Page 48 of Detour

“Um, dinner?”

Pulling back, Coty licks his bottom lip, his eyes roaming over mine like he just remembered how hungry he is.

I close my eyes, counting to ten. I get to two when I feel Coty step between my legs. I raise onto my tiptoes preventing additional contact. He doesn’t bother hiding his frustration, letting out a low rumble deep in his chest.

“I missed you.”

“It’s been two days.” Before he can argue, I steer us back on track. “Are we doing this? I thought I was cleaning your hand.”

Still eyeing me—rather hungrily might I add—he reluctantly nods, and sits on the closed toilet lid, holding his hand out for me to take. Careful to hold it from the bottom, I run water over the top, watching as the blood washes away. I squirt some soap from a repurposed whiskey dispenser and wash his knuckles gently but thoroughly. Coty, taking pulls from the vodka bottle, doesn’t miss a second, watching every move I make. I shift the water to cold, hoping to combat both Coty’s swelling and my own heated thoughts.

Finished, I gently blot dry his hand with a towel.

“I don’t see any cuts.” I’m almost positive it was all Jason’s blood. “Does it hurt?”

He simply nods.

“Where?”

Using his good hand, he crooks a finger at me.

After a hesitant step, I halt, unsure. Unsure if this falls under ‘light and easy’. Unsure if I even care.

Coty’s hooded eyes travel my body head to toe and back again, leaving a storm brewing the more he explores. When he makes it back to my eyes, he nods his head, beckoning me closer. I don’t move.

He tips the bottle back for another drink and I snag the bottle next. I take a sip, cringe, and place it on the counter. I step around Coty’s legs in a standing straddle. His head tilts back, watching me closely, and drags his now dry hand up the back of my thigh. Never once breaking eye contact, he settles it right below my ass cheek, then does the same with his other hand. He pulls me forward, bringing his face in line with my chest.

My hand comes up to play with his hair. The areas that were sweaty from the fight have dried, making his dark brown hair soft but wild. He’s wearing a black V-neck that’s tight over his still-taut muscles. His jeans are slung low over his hips and tucked haphazardly into black boots. The bathroom is filled with his spicy coconut smell but it’s been muddled from the party raging just outside the door.

Remembering why I’m here in the first place, I grip the strands, angling his head to the side. Coty lets out a low growl as I bring my face in close to his.

“Why are you fighting your friends?”

Coty remains quiet, looking between my eyes. Just when I think he won’t answer, I relax my hold to straighten, but Coty has a different idea—one he doesn’t bother running by me first. Suddenly, he lifts me up by the backs of my thighs and my arms reach around the back of his neck so I don’t face-plant into his head. Placing me on his lap, he runs his hands down my legs until he hits behind my knees, then drags me forward. It’s erotic and sweet and makes me want to run far, far away, however, I stay put. For now.

Pleased with our new position, Coty snatches the vodka up again. After taking his own swig, he lifts the bottle to my lips. I hesitate briefly before opening my mouth for a drink, too.

Full of liquid courage, he says, “They can’t have you.”

“Neither can you,” I counter, just as bold, maybe even bolder. I don’t drink often, so the vodka’s hitting harder than I’d like to admit.

“Why not?”

Leaning in, my lips graze his ear. His hiss makes me smile.

“I’m not yours.” I pull back, meeting his eyes. “It’s better that I’m not.”

“For who?” His grip on my thighs tightens.

I stare, willing him to see the truth but terrified of what he might discover.

“Everybody,” I answer honestly, my arms falling from his neck.

Coty hauls my ass forward, placing me directly on top of his erection, saying, “Bullshit.”

A small gasp tumbles from my lips.

God. Damn.