Page 25 of Love Me, I Dare You

“The devil would force himself in either way, Angel. You wouldn’t know how to keep him out.” God, he smells fucking incredible. The scent of his musky cologne and the whiskey on his lips are a delectable combination of man and mystery. But it’s the way his body presses into mine, forcing me against the door that makes me temporarily stupefied.

“Nash,” I whimper, hating myself for having this reaction to him when deep inside I know I should turn around and shove my boot in between his legs for touching me. But I don’t, because I know the moment I turn around to face him, I won’t be able to stay in control.

A dark, thunderous growl leaves him and I nearly jump out of my skin at the daunting yet invigorating sound. “Open the door, Bailey. Before one of us does something, neither one is ready for.”

Once he steps back, I quickly unlock and open the door, flicking on the light as we step inside. Nash closes the door behind us and follows me further into the living room. Relieved that I took an extra twenty minutes this morning to tidy up the mess of takeout and empty ice cream containers Monroe and I had gone through the past two nights, I grab the last bit of glasses from the coffee table and set them in the kitchen sink.

“Welcome home.”

Nash moves through the small living room, slightly enlarged by the cream-colored paint on the walls, silently looking around at the photo frames I set up along the bookshelf by my television. There are various photos of my brothers and I, but most of them are of the girls and me from our days in college, and more recently, the grand opening of Stingers earlier this year.

“So you’re in the living room and this is the kitchen.” No shit, Bailey. Of course, he knows this is a kitchen.

Nash Bishop is standing in my living room, staring at the bright yellow kitchen I’ve yet to paint and remodel. The tenant before me was an artsy woman who decorated the space like she was in some Andy Warhol museum with pops of bright color across the whole space. I haven’t had time to redecorate, only focusing on one room at a time, which so far are to be my bedroom and the upstairs loft.

He remains silent as he walks further into the room and takes in the small place. Thankfully, my bedroom door is closed, but the completely disheveled guest room is in full view from where he stands.

Suddenly something catches his eye, and he squats, reaching for it under the coffee table. To my utter embarrassment, he stands and holds up a lime green lace bra which must have fallen while I was folding the laundry last night. Mortified, I reach for it, but he holds it up over my head, playfully taunting me.

“Give it, Bishop.” He chuckles and I quickly pluck it out of his hands and stuff it into my back pocket. Though I don’t miss the way his breathing changes as my chest presses up against his. It lasts no longer than a few seconds but I notice it and it somehow makes me feel empowered to have elicited such a reaction from mister cool, calm, and collected.

“How long have you lived here? Looks like you just moved in.”

I fluff one of the colorful couch cushions, and remove a box from the other, setting it down in the corner of the small dining room I rarely use, afraid he'll find something else entirely inappropriate.

“Six months. But between HoneyBees and Stingers, I’m never home. The place needed a lot of work, which I have had no time to do. Until two hours ago, I wasn’t expecting to have a roommate. The bedroom has a lot of boxes piled up inside. It currently serves as my storage room, but we can move some things around to make room for you.”

“No need. I’ll take the couch.” We both look over at the two small loveseats that don’t even look like I’d be able to lie down comfortably. I’m pretty average sized at five foot five, but Nash is at least six two and I’m not sure both couches together would fit his broad frame.

“The upstairs loft has a futon you can use until I get the guest bedroom setup. It’s usually where the girls and I hang out but, I’m sure we’ll be having our weekly girls’ nights over at Billie’s for the next few weeks.”

I’m sure Monroe won’t be happy to hear Nash is staying with me, but at least she’ll be able to work and live in peace.

“Look, I don’t need much Bailey. Just somewhere to lay my head. I’ll spend most of my time down at the ranch with Monty, getting as much work done as quickly as we possibly can. I’ll take the floor if necessary. Trust me, I’ve dealt with worse.”

“What happened to the backhouse you lived in? I get why you don’t want to stay at the ranch with your dad, but why aren’t you staying back in your old room?” I remember when Jase and Nash spent an entire summer renovating the small rancher’s quarters into a livable house.

“The old man had it knocked down the moment I left. But my dad’s not living at the ranch. He’s currently in a hospital down in Rivers’ Bend. After his heart attack, they found the cirrhosisin his liver was at a stage four. He ain't getting out of there, B. Monty and I are just trying to get the ranch fixed up and sold before he croaks.”

I’m struck by his words, unsure of what to say since Nash doesn’t seem at all disturbed by the fact his father is dying. My heart aches for Monroe. Not because her father deserves any of her grief, but I know this is something that she won’t take easily, regardless of how strained her relationship with him is.

As far as I know, Monroe never had a healthy relationship with the man. For years, he ignored the fact she existed, and things got worse after her mom walked out on them. It’s the reason Monty took guardianship over her as soon as he could.

“I’m sorry things ended that way.”

Nash says nothing, but his gaze leaves mine for just a second before returning. “A lifetime of drinking and nothing else. It’s what the bastard deserves.”

“I’m not sorry for what’s happening to him, Nash. I’m sorry for what it’s doing to Monty, Monroe and…” I pause, unsure if I should even have this conversation with him. In less than ten minutes, I’ve allowed Nash to fit right back into the hole he left. Conversations were always easy between us, even if my crush on him turned me into a nervous, rambling mess.

What the hell am I going to allow him to do in two months' time?

The silence between us is deafening and I much rather have the earlier constant bickering that feels safer. This feels intimate. I don’t want to like the way his eyes look into mine, trying to figure out what I’m thinking. Nash is staring at me like, after all these years, he still knows everything about me. What’s scarier is not only am I letting him, but he does.

I take a deep breath and nervously tuck my hair behind my ear. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it. I leave pretty early in the morning. Most days I open HoneyBees at six.”

“After getting home at nearly three?”

I look down at my watch and exhale. It’s after two in the morning and I know my body’s going to feel it later. Moving around him to grab water from the refrigerator. I grab another and hand it to him.

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