Page 67 of Filthy Sweet

“It’s like that?” Fox asks her, his voice icy.

Aya pouts her lips, sassy. “I’ve got photos, if you’d like to see them. Very indecent, ropes and all. And Trey left plenty of documentation of your little hijinks. Causing a scene and stealing a band is one thing, but what would the world say if they knew the whole truth?” Her smile grows. “I thought we’d do this above board. Get your band here for a video, then make a big enough offer that they see the light and come back to an appropriate label. But I’m not above playing hardball.”

Fox tightens his brow. “Fuck you.”

Aya turns to me. “Cute robes,” she says, then darts her gaze back to Fox. “I’ll be in touch next week.”

The second she’s gone, Fox’s expression falls. “Fuck,” he grunts, stunned, and throws his towel to the floor. “Fuck!”

I grab his hand, stroking it. “Shit. I’m so sorry this is happening to you,” I say. “She can’t do that to you, can she?”

He shakes his head. “I can’t believe how sloppy I was. I should have never let those men take my picture.”

“Fox,” I say, squeezing his hand. “What can I do?”

He stares at the ground. His jaw is tight, and I see his brain racing. With every second that passes, I feel the walls rising back up.

“Fuck,” he grunts again. “I don’t even care about this shit anymore! I don’t care about playing these pointless games and fighting over egos. I just want to be with you and hang with Reggie and have everything be chill, but I still have to deal with this same old bullshit!”

His voice is strained. Fox looks caught between pain and anger, and I understand why. It’s all so unfair. He’s been fighting his whole life. He deserves peace.

“I’ll get our stuff from the salon,” I say, then kiss him quickly on the cheek. “Let’s go upstairs.”

As I grab our bags and keys, my heart catches on part of what he said. All he wants is to be with me.

Maybe Fox loves me, too? The thought shakes my foundations, but I quickly bury it, unsure how to process with everything else going on.

I rejoin him and slip my hand into his. “This sucks,” I say, “but you’ll figure it out. I know you will.”

He grips my hand, his eyes on the stairs as we climb them. “We should probably ditch the resort. Sorry.” Fox grinds his jaw. “She played me,” he says. “She lured me all the way here, and she knew my secrets the whole time.”

We walk in silence to the room. My heart is pounding, and I rack my brain, searching for the right thing to do or say to make this better.

Fox shuts the door. “I’m sorry,” he says with a tight voice. “You deserve something good, and I’m not giving you that.”

“Fox,” I say, my voice urgent. “That’s not true. Everything you give me is good.”

He shakes his head, avoiding my eyes and refusing to hear it. “She targeted you on the way to getting me. And your picture ended up in the tabloid. I fooled myself into thinking I can protect you from all this. From me. But I can’t.”

“Fox!” I say again, almost yelling it. I grab his jaw and turn him to face me. “I’m not scared of this. I’m not scared of getting caught up in a scandal. I just want to be with you, that’s all.” I stroke his face, my fingers scraping stubble. “I just want to be yours.”

* * *

FOX

My eyes lock with Owen’s, and light flickers inside me, warmth glowing from my core. I take his glasses off and set them carefully aside, then kiss him.

Last night, he’d somehow pulled me out of the pit I was sinking into. The walls are crashing down all over again, my worst fears about to bury me in an avalanche.

But his words help.

Touching him, hearing him, it grounds me. “Thank you,” I say, then push my forehead to his. “Thanks for saying that.”

“I mean it,” Owen tells me. “I don’t care what your reputation is. I’ve known you my entire life, Fox Wilder, and I am going to go right on smearing your cum across my face, no matter what people say.”

I laugh, some of the pressure in my chest releasing. “Owen Lavigne,” I growl. “Look at you.”

He crushes his lips to mine. “It’s true,” he says.

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