Shit.
And right there in the middle was a dark red streak. A smear of dried blood from this morning’s little adventure.
Shit.
His eyes flicked down, sharp, calculating—cold as ice—but I could almost feel the mental cogs turning behind them. He didn’t say anything, but held my gaze a beat longer than necessary, and my stomach flipped.
I had grabbed it from the laundry room on autopilot, sleep-deprived and running late, completely unaware I was walking around wearing Aiden’s clothes.
I swallowed, forcing my face into something neutral, as if my brain wasn’t short-circuiting at the heated way he was looking at me. I mentally rehearsed my excuse, hoping he wouldn’t notice the red stain.
I imagined this was what I looked like earlier when I saw him shirtless—or maybe he was plotting revenge for me stealing his shirt. Lately, I couldn’t read him at all.
“I don’t know,” I said, going for nonchalance, failing spectacularly. “I grabbed it from the laundry room. I must have grabbed from the wrong basket.”
His expression softened, heat filling his eyes before snapping into the same neutral, bothered look I knew so well.
“Make sure you give it back,” he said, voice more controlled now. “And maybe clean it first? What did you do?”
“Did you think I was taking it for good?” I asked, ignoring the comment about the stain.
His jaw flexed. The muscles in his arms tensed like he was holding something back.
“Just making sure you understand it’s fine for one time, but then I want it back,” he murmured, voice low enough that it shouldn’t have been a threat, but it felt like one anyway. “And don’t think you are going to ignore me, what is that on it?” He stepped closer, his eyes locked on the red smear. “Blood?”
“Just a bit.” My voice went quiet as I winced.
“From where? Did you wreck?”
“Not quite. I almost wrecked, and then some guy came up and I thought he was going to grab the bike and help, but he grabbed me instead. And I... well, I panicked.”
“And he was bleeding?”
“He was after I stabbed a knife into his hand to make him go away.”
His gaze flicked up, sharp but amused. “First ugly crying and now back to knife fights? You have a real talent for makingmesses, Psycho,” he said, and I froze, knowing he was about to take any opportunity to sneak that in there. “But yeah, that sounds a little more like what I would expect from you. You know, I wasn’t sure if I could trust you to ride alone because I worried about you wrecking. Now I don’t know if you can because men are apparently grabbing you at every turn.”
“Sometimes literally,” I huffed. “Is this because you’reAceand have to be my bodyguard, or because you don’t like these men giving me attention?”
“Because I’ve found you’re too beautiful and troublesome to leave to your own devices.” His hand reached out as if he was going to touch me, but it dropped just as fast. “And you hate men with such a passion I always worry you’ll become a femme fatale, leading them to their deaths for the fun of it.”
“It would be fun. I could lure them into the bathroom and tie them up,” I said, wistfully. “Maybe give them a taste of their own medicine before I’m done with them.”
“Exactly why I can’t leave you to handle them alone.”
“I would only do it to the ones who deserved it.”
He gave a harsh laugh, the sound making butterflies fill my stomach. “You would argue that they all deserve it.”
“That’s fair.” I leaned in to him in the smallest amount, my body screaming for more. More of him. Of his eyes on me, of his hands finally giving in to roam my body, of the weight of him on top of me.
“See how fast you came to that conclusion? That’s exactly why I stick to your side.”
Rook stepped out, breaking the spell between us, my heart sinking as Aiden pulled away.
“Why the fuck is my sister in your shirt with an extremely sleep-deprived look?” Rook asked, the rage in his voice held back just enough to give me a chance to answer.
“She grabbed the wrong one from the laundry,” he said calmly. “It’s not a big deal, and I already informed her to make sure it’s given back.”
