Page 13 of Pretty When He Bleeds

I nod and grab my bottle of water on the table before settling next to him. Killian knows me well, and I just fucking know he can see how rattled I am. “Where’d you go?”

“I needed some air,” I say way too quickly and take a long sip of water.

He studies me for a minute before he leans in and whispers, “Who’d you piss off now?”

I force a laugh and screw the cap back on the bottle. “No one. Listen, I’m gonna call an Uber and head out. You staying?”

He nods. “For a bit. Text me when you get home, yeah?”

I offer him a mock salute and walk toward the entrance while pulling up the app. Thankfully, I don’t have to wait too long and even the ride is quiet. The driver doesn’t engage in small talk, which is a godsend, because the last thing I want is to explain why I look like I’ve been in a fight.

When I finally get home, the house is blissfully quiet since most of the guys are out. I head straight to my room, kicking off my shoes and dropping onto my bed without bothering to change.

The events of the night are on a loop in my head; every word, every look, every fucking touch.

The way Damon’s tongue dragged across my bottom lip.

The way his voice dropped when he told me only he can give me the pain I need.

The way my body reacted to him, heat pooling low in my gut and making it impossible to think, much less push him away.

This is all so fucking wrong. He’s Caleb’s brother, for fuck’s sake. The guy has always hated me and would probably kill me if he could get away with it without punishment. I shouldn’t be thinking about him. I shouldn’t be fucking reacting like this at all.

This isn’t me. I don’t let people get in my head anymore, especially not people like Damon fucking Ward. He’s a mistake waiting to happen and I have more than enough of those to last me a lifetime.

I sit up and run my hands through my hair, pulling it as if I can somehow pull these thoughts out of my skull. I try to push out the image of him so close to me, but no matter what I do, I can still feel him—his hard body pressed up against me, his tongue, the heat of his breath against my skin. It’s all still there, tangled up in an ache I can’t ignore.

He knew exactly how to fuck with me and I let him.

I drop back down on the bed with a groan and stare up at the ceiling like it might have an answer for me.

It doesn’t.

Because there’s no fucking answer for whatever the hell this is.

Roman

Thehouseisquietwhen I lace up my running shoes and head out the following morning. The air is crisp when I step outside, the kind that burns your lungs with every inhale, but I need it right now. My head is too full, and I need an outlet that doesn’t include pain.

I hit the pavement hard, my feet pounding in a steady rhythm as I make my way down the empty streets. The ache in my lungs is grounding and the burn in my chest is almost comforting. It’s better than being stuck in my own head, especially since I don’t have anything else planned for today.

The thing about running is it forces you into the moment. There’s no room for thinking about bullshit, no room for thinking about the feeling of a tongue over a split lip. Just the sound of my breathing and the slap of my shoes against the ground.

I round the corner toward the trail that loops back through campus and then hear footsteps behind me. I glance over my shoulder and immediately groan.

Fucking Killian.

“You’re an asshole for not waking me up, you know,” he says as he falls in step beside me. The fucker doesn’t even have the decency to sound winded.

I don’t bother looking at him. “I thought you’d still be hungover.”

He snorts at this. “Please, it takes more than a few beers and a shitty blowjob to put me out of commission,” he says, and I don’t even ask where the blowjob comes in. “You, on the other hand, look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” he says and I watch the grin spread on his face. “Come on, Roman. What happened before you left last night? You were gone for a while after that fight and when you came back, you were spacey as fuck.”

I grit my teeth and focus on the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement. “Nothing happened.”

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