Page 69 of Living on the Edge

“That sounds amazing. Thank you.” She lies back and closes her eyes.

I watch her for a moment, taking in the long legs and fiery hair.

This is some kind of bullshit self-inflicted torture, being here with her like this.

I desperately want to touch her.

Listen to her scream my name while I get her off.

Drown her pretty little pussy in champagne again.

And look into her eyes while I fuck her mouth.

Dammit.

I get up, adjusting my crotch to accommodate the semi I’ve got going on.

Even if she wanted to have sex with me again, she’s in no shape for that. The antibiotics need at least one more day to really take hold and get her on the road to a full recovery.

And my goal here is simply to show her I’m not the jerk I made her think I was that night we were together.

Tate’s warning echoes through my psyche, and I grab her room key before heading out in search of lunch.

Sleeping with her again would be a terrible idea.

But I’m the king of terrible ideas.

Chapter20

Ryleigh

Having a day with no travel,nowhere to be, and nothing to do is amazing.

It’s been nice just hanging out in the hotel room.

As much as it pains me to admit it, Angus is charming, sweet, and interesting. He’s also caring and thoughtful, two words I never thought I would use to describe him. We talked, he found me the best tuna melt I’ve had in a long time, and then had Chinese food delivered to the room for dinner.

We watched a movie until I fell asleep and the next thing I know, it’s morning—and he’s letting himself into my room.

“Normally, I would knock,” he says, “but for one more day I want to keep an eye on you.”

“It’s not necessary,” I say quietly, sitting up in bed.

“It is. I owed you one.”

“Look.” Now that I’m feeling better, and today I can already tell I feel a lot better, there’s no reason not to address the elephant in the room. “Just because we had a disastrous one-night stand doesn’t mean?—”

“There was nothingdisastrousabout that night except the way I left,” he interrupts, his eyes darkening as he moves toward the bed.

“I just mean that we don’t have to make it weird. We can go back to the way things were before it happened and?—”

“You mean where we butt heads constantly in an attempt to pretend we don’t want to do it again?”

How the hell am I supposed to respond to that?

He’s right but he’s also wrong.

“We’re adults,” I say in frustration. “I’m pretty sure we can control our hormones for a few weeks until I leave the tour!”

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