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Part of me is tempted to skip the shower and let Dante’s unique smoky scent linger on my skin for a little longer, a reminder of what turned out to be a pretty damn incredible night. But I head to the bathroom anyway, turning on the spray and stepping under it when it reaches a lukewarm temperature.
By the time I finally towel off and crawl into bed, the only reminder of Dante I have is the lingering memory of his hands on my body, and how exhausted I am—in a good way, for once.
6
RILEY
A loud bangingsound drags me out of a deep sleep.
My eyes snap open, but it takes me a second to make sense of anything as I sit upright in bed, my eyes darting to the clock.
Eight in the morning?
“Jesus,” I mutter, squeezing my eyes closed again and rubbing my temples with a groan. With the hours I work, this is definitely not a time of day when I’m ready to deal with anything at all.
But the banging on our front door doesn’t let up, so I guess I’ve got no choice.
I roll out of bed and shake off the last dregs of a dream I don’t really remember, still feeling a little disoriented. Fortunately, adrenaline helps me feel more alert by the time I wrap a robe around myself and make it out to the living room.
Alert… and wary. There’s no way that kind of ruckus means anything good, especially not in our neighborhood.
“What is it?” Chloe mumbles, emerging from her bedroom with a yawn.
I let my hand hover over the top deadbolt as I check the peephole.
“It’s Frank,” I mutter, not entirely surprised. Our dad’s a worthless asshole who doesn’t deserve the title of parent, but he can also be persistent as hell when he thinks he’ll be able to squeeze something out of someone.
I grimace. His face is sweaty and his eyes look a little panicked, so this will be about as fun as getting a Brazilian.
“Are you going to let him in?” Chloe asks, hovering behind me.
I can’t tell if she wants me to or not, probably because she hasn’t made her mind up about it herself. It’s one of the many reasons I had to get her out of his house and have made sure we have as little contact with him as possible ever since. Chloe knows he’s a deadbeat, but her heart is too big, too hopeful.
Frank doesn’t deserve it… but he’s always happy to take advantage of it.
“Riley? Chloe?” he calls out before I can decide whether to tell him to fuck off through the door or let him in so I can say it to his face. “You girls home?”
Without giving me a chance to answer, he starts pounding on the door again.
“Guess I am,” I tell Chloe, rolling my eyes as I start opening the locks. Letting him stay out in the hall causing a ruckus is likely to attract more problems than it will solve.
I finally fling the door open, and he stumbles forward mid-knock, grunting as he catches himself on the doorframe.
I glare at him, but his eyes dart right past me and settle on Chloe.
“Hey, little girl,” he wheezes, giving her a sickly smile and wiping at the sweat beading on his forehead with a nasty-looking handkerchief he pulls from his pocket.
“Hi, Dad,” Chloe answers, crossing her arms over her chest and shrinking away from him.
That does it. My protective instinct surges inside me, and I step between them, cutting off his view of her.
“Get the hell out of here, Frank,” I demand. “I told you the other night to leave us alone.”
“Oh, come on now,” he says, running a hand over his stringy dark hair. “Don’t be that way. Can’t I visit my two favorite girls once in a while?”
“If by visit, you mean stop by to pull your usual crap, then no.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he insists, his eyes darting to Chloe.
