Page 31 of Doesn't Count

This is nothing.

He feels bad for strangling me earlier and now he’s trying to be nice. Any normal person would probably just apologize and move on, but this is Khaos. There’s no trying to decipher why he does what he does.

One after another, the guys’ eye us like it’s the most bizarre thing they’ve ever seen. Don’t get me wrong, I’m just as confused, but I’d rather sit on Khaos’ lap than struggling to breath with my neck in his fist.

Jesus, as I think about it, I start to wonder what is wrong with me... Regardless, I’m hoping that was the worst of it and we can all move on because I have a job to do.

As the hours creep on, the group starts to disappear one by one until it’s just the two of us left.

Khaos clears his throat as he hands me a set of keys. “We got you your own room.”

It’s a pleasant surprise, coming from him. “Thank you.”

“It’s just next door.” He pushes me to my feet, and I grab my bags.

He follows me to the door, but before I can open it, his hand is there holding it shut.

I spin around, my back against the wood, and stare into those honey-colored eyes of his. They glow behind his dark lashes. My body hums with the heaviness of alcohol and weed,weighing my eyelids down. I stare up at him, my face as blank as I can muster.

I don’t reach out to touch him, refusing to give him exactly what he’s been looking for. He wants me to fold first, to admit that he turns me on. It’s a struggle right now as I fight through this intoxicated haze.

He leans down, his forearms resting on the surface behind me and his face an inch from mine. His dark bangs brush my forehead, tickling my skin, his breath labored.

“Close your eyes.” He orders quietly.

I do, curiosity getting the best of me. For good measure, he holds his palm across my eyes, ensuring that I don’t peek. Then I feel it, soft plush lips brushing mine. It’s so light I think I imagine it at first, but then it’s there again. He dives in deeper, the pressure against my mouth crushing. I can taste the dankness of weed on his tongue and it drives me mad, but I don’t push, letting him take all the control.

It’s over too soon and when he removes his hand from my face, his mask is back where it always is.

I smirk, still feeling the ghost of his lips against mine. “Tell me, Khaos. Do I turn you on?”

His eyes darken, “Unlike you, I’m not afraid to admit it.”

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe... just maybe, there’s nothing to admit?” I enunciate the T in a hushed voice.

He steps even closer, pressing his body against mine, his hands gripping my hips. I can feel just how turned on he is and suddenly, I lose the will power to fight how he affects me.

“Unfortunately for you, your tells are easy.” He brings his finger up to graze my cheekbone. “I’ve never seen a girl blush as furiously as you do.” Then brings his hand to rest against my collarbone, the edge of his palm near the center of my chest. “And the way your heart thrashes so loudly, I can hear it from here. Not to mention, how you pant like you’re so thirsty for it.”

My glare hardens, a familiar anger resurfacing.

“Just do me one small favor?” His eyes smile as he opens the door behind me. “Don’t think that one counts.” I stumble as he shoves me out of the room, slamming the door in my face.

I stand there stunned, wanting to scream. He’s so infuriating, I hate it! I hate how he can rip my walls down just to slam a door in my face! He’s going to regret ever kissing me.

I don’t wake until one in the afternoon. I haven’t heard from the guys, so I assume they’re still asleep. With one eye still shut, I peek at my cell phone, which hasn’t had service since I arrived in Arkansas. Now with the Wi-Fi on, notifications are flooding my phone. There are twenty-five texts from Sam, three calls from my mother, and a new post on our Genius Tours blog from Justina.

I start by calling my mother to reassure her I’m not dead... yet. Then start catching up on Sam’s messages. They start off with a lot ofI-miss-you'sand end withif you don’t fucking answer me right now I’m getting the FBI involved.

Immediately, I FaceTime her.

“You bitch!” She answers, her face coming into view.

“I’m so sorry! There is no signal here, I swear! We finally got to a hotel, and I have Wi-Fi now.” I explain, sitting up in bed.

“I thought you were kidnapped, chopped into little pieces, and spread across the country. Next time, make sure you at least let your mom know you’re okay.” She lectures.

“Yeah, I know. I just talked to her. It’s been so busy here.”

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