Page 102 of Bad Blood

“You’re right.” It’s one thing to know something, and it’s another to act on it. And from now on, things are going to be different. I’m going to be different. Liam needs me to step up. “I’m sorry. But I didn’t hurt her.”

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have touched her.”

“You act like I don’t already know that. What am I supposed to do?” I push off the chair, standing next to her, frustrated with the direction this has gone. I mentally vow to fix some of the chaos I’ve set into motion. I’ll do my part, as much as possible, and if that means moving, changing careers, or whatever else I need to do, so I’m not a disappointment—to Liam, Bree, and everyone else—I’ll do it.

When Liam finishes treatment.

“Keeping you out of trouble is part of my job. Thinking before you act would make it a little easier.” She places her balled fists on her hips and lets out an exaggerated breath. “You know,” she says, narrowing her gaze, “not everything is about you. Maybe you should consider what other people want once in a while. It would be good for you. I know you’re here for one reason”—she eyes the crowd of women still ogling me—“but maybe you don’t have to be such a dick. Women won’t solve all your problems.”

“That’s asking a lot,” someone says, sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong. The two of us whip around. My eyes land on Lyla—my favorite mistake. She crosses her arms over her chest, surveying the pool deck in a mini dress that hugs her perfect curves. I didn’t hear the gate open or close. Tension electrifies the air around us as she makes her way next to me.

“Stay the fuck out of this,” Bree snaps, knowing the type of trouble I get myself into. The perk of being a model is easy access to women. It also happens to be my downfall.

A flash of disgust pierces Bree’s face, but she schools her expression back into place before she jabs a finger in my direction. “We’ll continue this conversation later. Stay the fuck away from Dani,” she says, slapping her hands in front of my face to emphasize her point. She grabs the gate and charges through, glaring at Lyla.

I don’t know what’s happening between them, and I have no intention of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, but it doesn’t look good.

Lyla watches as Bree leaves. She turns to me, cupping my face in her hands. “You okay?”

“She’s right.”

“She wasn’t being a bitch like always?”

She should shut the hell up. I could give her something better to do with her obnoxious mouth—the thought catches me off guard, that her mouth on me doesn’t sound appealing. I try to push the emotions somewhere deep where they can’t affect me and shake my head like a fucking Etch-A-Sketch. The disgust I have for myself burrows into me like a diseased tick.

“Don’t talk about her like that. Where would you be without her, huh?” She rolls her eyes, and it doesn’t affect me the way it usually does.

“Just because she’s my manager doesn’t mean I owe her the world. She does the minimum of what she’s supposed to do for the rest of us. You’re her pet project.”

I take a step back, creating a distance between us. “Go away.” I reach the gate, pulling the lever to return to my room. I have a lot to figure out, and I don’t need Lyla making me feel bad about Bree’s need to mother me.

The crowd of women parts for me, and I smile, tucking my head. I can’t believe Bree didn’t make them leave.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” The hurried sound of her heels clicks against the concrete. She grabs hold of my arm as she catches up with me. “Let me take your mind off things.”

The offer is less than appealing. Lyla’s always been a great distraction, and it’s been a few weeks since the last time, but I’m not in the right headspace for a meaningless fuck.

I let her lead me away from the pool and into the lobby. Garrett and Cole sit at the bar, and I get a knowing look as we pass. Garrett taps Cole, and they both chuckle and wave.

As a rule of thumb, the people in this profession have an unspoken agreement. It’s not unheard of for us to slip off with each other after photoshoots for a bit of fun or a night or two in someone else’s room.

Lyla isn’t ashamed that everyone thinks she’s taking me upstairs. All her actions are deliberate. We make it to the elevator, and she pushes the call button, leaning against the wall as she pulls me closer.

I didn’t mean to make Dani believe there could be more between us and look where that got me. The idea of doing something similar to Lyla has me reevaluating how wise it is to take advantage of the situation.

My need to escape by any means necessary is exhausting.

I hate how I get swallowed up inside my head.

It’s all-consuming.

But what am I gonna do if . . . ?

This is so fucked up.

“Stop.” I pull out of her grasp as I head toward the stairwell.

Brighton flits into my mind, and I shouldn’t care. I reconsider what I’m about to do because there’s a slight chance there is something there, and a pang of guilt fills my mind about it even though she’s off-limits.

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