Page 32 of Stick Handled

I know that car.

Beside me, Damien chuckles low and dark, his mouth brushing against my ear. “Looks like Rowan’s ended his date early.”

Shit!

I turn to him, panic flaring in my eyes, and he just tilts his head, that smirk never leaving his face.

“You’d better hurry home, little liar,” he murmurs.

I snap into motion, my fingers clutching my cardigan tightly around me as I hurry back inside and toward his front door, my pulse a dizzying beat against my ribs. I run out of Damien’s house, my slippers threatening to fall off my feet as I drag them, one packed step after the other.

I reach the front door, slipping inside just as the sound of the SUV pulls up to the driveway. With a last, shaky breath, I press the door shut behind me, careful not to let it slam.

I don’t stop there. I head up the stairs, my legs carrying me quickly, my chest tight with nerves. The moment I reach my room, I grab the book off my nightstand, plop down on the bed, and flip it open in front of me. The words swim on the page, nothing sinking in except for the thunderous beat of my heart.

And then, a few moments later, there’s a knock on my door.

“Avery?” Rowan’s voice is calm and unassuming. But my heart leaps as I answer a little too quickly, my voice just a touch too high-pitched.

“Come in!”

The door slides open, and Rowan steps in. He looks around my room before his gaze settles on me, softening with that familiar warmth. He glances at the book in my lap and smiles.

“Still reading, huh? I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

I swallow, nodding. “I wasn’t that tired. How was your date?”

He sighs, leaning against the doorframe, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “Awful. She talked about herself the entire night.”

“Oh, yikes.” I force a laugh, clutching my book tighter to keep my hands from trembling. “Sounds annoying.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles, rolling his eyes. “I managed to escape, though.” He shrugs, watching me with that familiar gaze. “Thanks for waiting up. You didn’t have to.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” I smile, hoping it’s convincing.

“I’m just gonna go shower.” He crosses the room, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Don’t stay up too late, okay?” he adds, and I feel a pang of guilt as I smile up at him.

“I won’t.”

The door closes softly behind him, leaving the room in silence, broken only by the hum of the night air filtering through the open window. My heartbeat finally slows, but the weight of what I’ve done tonight settles in, heavy and undeniable.

Immediately, I think back to the way Damien’s fingers grazed my skin, his gaze darkening when he told me he’d have fun with me. And my own whispered, “Yes.” The thrill, the terror, the dizzying excitement—all of it swirls together, leaving me feeling restless and awake, knowing that I’m so deep into this mess that there’s no way I’m climbing back out.

Chapter twelve

~DAMIEN~

The second Avery’s out of my house, I’m hit with the reality of what just happened, what I’ve just done. The feel of her, the way she looked up at me with that wide-eyed innocence, whispering that “yes.” I can still feel the electric charge of her skin against my hand, the way she melted into me, and the shot she poured into my mouth. That was the best-goddamned shot I’ve ever had.

Still, I remind myself for the hundredth time that she’s Rowan’s sister. But that reminder means shit now. That reminder doesn’t stop the fire from spreading through me; every damn nerve of my body is charged. I’ve pushed every line tonight and crossed boundaries that can’t be uncrossed. I should feel guilty, but I only want more. Hell, the worst part is thatshewants more, too. I thought she would be the voice of reason. I thought she’d push me away, keep me far. But she’s just as fucked as I am.

I pace around the living room, my mind still swirling with the thrill of watching her run for the door, her face flushed. Avery is in my head now, and no matter how hard I try to shake it, she’s there, teasing and tempting in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

Then I see her framed perfectly in her bedroom window. She’s swaying a little, the alcohol still holding her in its grip, and I know I should look away. But then she reaches for the hem of her shirt, and my mouth goes dry.

Fuck. Fuck!

Every instinct screams at me to stop, to turn away. But I don’t.

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