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My chest heaves, and I look away from him and at the hood where my tentacle—one of the causes of the heated events that just unfolded—still stands proudly. I see the swirled mess of sweat and the outline of my figure on the red paint. My eyes fixate on the scratches and streaks in the paint. They’re right where my piercings and the buttons from my skirt would have been pressed against the metal.
I knew he was being ruthless with me, which is what I wanted, what I needed, but that left marks on his car. I know that when the adrenaline wears off, I’m going to feel this—feel him—tomorrow too.
“Can we talk about this?” he asks hoarsely, still catching his breath. The corner of his eye twitches as he looks at the same spot on his car. I’d also be willing to bet that the muscles in his jaw are ticking beneath his beard, which is still glistening and slick with us.
“About the hood? Because fine, I’m sor—” I start before cutting myself off when he smirks back at me. “Actually, no—I’m not. I’m not sorry.”
“I literally don’t fucking care about the car, Josie,” he grumbles, wiping a hand through his beard. Something about that motion, while he’s shirtless and sweat is beading through his chest hair and over his abs, is frighteningly distracting. It’s not distracting enough to make me forget that I just hooked up with my ex, and my patience for this conversation is running thin.
“Then what do you want to talk about, Sly? That you’re apparently still great at making me come, even if I wish you weren’t?”
He chuckles. “Flattered, but no.”
“Then what?”
“The Daddy th—”
I step right up to him and press a finger to his lips, hoping he’ll finally shut up for the first time tonight. I don’t care if I’m turning red because I forgot that I let that slip out when he was driving into me and pulling my hair.
I don’t even say that word, that name, in my content. It’s a particular kink I’ve always wanted to explore, but never felt comfortable sharing with anyone, certainly not with the few and far between random hook-ups I’ve had since Sly. While I’ve thought about it before, I’ve never felt taken care of enough to say it out loud.
“No,” I say, shaking my head and glaring into his soulful eyes. “I told you that’s not what this is. We are not unpacking my abandonment issues, which spoiler alert: you’re part of the origin story. We’re not doing the pillow talk and trading sweet nothings on the hood of your car, or ever.”
“Fine,” he says, sounding almost apologetic.
I turn and reach over the hood to grab Octavius and end up having to give him a much harder yank than I expected. His suction cup base finally comes free with an oddly satisfying pop before I put him in his storage bag. After grabbing my duffel bag and tucking him away, I glance up at Sly.
He’s still watching me with an amused look when I hold up my bag between us.
“See? All packed up. There will be no further unpacking of past traumas that you had a part in. Now, can you let me out of the garage, preferably through an actual door?”
“When did you get back to your room?” Grace’s voice wakes me from my daze in the passenger seat of her van. I look over to find her giving me a mischievous grin.
“What are you talking about? You were there when I left Sisi’s apartment last night,” I say coyly, acting like I have no idea what she could be referring to.
She makes a disbelieving sound. “Yeah, but I came to your room before heading to my van, and you didn’t answer the door.”
“Why did you come to my room? Are you keeping tabs on me, Grace Chapman?” I narrow my gaze at her playfully. Keeping an eye on each other and checking in has always been part of our friendship, especially since we bonded over being nomads and traveling so much.
“No,” she says, snorting a laugh. She keeps her eyes on the road, but turns just enough for me to notice her coy smirk. “I forgot that I left my phone charger in your room, so I came to grab it.”
Shit. I groan and plaster my face to the passenger window of Grace’s van. Outside, the mountains that were the backdrop of the first eighteen years of my life pass by. Unlike when Phil—or Fred, or whatever his name was—dropped me off in Sterling Springs, today those peaks are striking silhouettes against the sun rising behind them.
When I woke up to a text from Grace this morning asking if I wanted to join her on another hike, I was more than ready to say yes. Especially after last night with Sly.
I thought the drive and a hike would be the perfect distraction. Going to Rio Ski, the abandoned ski resort my parents ran, would not have been my first choice, given my personal history with the place, but Grace is obsessed with ski resorts. She grew up around them in Wyoming and Utah. She has a particular fascination with ghost resorts. Her enthusiasm was enough for me to give in to my lingering, morbid curiosity to see for myself what’s become of the place, hoping it would keep my mind off last night.
Sadly, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Between the cool surface of the window reminding me of the hood of his car, the looming mountain peaks in the distance like his imposing figure, and now my best friend, who’s apparently keeping tabs on me, I’m going to guess that getting Sly out of my mind is going to be easier said than done.
“I went across the street to the corner store to grab some drinks,” I say, coming up with the first thing that sounds plausible. Even that reminds me of Sly because since he fixed the towel bar, the mini fridge in my room has been restocked with red cream soda each day. I know he hasn’t been restocking it himself, but I’m sure he’s had something to do with it.
“Got it.” Grace nods, dragging out the words, still sounding unconvinced. Why am I still lying to my best friend? “So, no late-night trips to see the hot brother you were eye-banging while he was washing his car earlier?”
I slowly turn my head in my best impersonation of an owl and glare at her. “If you drop this, I will turn in my I-saved-you-from-an-avalanche card and never use it again.”
She doesn’t take her eyes off the road, but I can see the side of her mouth tug up into a way too pleased grin. “Tempting, but no.”
I throw my head back against the headrest in exasperation. There’s no point in trying to convince her otherwise, so I guess it’s best to get this out of the way. “Fine. What do you want to know?”
