I roll off her and lean on my hip, my jaw quivering as I battle to hold in my anger. The furious cloud in my eyes is replaced with lust when Kylie stands from the bed to shimmy out of her blue jeans. Her eyes remain fixed on me as she yanks her shirt over her head.
As her mousy brown locks spring down her shoulders, I drink in every inch of her tight little body. My cock stiffens more with every inch I travel, only softening when I spot blue gauze poking out of the waistband of her lace panties. I recognize the bandage covering her skin—very much so.
My curious eyes rocket up to Kylie, peeved as fuck she’d ruin her perfect skin with the buzz of a tattoo gun. “You have flawless skin, so why would you mark it?”
Smiling a grin that will forever highlight my dreams, she lowers the waistband of her panties. When she carefully pulls back the gauze, my heart sinks into my gut. Most guys would be stoked their girl got their name inked on them, but she broke the ultimate tattoo rule. You never get another person’s name tattooed on you—ever! I learned that the hard way. It took my dad hours to cover Nikki’s name on my wrist, and even now, I swear I can still see its outline.
Ready to cause physical harm to my dad, I dive off my bed. Kylie jumps in front of me before I reach my bedroom door.“I begged him to do it.”
“I don’t fucking care! He knows what I think about this.” My angry voice booms around my room. I’m not mad at Kylie. I’m fucking ropeable at my dad. I only left him alone with Kylie for an hour this afternoon to get some groceries with my mom, and this is what he fucking does.
I side-step Kylie and am about to open my bedroom door when her voice, which is barely a whisper, says, “I’ll get Tommy to cover it up.”
My hasty exit halts. Tommy is my dad’s rival in the tattooing industry. He’s also the most sleaziest guy you could ever meet. The number of women he’s slept with puts Nick’s “Player” title to shame. There’s no way in hell I’d let a guy like Tommy anywhere near Kylie’s skin, let alone skin hidden inside her panties, and she knows that—that’s why she’s using it against me.
I turn around to face her, my heart freezing when I see tears in her eyes. This is the first time I’ve seen her upset, and I don’t fuckin’ like it.
“When it heals, you’re getting it covered.” I close my door before joining her beside my bed. “By my dad.”
She smiles and nods as the tears in her eyes dry from the lust burning through her body. . .
Obviously, she never got it covered, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I get an immense amount of satisfaction knowing it’s still there.
Chapter Fourteen
Kylie
When I turn into the entrance of the hallway my room is in, I’m scared to death by a high-pitched scream. Once I gather my heart from the floor, my eyes lift from the hotel room key I’ve just collected. I’m thrust toward coronary failure for the second time in under a second when I spot Melanie at the end of the hall. The lowlights bouncing off her platinum blonde locks halo her in an angelic glow someone as devious as her could never pull off, but I’m certain it’s her.
After returning her squeal with one loud enough to shatter glass, I bridge the gap between us. When I reach her, I throw myself into her arms so fiercely, we topple to the ground while cackling like two crazies in a psych ward.
“It’s only been a week.” She’s making fun of me, but she returns my embrace as if it’s been years as well. “Have you been a naughty girl?”
I’m about to tell her nothing I could ever do would seem wicked by her standards, but a pair of boots moving into my vision stuffs my words into the back of my throat. When I raise my eyes, I spot the smiling face of Slater. He peers down at us, amused we’re wrestling in the middle of the hallway without the mud he’s used to seeing.
“I should have guessed it was you.” When he offers to assist me from the floor. I tuck away the flare of jealousy my inner monologue caused before accepting his offer. “When I heard high-pitched screaming, I knew it was either you or Jenni.”
His witty comment wipes the last bit of hesitation off my weary face. Today, he’s acting more like the Slater I remember instead of the grumpy, brooding one I’ve been dealing with the past week.
“Hello again.” Melanie scampers up off the floor before locking her big blue eyes on Slater. Her hands are clasped behind her back, and she’s teetering from left to right. If she’s trying to portray innocence, she needs to sign up for acting classes. Innocence is a look she’ll never pull off.
“Hi.” Slater’s brisk response prompts me to offer them an official introduction. They’ve met previously, but more in passing than a face to face greeting.
“Slater this is my best friend, Melanie. Melanie, this is Slater, my…”
Their handshake is as awkward as the abrupt ending of my introduction, but thankfully, Slater sidesteps it like he’s a baller sidestepping the defensive line. After removing my hotel keycard from my hand, he slides it into the door we’re standing next to. When he walks into the room, Melanie and I follow closely behind him. Melanie’s eyes bug, and my mouth gapes. This is not a hotel room. It’s a house!
A large black marble kitchen is hidden behind a wall on our left. The sunken living area in the middle looks like it seats at least a dozen people, and there’s a full-size dining room. The baby grand piano and three black leather sofas should make the space look squashed, but it doesn’t. There’s still plenty of thick, dark carpet to give you the illusion of both space and comfort.
“The living room alone is bigger than our old apartment.”
Nodding at Melanie’s one hundred percent accurate analysis, I pace to Slater to remove my room card from his hand. “I think our keys got mixed up.”
Studying the key doesn’t lessen my confusion. It has no distinct markings to indicate which room it belongs to, but I’m still confident this room isn’t mine. Destiny Records, the label in-charge of Rise Up, isn’t stingy, but their generosity toward their stars doesn’t extend to those at the bottom of the totem pole. My room in Seattle had a standard-size bed, attached bathroom, and a mini bar, unlike this room that has a full kitchen, a jacuzzi hot tub, and a TV that’s so large, it could be confused as being a projector screen.
I stop taking in the elaborate suite when Slater scrubs his hand over the stubble on his chin. It’s been two years since I’ve seen him do it, but he only does it when he’s being sneaky.
When my arched brow doesn’t get him talking, I use words. “Is this your room?”
