My stomach flutters at the compliment. I’m a terrible person. Sure, Archer was a dickhead, but did that mean he deserved to die? Did Gia? I was hurt and upset, but I fled and left Rosie to deal with the aftermath. What kind of person does that make me? A coward. A bitch not worthy of the patch on my back.
Now here I am back where I started with a man who wanted to give me the world. A man who I liked so much it terrified me, and I ran. I ran from him. I ran from happiness. I ran into the arms of a bad man who used and abused me because that’s what bad people like me deserve.
It’s not fair of me to be here. To expect Hound to be nice to me. I know I hurt him.
I let him think I fucked his best friend. I wanted him to hate me and yet somehow years later he’s standing here looking at me as if I’m still the most beautiful girl in the world. I almost wish he’d scream at me. Tell me I’m trash. That he hates me, but that isn’t the kind of man he is. It never was.
I take the tee he extends to me like an olive branch.
“Thank you. For this. You could have sent me packing.”
“Would never turn you away. You should know at least that much about me.”
“I remember.”
“Yeah,” he says, sounding a bit sad as he turns away.
My heart seizes, skipping a beat. “Hound?”
“Yeah, darlin’.” The way he goes all soft in the eyes when he calls me darlin’ makes me want to cry.
“Good night.”
“Night.” I stand at the bathroom door, clutching his tee, watching him as he puts a knee to the bed. I stare at the tattoo on his back. The Royal Bastards MC patch. The muscles in his back flex in the moonlight shining through the curtains. The torch I’ve always carried for him flickers in the depths of my belly. The pangs of regret of a life not lived hang heavy between the two of us. Only when he starts to turn back my way do I close the door. I take my time going through the motions. Scrubbing my face and washing my important bits. Washing away my guilt and shame for turning my back on my club and on Gia. Even stupid fucking Archer who if I’m being honest with myself, I never loved. Hell, I don’t think I even liked him. What stung the most is the betrayal of my best friend. And now she’s gone, and I can’t tell her that I forgive her. That it doesn’t matter she fucked Archer.
I find the extra toothbrush and open the package. I stare at myself in the mirror unhappy with the woman I see, and I wonder what or who Hound sees when he looks at me. Does he see me for what I am, or does he remember me as the one who slipped between his fingers? I brush my teeth a little too roughly till my gums ache. Spit. Rinse. Repeat.
I tug Hound’s tee over my head. The flipping thing hangs to my knees, but I like it. I borrow his hairbrush and run it through my tangled locks several times working all the kinks and tats out. I’m in desperate need of a shower but that can wait till morning. I’m beat after driving like a bat of hell for the past day. What should have been around a seven-hour drive turned into ten thanks to construction and avoiding the damn toll booths so I wouldn’t get spotted on camera.
I leave the bathroom. Part of me is nervous. Hoping he’s already asleep while the other half is excited to discover there isn’t a woman in his life currently other than the dog. Because if there was someone he sure as hell wouldn’t have brought me home with him to sleep in his bed next to him.
I get into his king-sized bed and lay down next to Hound like I did years ago.
She-Ra shifts at the end of the bed, rooting around to get comfortable. I’m not used to sharing a bed with a pet. I’ve never had nor wanted the responsibility for anyone or anything other than myself. I’ve always been a bit selfish that way.
The house is quiet. Almost too quiet. I’m used to Archer sleeping with the television on. I always hated it. I roll to my side facing Hound. His eyes are closed, but I doubt he’s already asleep. He’s always been handsome. Even more so now. There’s a rougher edge about him. He’s let his hair grow out though he doesn’t have a beard. Just a little bit of scruff. There’s a scar under his eye that wasn’t there before. My fingers twitch to reach out and touch him. To smooth the lines between his brows.
Sensing my attention, his lips stretch upward into an amused grin. “Not polite to stare.”
“But you’re just so pretty to look at.”
“Pretty?” he chuckles.
She-Ra flops to her other side as though our talking is disrupting her slumber.
“Yeah. You’re real pretty, Hound.”
I catch a glimpse of another grin. His hand moves up to my cheek. “Been called many a thing, darlin’. Pretty was never one of them.”
My belly does that stupid flutter at that pet name coming from his lips.
“What’s that look for?”
“What look?”
“You fanning your lashes out and fluttering them while biting your damn lip. Looking like maybe you want me to kiss you.”
“I’m not looking at you like that, stupid.”
“See you’re not only a liar but you’re still mean as hell.”
“I’m not a liar and I’m not mean.”
“Bullshit. You know exactly what you’re doing laying here gazing over at me with them seductive lips and bedroom eyes.”
“Whatever,” I huff and roll over, throwing a foot over the edge of the bed as I grab a pillow.
“Where you going?” I can hear the humor in his voice. The asshole gets off on embarrassing me.
“To the couch since you want to pick on me.”
“C’mere.” He stretches out an arm and hooks me around the waist hauling me across the bed to where he lays ready to pounce. “You gonna pout because I called you out on your shit?”
“I don’t pout.”
“Just admit it and I’ll hush.”
I’m not owning shit. “No.”
“Darlin’,” he says all gritty, deep, and throaty and my knees about damn near shake. My belly quivers going all hot and gooey like melted chocolate. “Confess. You wanted me to kiss you.”
“Well so what. You used to like kissing me.”