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Sally gripped her side, her ribs and ab muscles aching from laughter. “P-please, stop,” she rasped, barely able to get the words out while still cackling merrily. “You are so full of b-bullshit!”
Sly, throwing his head back and laughing with her, dropped his head and grinned at her, his smile wide and genuine and absolutely devastating. “I’m serious!” he cried. “By the time I made it back to my dorm, my skin was blue, my balls had retreated up into my body, and I couldn’t stop shaking so hard my teeth fucking clacked together!”
“What did you expect would happen when you decided to do a naked polar bear swim in the school fountains in the dead of winter? I’m surprised your ass didn’t stick to the side of the fountain when you were climbing out.”
“Oh, it nearly did. Thank God I’m quick and didn’t sit there too long swinging my numb as hell legs over.”
Another round of belly-aching laughter followed until Sally’s head began to pound. “Ugh…I need an aspirin. Who knew your stories would give me a laughter headache?” No, really? Sly was funny as hell, witty, thoughtful, and good-natured. His asshole façade he put on most of the time hid a man she really didn’t mind getting to know better. This was the man she remembered from that night, when she’d gone over to him at the bar and sat talking and laughing with him, all the while burning to molten desire on the inside.
Yeah, but how much of this side of him is real? And how much of the asshole she’d experienced over the last several encounters was the real him? So what if he could make her laugh if he also made her cry?
Pushing aside those thoughts best left for her bathtub alone time, she grinned at him before standing to fetch the pill bottle from the kitchen peninsula, which separated the living area from the kitchen.
“I have more stories where that came from, but I want to hear some of yours. Did you, Sallina Mendez, get into trouble in college?”
She snorted before swallowing down the meds. “Me? Hell no. I was a fucking saint.”
Sly curled his lip and arched an eyebrow, clearly not believing a word of it. She snorted again.
“Okay, so I did get into some trouble, but it was never naked trouble. My trouble was more the didn’t-take-shit-from-bullies sort of trouble. Student or teacher, if you bullied someone, I turned vicious lioness on your ass and clawed, bit, and chewed until things changed.”
She grinned unrepentantly and shared with him a most delightful memory of telling off Becky Johnson after she’d posted pictures of another—overweight and painfully shy—female student naked in the dorm showers on the collective school social media accounts. The student was so horrified, she’d broken down, ending up in an in-patient facility to fight severe depression. Disgusted by Becky’s actions, Sally had used some of her own money to hire a white-hat hacker to take the images down, then used the information gathered about the IP address to report the cybercrime to the school and the police. Becky spent the last semester on probation, forced to work community service at the women’s shelter downtown.
Sally watched his face as she spoke, taking in his expression. Surprise, admiration, then white-hot lust simmered in his green eyes.
“You are a goddamn wonder, you know that?” he proclaimed, a thickness to his voice she’d never heard before.
Suddenly desperate to get the attention off herself and alleviate some of the tension in the room, she asked, “More wine?”
He shook his head, leaning back against the couch cushion and aligning himself with the TV, which was silently screening reruns of Supernatural.
“I never could understand the appeal of this show,” he muttered, scowling at the screen while Sam and Dean Winchester faced off against a beautifully tattooed but utterly evil jinn.
Gasping loudly in mock horror, Sally returned to her seat and pinned Sly with a disappointed gaze. “The appeal is that these all too human brothers took it upon themselves to risk their lives, facing off against the ultimate evils in the world. They earned no praise, made no money, and never had the chance to experience the true meaning of a regular life—good friends, community, a home. Day after day, they fought to save the lives of people who never even knew their real names. That is dedication. We need more people like the Winchester brothers, real live people willing to battle evil for the weak and vulnerable.”
Sly’s face darkened with each word, his once shimmering green eyes turned to black emerald, his lips thinned, and his shoulders stiff. He sat there, staring at her, silent and contemplative.
Shit. She hadn’t even thought about what she was saying…and she’d shared more in that ridiculous rant than she should have. Sly would see right through it, would know she was talking about herself…that she was one of the weak and vulnerable.
But you aren’t anymore. You’re strong now. Tough. No one can hurt you unless you let them.
Then what the hell was she doing with Sly when she knew he was capable of shattering her to pieces?
“Who hurt you?” he asked, his voice soft yet hard-edged.
A tell-tale burning behind her eyes made her suck in a breath. She would not cry. Not now when there was a witness, someone who could see just how much she needed her own Winchester once upon a time.
Shaking her head at him, she offered him a slight smile. “I could lie and say no one hurt me, but I respect both of us more than that.”
His gaze raked over her features, searching for the depth of that truth, probably seeking minute cracks in the armor of her practiced expression. He wouldn’t find one—she was a master at hiding her genuine emotions. She had her father to thank for that.
There wasn’t much she could thank him for. She laughed without humor and leaned into the arm of the couch, kicking her feet up and planting them in Sly’s lap.
“Comfortable?” he asked, amusement turning his lips up.
She shrugged. “Might as well make use of you. You are taking up space on my favorite couch.” She patted the worn yet comfortable faux suede cushion. In her best—and worst—posh British accent, she drawled, “This remarkably preserved Regency era chaise lounge was won at auction at Sotheby’s for a steal at $45,000.” At her own ridiculousness, she chuckled, snorting like the lady she was. But…a hard something flickered in Sly’s eyes, making her laughter die. Was it something she said?
“Just kidding. I bought this thing on clearance at Raymour & Flanigan for $450 with a six-year protection/replacement plan. And it’s a couch. Chaises only have one arm, and they are hard as hell. Not at all comfortable for lounging, despite their name.”
