground, crossing my arms over my chest as he approaches with his towering six-foot frame bearing down on me.

“Hey.” He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.

“Hi.” I stare up at him, but the light in his eyes is dimmer. Much dimmer.

“Just, um. I wanted to see if you were okay.”

He’s making sure my heart wasn't in pieces on the floor because I'm in love with him and we slept together, fully aware it wouldn't hold any significance for him. Yeah, I’m great. Maybe pissed off. More at myself.

His broad shoulders slump. “Can we talk?”

“I have to study, but you can text me later,” I say, giving him a faint smile. I go to close the door, but he stops it with his boot.

“Tequila.”

A silence hangs between us as we continue to gaze at each other. Sadly, he was correct. Last night changed things.

“Throttle. It’s fine. We had sex. Whatever. No big deal. Let’s just forget about it and move on. That’s what we agreed to.” I plant my palm on his chest, hoping to push him out the door, but he doesn’t budge. “Lord. Are you made of stone?”

A surge of electricity courses through me as he pulls me toward him, clutching my hand. His soft touch is paralyzing, and being near him means being surrounded by his scent, a reminder of the arms I yearn to be in.

“Tequila…” The tender contact to my cheek causes my eyes to flutter closed. He can’t do this. It’s not fair.

“I deserve better,” I whisper.

“You deserve the world. Just not mine.” Did he imply I don't belong in his life at all, or only when it concerns being with him?

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