Page 21 of Hating On Riot

“Are you sure?” I’m not thrilled with using the shared bathroom either.

The few times I’ve stepped into Tony’s bathroom to clean it, there was a box of extra-large condoms, along with his assortment of cologne, shaving cream, and hair products. One time, I found a pair of women’s lace thongs. God, I hope that was his date’s.

“Yeah. And afterward, if you want, you can take a spot on the right side of the bed closest to the door.”

The corners of my mouth tug upward. He’s adorable with that innocent look on his face, but there’s heat in his gaze.

“Thanks, but having use of your bathroom is good enough.”

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

God, that lopsided smirk of his.

“Thanks again, Riot.”

Nervous, I reach into my pocket for my lip gloss. Cradling my clothes to my chest, I unscrew the cap and smooth the gloss over my lips. Once. Twice. Riot follows my movements and homes in on my mouth, his eyes hooded.

“If I were to kiss you, what would you smell like? What would you taste like?” His words are soft and sultry, promising pleasure beyond my wildest sexual dreams.

The fluttering in my stomach grows. His asking about the flavor of my lip gloss was a running joke until it wasn’t anymore, but a way for Riot to get closer to me.

He gets off the bed and comes over to where I’m at. We’re so close that the tips of our toes touch, except he’s wearing socks and my feet are bare, having taken off our shoes at the door.

“Close your eyes, Arie.”

Oh, God, I shouldn’t, but I’m a mess of hate and longing. The longing wins. I close my eyes. Thick fingers weave into my hair, sifting through the long strands. A large hand cups my hip. With his fingers tangled in my hair, Riot tips my face up. I keep my eyes closed.

“You tell me what flavor.” Back then, it was my usual answer. But I don’t want to go back. I want to move forward. My eyes snap open. I step back, forcing his fingers from my hair. “We shouldn’t.” I shake my head. “You and me, we can’t be that to one another.”

“Be what?” He jams his hands into his pockets.

“As something more than the good friends we used to be. I have a best friend now, Riot. Cooper is my best friend.”

“But he isn’t your damn boyfriend. He gave me his okay to pursue you in private. Is there anyone else here?”

“No.”

“Then let me show you how private I’d like to get with you.”

“Okay.” Crap, did I whimper? “After we shower.”

He grasps my chin, bringing me forward, and murmurs close to my mouth, “Shower, then you’re mine.”

10

Arie

I walk out of the bathroom with my heart slamming against my rib cage and my nerves on high alert.

I understand what’s happening. It’s the classic fight-or-flight reaction. I thought a hot shower would calm my nerves and my racing heart, but my mind drifted to Riot. His words—shower, then you’re mine—replayed in my head, and I found myself touching myself until I came hard. My legs shook. The shower wall was cold beneath my palm as I steadied myself. My folds were slick beneath my fingers. I’d turned off the shower with my face hotter than when I stepped into it.

Riot is on the bed, a deck of cards in his hand. When he sees me, he crooks his finger and pats the spot on the bed across from him.

I go to sit, but he shifts and tells me to take his old spot. He’s a gentleman, giving me the headboard to rest against. But what I’ve learned from our secret relationship is that Riot’s actions have a motive. I rest back against the pillows. His gaze roams over my bare legs, lingers on my hips, then skates up my stomach until he’s staring at my mouth. And there it is.

“Pink looks good on you, Arie.”

Pink tank top. Pink lip gloss. Pink flush on the arches of my cheeks from the hot shower.