No Saint (Wild Men 6)

There’s some bitterness there, and I don’t know what to tell her. That I used to hate Ross all this time, that I used to want him, that even now it’s so complicated between us, and that’s after making sure he didn’t die, a stain on the concrete yard of his garage?

Shouldn’t it be crystal clear after that rescue, the fear, the panic, the relief and the tumble between the sheets that followed? I mean, God, I let him be my first.

Shouldn’t I be more shocked about that, about letting him inside me, having sex for the first time ever?

But I feel okay. Like it was the right choice, and good God, the memories of his hands on me, his mouth, his cock in me, rocking deep, it sends shivers down my spine and heat pooling between my legs. I’ve been getting flashes of what we did all day, on and off, causing me to stumble as I carried trays of food and spill drinks, garnering dark looks from Mike the owner who happened to be around.

So what does that mean, Luna, for you? What is he to you? Is it still only lust, is sleeping with him enough?

Crap, I don’t know anything. Except that the sex was so hot. Scorching. Incredible. Enough to blow a girl’s mind and bury the questions under the rubble...

***

Dad sounds suspicious when I call to claim I’ll stay with Dena tonight, too. I think I won’t be able to keep doing this without a face-to-face talk and I suck at lying. I have no poker face to speak of.

But who knows if I’ll need to do this again? One day—and night—at a time. Ross and I, we have a truce—well, more than that, obviously, but it still doesn’t mean that anything serious is going on between us. For my part, I’m hesitant, and as for his... well, it’s no secret he’s screwed most of the girls in this town, and that he never stays for a repeat performance.

Last night we were still running on adrenaline when we crashed, and when he woke up from that nightmare, it started as comfort and ended as a means of letting out steam.

Tonight, though... who knows how it’s going to be?

So it’s with some trepidation that I leave the diner and start the trek through town. Maybe I should be more worried of running into that ass, Edward, and his friends, but Ross is occupying all of my mind right now.

I almost shriek when he appears out of the dark, his tall, broad-shouldered figure pushing off the trellised fence of the Crichtons’ house, right after the ice cream shop.

“Ross.” I press a hand to my thumping heart. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at home.”

“I was waiting for you,” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, “to walk you there.”

He reaches out his hand, and I take it, kind of dazed. It’s like an out of the body experience. I’m on Main street, holding Ross Jones’s hand. It swallows up mine, big and hard, and he looks down at me solemnly, his eyes like crystals in the golden afternoon light, his face, his hair so bright, and behind him... I swear I see a shadow of wings.

Black wings, huge, torn. In shreds.

Vanishing in the next blink, as if blown away by the light breeze.

I blink again, wondering if I’ve had too many coffees, and he tugs on my hand, starting to walk. The town is quiet, a distant child’s shout, a distant car engine running, low voices drifting out of the houses.

Louder than anything else is Ross’s skin against mine, the hum of his blood under my palm, the shadow he casts in front of us, his presence by my side. His choice to come accompany me, his grip on my hand, so strong but not crushing, it’s... everything.

An answer to all those questions my mind is trying to muffle and ignore.

Glancing sideways at him, I study the new bruises. He has the beginning of a black eye and his lip is bloody, though it looks like he cleaned it before coming to get me.

I bump my hip against him. “What happened to you? Another fight?”

He frowns. “I don’t pick those fights, Lu.”

“I know,” I mutter. “I hate to see you hurt.”

It’s not until he grins down at me, eyes shining, that I realize what I’ve said.

And I’m not taking it back.

“I’m alright,” he dismisses my concern, like he always does. “You should have seen the other guys.”

“That so.” I grin back at him, unable to resist the teasing light in his eyes, that spark I’ve only glimpsed once or twice. Fighting isn’t funny, but worse yet is letting those sons of bitches get away with it. I’m glad he’s fighting back. For a while I thought... I thought he’d given up, that he’d let them beat him to death. I’ve had this fear that he’s been flirting with death while I was away.

And why am I thinking of this now, walking down the road with his hand wrapped around mine?