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My stomach flutters as I approach the front door. Not the merry butterflies that usually swoon and dip every time I’m near Dex. No, this feels more like a swarm of carpenter bees drilling holes in the foundation of our budding relationship.
I’ve thought about him inside that club all night. The images I conjured up are probably worse than the reality. Sadness replaces my irrational jealousy. As if we’ve already said goodbye.
I peer through the glass to make sure it’s Dex before opening the door.
“Hey, you’re early,” I say.
“Couldn’t wait to see you.” He steps forward and lifts his hand, touching my cheek.
Fire sizzles through me.
Nope.I can’t let myself get lost in him. Not now. We have too much to talk about.
I shouldn’t even bother. I should just cut my losses and move on now.
Before I get hurt.
He leans down and kisses my forehead. Cold air and the dry scent of woods and leather cling to him, circling around us.
My gaze narrows on a split in his bottom lip and a trickle of dried blood. “What happened to you?” I frown and pull away.
He touches his mouth and winces. That’s when I notice his reddened knuckles.
“Were you in a fight?” I ask.
“Sort of.”
I step back, allowing him all the way into the house. He closes the door behind him and shrugs off his cut, draping it on a hook.
Why do I like the way he seems to make himself at home here? How comfortable he seems to feel in my space.
“What exactly doessort ofmean?” I ask.
He finishes unlacing his boots and setting them by the closet, then stands and faces me.
“It means, sometimes we have customers who don’t respect the ‘no touching’ rule and need to be taught a lesson.”
“So, you solve the touching problem by…touching?”
He snorts at my attempted joke but doesn’t seem all that amused. “The girls there put up with enough shit. We have a zero-tolerance policy for touching in the VIP rooms.”
Oh, so we’re just diving right into this conversation, huh?
I open my mouth, then stop myself. Setting aside the strip club thing, if he were the kind of man who stood by and did nothing when another woman was being hurt, I wouldn’twantto be with him. Then this whole prickly conversation we’re about to engage in would be pointless.
“Let me get ice for that.” I nod to the couch. “Take a seat.”
“I’m fine, Emily. Really.”
I stare at him until he walks over to the couch and sits.
“Do you want something to drink?” I ask.
“Water’s fine.”
“I’ll be right back.” I hurry into the kitchen. I grab a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and a dishtowel off the counter. I pour a glass of water from the pitcher in the fridge and return to the living room.
As soon as I step out of the kitchen, I have Dex’s full attention. I hand him the glass of water, then sit on the couch next to him. I wrap the dishtowel around the peas and press it to the knuckles of his injured hand.
