Page 28 of Dreadful

Fuck it.

“But what if I want to worry about it?”

He turns back, and that grin transforms his face—eyes crinkling, dimple cutting deep. He plants his palms on the mattress and leans in until we’re eye to eye. “Then I’d tell you that you already made me come.”

I blink. “I don’t understand.”

Cruz’s laughter curls through the room like smoke, low and knowing.

Heat floods my cheeks. “What?”

“Told you, Bell;breakfast of champions.” Gage brushes a quick kiss against my lips, then stands. Morning light catches the sweat-damp sheen across his chest, the defined cut of his abs, the obvious bulge straining against his shorts. “But I need a shower. Unless I can tempt you to join me?” He holds out a hand.

I bite my lip again, temptation coiling warm and heavy in my limbs. I glance over my shoulder at Cruz, letting my gaze drag deliberately from his face down his body. “And you?”

Cruz tugs gently on the ends of my hair. His expression is serious now, intensity banked in his dark eyes. “The next time I come,” he says, voice dropping to a rough murmur, “I’m going to take my time with you. And time is a luxury we don’t have right now.” His thumb strokes my jaw. “Bishop is probably pacing in the hall already, counting seconds till he busts in here demanding answers.”

The reminder lands like a bucket of cold water, shocking the warmth from my skin.

“Right,” I mumble, biting the inside of my cheek until the sharp, metallic taste of blood blooms. “I should check on my sister. And do damage control with your mom.” I sigh, the sound swallowed by the heavy silence in the room. My fingers curl into the sheets as reluctance wraps around my wrists like invisible tethers holding me to Cruz’s bed.

“Don’t worry about Coco.” Gage tugs at the waistband of his shorts, adjusting himself, and I catch the damp patch darkening the fabric before I can look away. “She’s not fazed by the sight of girls in Cruz’s bed.”

Something small and stupid lodges itself behind my sternum, sharp and unwelcome. I pull my hair over one shoulder, the strands tangled and smelling of Cruz’s shampoo. I start working through a knot at the ends, my fingers catching on snarls. This is why I hate going to sleep with wet hair.

“What the fuck, man?” Cruz’s hand shoots out and grabs the pillow behind him. He whips it across the room without another word.

Gage catches it with his face, laughing—a low, easy sound that grates against my nerves. “What? Am I lying?”

Irritation flares bright inside my gut, hot and acidic, twisting my mouth into a frown. I abandon the knot and slide out of bed, my bare feet meeting the cool hardwood floor. The air feels different now—charged and thin.

“Guess the truce is over already?” Cruz grumbles.

I’m annoyed with myself. I don’t have any right to be jealous. Not only is it fucking hypocritical—considering whose mouth was on me an hour ago—but it’s ridiculous.

Gage just shrugs, still grinning. “Just stating facts, brother.”

And yet, as I close myself in Cruz’s bathroom—the tiles cold underfoot, the mirror fogged from his shower—I can’t stop the feeling from infecting what remained of this morning’s glow.

A few minutes later, I open the bathroom door to an empty room. The silence feels heavy and accusing.

What am I even doing right now?

I find Lola slumped on the worn leather couch, oversized sunglasses hiding her eyes, a tall glass of iced coffee sweating in her hand. I drop onto the cushion beside her, and she wordlessly passes me the drink without looking over. The condensation feels cool against my palm.

I take a sip. It’s bitter, nothing like the syrupy sweetness I usually crave, but I swallow it anyway. “Where’d you get this?”

“Coco apparently makes her own cold brew.” Lola’s voice is hushed, raspy with sleep. She lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug, the movement lazy.

I clear my throat softly. “How did she seem this morning?”

I feel the weight of her stare behind the dark lenses. “What happened.” It isn’t a question.

I take another slow sip, my eyes scanning the room—empty, for now. Leaning closer, I drop my voice to something barely audible. “She just waltzed into Cruz’s room this morning.”

Lola’s eyebrows shoot up above the frame of her sunglasses. “Oh shit. Please tell me Mama Calloway did not walk in on her youngest taking you to pound town.”

My nose wrinkles and my mouth twists with distaste. “Dude. Pound town? Really?”