Page 87 of Vegas Heat

Instead, I feel like I’m going to barf.

Did I barf last night?

It’s a blur.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I yell at him as I hold my head between my palms and press—like if I press hard enough, the pain will subside.

It doesn’t.

“There are three ibuprofen tablets on your nightstand,” he mutters as he stands, and he’s not wearing a shirt.

He’s not. Wearing. A. Shirt.

His abs shimmer in the darkness, and my dry mouth miraculously starts to salivate.

God, do I want him.

He rubs his hip and winces. “And a bottle of water. Take the pills and drink the bottle and maybe don’t kick and push someone out of your bed for taking care of your drunk ass all night.”

A tiny pang of guilt stabs into me. “You took care of me all night?”

“You got sick at the bar, and I took you home. I looked after you. I didn’t want to leave you alone, so I slept beside you.” He holds up both hands. “Nothing happened.” His hand returns to his hip again to rub it.

“Did you hurt your hip or is that just your old age showing?”

He glares at me. “I landed on it when you literally kicked me out of bed for taking care of you.”

“What about my dad?” I ask, and I realize my tone is both sassy and bratty, but I’m out of fucks to give.

“He had some business to take care of and said he wouldn’t be home until after noon today. Can we talk over breakfast?”

I blow out a long, frustrated breath. “Nowyou want to talk?” I demand. “When I feel like I got hit by a truck?”

“Finding out your dad is Troy Bodine had much the same effect on me, and you wanted to talk yesterday,” he says, holding up both hands.

I roll my eyes. “You weren’t this big of a dick when we were together, were you?”

He chuckles and leans down, palms on my bed as he gets a little closer to me. His voice is low and husky when it comes out.“You seemed to have quite the affinity for my dick when we were together, darling.”

His words steal my breath, and I hate that I’m still this attracted to him even though he’s made it clear that what we had is over.

I can’t do this. I can’t live with him, I can’t wake up with him next to me in my bed. I can’t pretend like I’m not head over fucking heels in love with him when he’s all I’ve ever dreamed of.

But I have to.

Love and hate ride a thin line, so I guess my only choice is to opt for hate.

“Fuck you.”

He presses his lips together and raises both brows. “I’m going to turn on the coffee pot then head to the workout room for a quick workout. If you want me to make you breakfast, meet me in the kitchen in forty-five minutes for scrambled eggs and a chat.”

He stalks out of my room and disappears, and I collapse back onto my pillows as I try to ward off the emotions plowing into me.

But one feeling swoops in to trump everything else, and I run to the bathroom where I dry heave for a few minutes before giving up.

I take the pills Cooper so thoughtfully left for me, and I start to cry as I think about how fucked up all this is. We’re so damn right together, and I can’t help but wonder if it would be different if I’d told him who my dad was up front.

The only thing that might’ve changed is that he never would’ve agreed to be with me in the first place.

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