Page 386 of Love Bites

He bowed his head, and I listened to his black boots tread heavily on the pavement as he walked back to his truck.

* * *

The next day,I called in sick. I’d caught a bug of some kind and it was slowly taking my body hostage. My fever hovered around one hundred degrees Fahrenheit for most of the day. Stuff like this happened a lot when I first started working at the shop. Kids collected germs, which is why I became vigilant about wiping down the counters with sanitizer. But lately, I’d been lucky with my health. I’d managed to accrue about twenty sick days, so I made the executive decision to use some of them.

I also handled food and giving our customers Ebola wasn’t high on my list for the top ways to earn a promotion.

It was the night of Naya’s party, but I’d already told her I wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be able to make it. I called April at work to let her know she was still invited, but she shied out and made up an excuse about painting her bathroom the color of lemons. I really wanted to see her cut loose and have a good time. She was too young to be sitting around the house and not going to parties and dating. The strange thing was how little I knew about her, but sometimes people don’t like to show all their cards until they’re ready to go all out.

All my blankets were piled on the floor so I could stretch out across my bed. I had turned down the air conditioning, but nothing soothed my fever and restless legs. The blinds and drapes remained closed, submersing me in darkness.

My skin crawled, sensitive to everything. I didn’t have any violent fits of vomiting—thank God—but there was a gnawing sensation in the pit of my stomach. Not hunger, but almost like when you’re at the top of the hill on a roller coaster, three seconds from going down a steep track. Odds are I had the latest bug going around, as the symptoms mimicked what I had heard about—minus the vomiting.

The music cranked up at Naya’s apartment as her festivities were in full swing.

Of all times to get sick.

A knock sounded at my front door and I sat up, listening. Sometimes partygoers got lost and wound up on the wrong doorstep. My stringy brown hair covered my face and I flipped it back. Getting dressed wasn’t high on my agenda that day, so the only thing I bothered putting on was a long black tank top that fell just below my panties. I would have never worn a silly shirt like that in public because of the giant pair of red lips on the front in the shape of a kiss. Due to my fever, I would have preferred to sleep in the nude, had I not been afraid of an apartment fire and having to run naked into the arms of a fireman. Not that it would be a bad outcome.

But then the knocking sounded again.

“Dammit,” I murmured, dragging my bare feet across the carpet. Too tired to look out the peephole, I pressed my cheek against the painted wood. “Who is it?”

“It’s Beckett.”

I made some kind of a growl and thumped my head against the door.

“Come on, Lex. Just give mefiveminutes and you’ll never have to see me again. I saw your ad in the paper for the car and you won’t be able to sell it without the title. I brought it over; you left it at the house.”

Double ugh. I’d never sold a car before. Did I need a title? Damn.

“Five minutes,” I warned, turning the locks and opening the door.

“Jesus, Lexi, you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” I said as he shouldered past me and casually walked inside.

Beckett flipped on a small lamp beside the balcony door and I squinted. “By the way, you shouldn’t put your full name in the paper; that’s just fucking stupid.”

My living room was modest with a cozy sofa facing a small window, two tan chairs, and a couple of end tables. The dining room, bedroom, and kitchen were all connected. You could essentially stand in the living room and see my entire apartment.

A chill rolled through my body and I leaned against the cool door. “Where’s the title?”

Beckett involuntarily dropped his eyes to my legs.Involuntarily, because Beckett had no self-control when it came to tits and ass. A sign I should have paid attention to from the beginning, but I’d naively thought I could change him.

“You lookdamnsexy in that shirt, Lex. I always liked it when you wore it to bed.”

Beckett brushed his hand through his bristly hair. It was dirty blond and styled close to his head. He just got off work because he was still wearing his black work shirt with a logo of a red duck on his left breast. The name of the bar where he worked was Ducky’s Dive.

He walked right up to me and intimately rubbed his hands over my bare shoulders. “Let’s try it again,” he suggested in a smooth voice. “I fucked up and I want a second chance, Lex.”

Beckett was encroaching on my space and had that look in his eyes—the one that was dripping with lust. Before I could protest, he peeled off his shirt and slid his arm around my waist, grinding his hips against mine. His mouth trailed along my neck and I felt feverish, as if it were a dream. I wanted to object, but the fight was hardly in me.

My body trembled.

Beckett’s hands slid over my bare hips and his fingers bit into my ass. “Ah, shit, Lex. You feel so fucking good. You have no idea how hot it feels to be near you.”

It was a familiar feeling that suddenly made me uncomfortable. I no longer liked the way he touched me, his smell, or even his whiskey voice. My stomach knotted; I was trapped. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want his hands on me.

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