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“Okay…” He set the gun down and wrapped her in his arms. “Lyd, are you sure you’re okay? Where were you?”
“At a friend’s house,” she said, resting her cheek on his chest. “But don’t ask who. It doesn’t matter.”
He tensed. “Actually—”
“Steven.”
He sighed. “Fine. But I’ll be asking more questions tomorrow morning.”
“Ask what you want, but I’m not talking.” She stepped back. “The usual room?”
“Yeah.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You might not want to look in my room as you pass. I left the door open…and, uh…”
She froze halfway up the stairs, because that meant he had a girl in his room, just days after splitting with his girlfriend of a year. “Seriously? Already? Who is she this time?”
He crossed his arms. “Whose house were you at tonight?”
“Touché.” She headed up the stairs without answering…which was exactly what he’d intended, of course. “Good night.”
“Oh, and sis?”
She stopped at the top of the stairs and glanced at him. “Yeah?”
“Next time, you might want to make sure your skirt isn’t tucked into your underwear before leaving a guy’s house in a hurry.”
Her heart skipped a beat and she hurried to fix it. “Oh my God. No—” But when she touched her skirt, it was smooth and not stuck in her underwear. He scowled up at her, and she scowled right back at him. “Steven.”
“Just as I thought. Not a friend’s house after all.”
“It’s none of your business what I do with my free time,” she hissed, her cheeks hot. She’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book.
“Yeah, we’re definitely going to be talking about this guy tomorrow.” He raised a brow. “But hey, sleep well.”
Without another word, she trudged into the guest room and shut the door. As soon as she was alone, she pressed a hand to her chest, reliving every moment…both good and bad…from tonight. About Holt. He’d been so playful at first.
So free.
And then, bam, the headache from hell had attacked him, and he’d been a different man. And everything from that point on had been awful. He’d even said some awful things, in his pain—not that she held that against him. She might not know much about Holt and his circumstances, but she knew one thing. He was alone, and he needed help. More than likely, the migraines and difficulty to form words came from
the brain injury that Steven had told her about, and he was miserable because of it. She had a feeling he’d been accustomed to being perfect, and being anything less just made him hate himself. But he didn’t need to be perfect to be loved.
No one did.
If she wasn’t careful, she’d be the one to love him, and he would push her away. He might only be looking for a “for now” arrangement between them, but her feelings for him were growing too deep, too strong, too soon. If she wasn’t careful…
He just might break her heart.
But that wouldn’t stop her from giving herself to him anyway.
Chapter Twelve
Holt ran his hands through his hair and stared down at his phone. He wanted to call Lydia, but last night he might have blown any chances he’d had of being with her. Not only had he been weak, but he’d been an asshole, too. Two things women generally didn’t find attractive. So…yeah.
But that didn’t stop him from longing to call her anyway.
His head still had that dull ache he was all too fucking familiar with, but he felt mostly human. And a lot of that had to do with Lydia’s care. She’d given him his meds, put him in bed, and made sure he was all right. She would have stayed longer, too, but he’d made her leave. Hadn’t wanted her to see what came next—the vomiting.
He ran his thumb over the screen. “Son of a bitch.”
