Zane (Inked Brotherhood 3) - Page 30
“I ate more stuff.” I sink in the chair and wave a hand back and forth. “Too fucking drunk to think right now, okay?”
I remember eating a ham sandwich the day after, and during the weekend… Did I eat anything? Driving between the house and the hospital, sitting by Emma’s bed, taking care of the kids… I must have. I just can’t remember.
In fact, I don’t remember much from the weekend, and it’s not because of the whiskey. The memories are already fuzzy, covered in haze. My mind tends to erase stressful times. Hell, I’m missing substantial chunks of my childhood. There’s a reason I avoid therapists. I guess I just don’t wanna fucking know what I’ve forgotten.
“Zane?” She’s staring at me with those wide blue eyes.
Crap, I’ve spaced out. I draw the plate of eggs toward me, grab a fork and dig in. “This is good.”
Her cheeks color again. “Does that mean I’ve passed my first test?”
“Test?”
She rolls her eyes. “To be your roommate, of course.”
Of course. I snort and wash down the eggs with orange juice. “You think it’s that easy?”
“What else do you want?”
Fuck, is that a trick question? I look across the table at her. She sucks her bottom lip between her small, white teeth, and I forget to chew for a second. Breakfast is great, but what I really want is to get down-and-dirty with her, rip her already ripped jeans, shred her T-shirt, lick her everywhere, taste her pussy.
“Nothing,” I lie. I scrub my hands over my face. My head is killing me. “I’m good.”
“So can I move in with you?”
“Nope.”
“I’ll change your mind.” She grins and takes a sip of her coffee. “I want another chance.”
I look down at my plate and drag the bacon closer. She’s teasing me, joking about, and still not a word about the state she found me in, or the fact I didn’t answer Ash’s, Rafe’s or Erin’s calls and texts.
“I was at my sister’s,” I hear myself say and clench my fingers around the fork. “I visit almost every weekend.”
Why the hell am I telling her this?
“Emma is my only family.” The words spill out without my permission. “She took me in. Looked after me. Now she’s sick, and I can’t help her. I try, but in the end, there’s fucking nothing I can do.”
Dakota pales. “I understand—”
“The hell you do. This is all fucked up. I’m fucked up.” I bang my hand on the table, and the fork smashes into the plate. I get up and stumble away.
“Zane, wait.”
I stagger into my bedroom. It’s dark, the curtains drawn over the small window. The air smells stale.
Dakota stands at the door, a hand on the frame. “What’s wrong?”
Wrong? Nothing’s wrong. If she doesn’t walk away, I’ll throw her on my bed and fuck her senseless. If she does walk away, I’ll trash my room and punch the wall until my fingers break.
Nothing’s wrong.
Everything’s wrong.
I need…something. I need her. Her warmth. Her closeness.
Two strides and I’m in front of her. She takes a step back, but she isn’t fast enough. I press my body to hers, slide my fingers into her hair and inhale her scent.
She gulps. “Zane, I just want...”
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