Page 43 of Unleashed By Eden

Surprised, I let out a small puff of air. “Yeah, but shower first. I’d like to breathe.”

He laughs once, pushes himself upright, grabs his phone from his pocket to tap out a quick message, then heads for the bathroom.

“You sure you don’t want to join me?” he calls through the doorway. Water starts blasting. “I’d make it worth your while.”

“Not happening,” I say, loud enough for him to hear.

“Rude,” he replies, amused. “By the way, I texted Chris to bring me some fresh clothes.” The door swings shut.

“For fuck’s sake, Carter,” I yell and rub my fingers over the bridge of my nose.

“What?”

“He’s going to think we’re fucking.”

“What did you say?” he shouts through the door.

“I said, Chris is going to think we’re fucking now,” I yell even louder.

The bathroom door cracks open. His head pokes out, water running down his face that I want to lick up with my tongue. “What was that?”

This fucking guy.

“Chris. He’s going to think we’re fucking.”

He grins, entirely unbothered. “It’s only a matter of time, Vi.” He disappears back into the steam. “Can you get that?” he adds as a knock comes from the hotel door.

I swear under my breath on the way to answer it.

Chris stands there, expression stiff, holding a black overnight bag.

“He rang.” His tone is flat as sheet metal. He holds the bag out.

“Thanks.” I grab it and push a stray hair behind my ear.

He lowers his voice, eyes cutting past my shoulder toward the interior. “Whatever you’re doing with him, you should stop.”

My jaw drops. “Nothing is going on.”

“We’ll see,” he says. “If anything happens, and I mean any trouble, any fighting, anything that shakes the band, it comes back on you.”

I grip the bag handle tight to keep my hands from slamming the door in his face. “Anything else?”

“I like you, Violet. I do. But don’t fuck this up.” He turns and walks away. And I finally get to slam the door.

“Here, dickhead,” I call, pushing the bathroom door open enough to toss the bag inside. “Your clothes.”

“Thanks, Vi. You’re always so kind to me.”

I roll my eyes and head to the kitchenette. One soda for me. Another for him. The hiss of the can opening breaks the quiet.

The bathroom door opens, and he steps out in gray sweats and a black T-shirt, hair slicked back, smelling like deodorant. My ovaries stage a protest march.

I stare a second too long.

He catches it and smirks. “Roll that tongue back in your mouth, Vi, before I find a better use for it.”

I blink out of it, shove a can at his chest, and drop onto the couch.