Perfectly Toxic (Sterling Shore 9)

Pretty sure this isn’t normal.

“Sounds like me and Rye,” I admit for some stupid reason. I guess I feel like I owe her something since she just shared with me.

“You were there the night Allie came to stitch him up, weren’t you?” she asks, leaning back. “Didn’t he hit you?”

That night was a bitch. “Yeah. But I didn’t care. I only acted like I did so that Brin would stick around. I actually had hoped she’d stay there, but I had her back when it was too much. Rye surprised me with that punch.”

“Do you think he’d ever hit her?”

I burst out laughing, and she raises up, shoving at my chest.

“I’m serious. He’s your best friend, and yet he hit you? It worries me.”

Still laughing, I shake my head. “Yeah, well, no. Don’t worry. Rye would cut his hands off before he’d ever hurt Brin like that. Guys are different than girls. Sometimes we take a few swings at each other, but that doesn’t mean we’re going to attack you.”

“I honestly know nothing about you, and I just spent the night in your bed,” she says randomly, lying back down. “So I guess I don’t know what you’d do if you got pissed.”

Ah, so it’s not so random.

“I’d say a few dickheaded things. Then I’d go to the gym and work myself until the burn left me numb. Or I’d go get drunk off my ass. That’s about it. I’ve never hit a girl before and never will. I’m not that kind of bully. As for not knowing me, this is how you get to know people.”

She laughs while covering her face. “No, dinner is how you get to know someone. Not hot and dirty wall sex that leads to a bedroom conversation.”

“No?” I muse, running my lips over her arm. “You go to dinner, and either there’s stilted, forced small talk and a quick recap of your history—sunny side up. Or you go to dinner, and there’s a lot of oversharing and you realize the person is a nut job. Or you find someone who has the same friends you have, have amazing sexual chemistry with, have epic sex with, and then learn the real stuff about each other. Sounds much better than a phony dinner date.”

Her stomach growls as though it was waiting on the perfect opportunity, and she covers her face as I laugh.

“Okay, so maybe there’s one drawback to not having dinner. Your stomach is seriously loud.”

“Shut up,” she groans, hiding her face again.

“Come on. I’ll drive you to your house. You can change, and I’ll take you out for breakfast.”

“I have my car here,” she says on a sigh.

“But that’s not a real date,” I point out, smirking when she does the eye roll thing again.

“Fine. I need a shower though.”

“How convenient. So do I.”

She jabs her finger into my chest. “Don’t even think about it. I’m too hungry for another round of sex, and my stomach is too embarrassing to withhold food from.”

I laugh as she climbs up, pulling her shirt on. It’s a good view to admire. “You shower here. I’ll shower at my house.”

Somehow, it doesn’t even bother me that this is a little less than casual. Maybe I was wrong about this relationship stuff.

I tug her back down on top of me, and she comes willingly, running her fingers all along my chest. And I can feel every single touch.

“What’s this?” she asks, running her finger over my spider web tattoo.

Tensing, I try

to play it off. “Think that one is self-explanatory.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, there’s a large scar the lines are on top of. How can you have a spider web tattoo over a scar?”

“I think I’ve shared enough for one day,” I tell her, still playing things cool. “So unless you have anything to add, I say it’s time to get ready for breakfast.”