Page 133 of Beautiful Collide

And after last night, I hope I don’t have to anymore.

To be honest, I’d much rather have stayed in the hotel and had a round two of the rooftop—this time on a bed instead of the gravelly roof I had to make do with.

One day, we’re going to have sex like normal people.

But for now, I’m just going to remember how she felt wrapped around my dick and try not to get too annoyed as people interrupt my night out with my team.

Fans don’t usually bother me. I’m okay signing autographs and taking pictures. But it’s when they think I owe them a part of myself that I have a problem.

I get that it’s partially my fault. I let them think I was accessible, but now I’m not.

Which is why I’m sitting at a high-top table near the back of the room, drinking a watered-down glass of tequila.

Mason is speaking.

I’m not listening.

As if he can hear my inner thoughts, he calls me out. “Dick, are you even listening?”

“No.”

At least I’m honest.

My attention drifts toward the bar, where a cluster of people stands laughing, clinking glasses, and having the time of their lives.

And then, I see her.

Molly.

She’s wearing a little black dress, the kind designed to ruin a man. It hugs every curve, stops just above her knees, and leaves her shoulders bare, her skin glowing under the low lights of the bar.

Her long brown hair cascades in loose waves down her back, a few strands falling forward, brushing against her collarbone.

She’s laughing at something someone said, the sound soft and light; her lips curved into a mysterious smile.

I feel like I’ve been sucker punched.

It’s ridiculous, really. I’ve seen Molly Sinclair a thousand times before, and I know better than to let her get to me.

But tonight? She’s different.

Or maybe it’s me who’s different.

Either way, the sight of her—confident, stunning, and oblivious to her effect on me—hits me like a freight train.

My chest tightens, my pulse quickening as my gaze travels back to the way the dress dips at the small of her back, subtle but lethal. She shifts, reaching for a drink, and the movement is enough to send my thoughts spiraling.

She’s beautiful, and worse, she makes mefeel.

And I hate that.

I hate how easily she can knock me off balance, how seeing her smile in that stupid dress makes me want to walk over and pull her out of this crowd to have her to myself.

I’m screwed.

This is bullshit.

Yeah, I agreed to this. I said I was okay with not acknowledging each other tonight when she texted me that Dane was coming, but fuck, this is a lot harder than I thought.

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