Reagan's office seemed like a good place to hide. I couldn't believe it—it was a fucking party, and I was hiding instead of celebrating with my best friends and coworkers. All because of Jason, and my own stupid fucking choices.
The man was good-looking enough. A smooth talker and confident. But when I'd been messing around with Chris, I hadn't been interested. No matter how many hints Jason had put down, I'd refused to pick them up. Until I'd left Chris, that is. After that, I'd felt adrift, like I was still attached to him even after I'd walked away—something that had never happened before. And I desperately wanted to get rid of that feeling.
So when we'd had a wrap party after the first episode finished filming, I'd drank. A lot. Pity parties were perfect for trying to drown out sorrow. But then Jason had come on to me, again, and I'd...
Fuck me, I'd said yes.
I banged my head softly against the wall of the office. I was a fucking idiot. I couldn't believe how much I missed Christian, and hooking up with Jason had made that all the more clear to me. What had Christian even done wrong? Nothing, that's what. He'd just asked me about work, and I'd freaked out, totally unwarranted.
He'd been right—it wasn't crazy for him to ask for a bit more from me. But I had told him so many fucking times: I didn't do pillow talk. I couldn't do pillow talk. It always led to feelings, and feelings led to hurt, and I had no room in my world for any more hurting.
It had gone on too long with Chris, longer than I should have let it. But I couldn't help it, not when the doctor was so fucking sexy. With his black hair and pale blue eyes and narrow, fit body, Christian was beautiful. And it wasn't simply his looks, either. There'd been these times...
"Tell me about your tattoos," Chris said, surprising me. I rolled onto my back, stretching my arms overhead. We'd woken up naked in his bed for the fourth time that week. Sunlight filtered through the blinds and caught his eyes, turning them into sapphires. I so rarely spent multiple nights with the same person, but I'd found myself over at Chris's several nights during the week...for several weeks now.
Our chemistry was too strong to deny, it seemed, and as I looked at him in the morning light, I felt that now-familiar tug in my guts. It scared the shit out of me, but he didn't need to know that—not when I'd very clearly made it known I wasn't going to be more than a hookup.
"Which one?" I asked, stretching and kicking off the sheets.
I was covered in tattoos from head to toes. Literally. There was a spade on my cheek and a bumblebee on my big toe. In between I was covered with a wide variety of ink in various styles, collected from when I was fifteen until just a few weeks ago.
"The face tattoo," Chris said. His tone was completely genuine, no hints of judgment.
It continued to astonish me that a world-class surgeon didn't have any reservations about sleeping with a tatted-up guy with a questionable past. Then again, he didn't know about my past, let alone the questionable parts. Sharing histories was the first step into deeper, emotionally murky waters—and that was a huge no-go.
Absentmindedly, I touched the spade. "Eh, I just like playing cards," I lied.
It was true, I did like cards—but that's not why I'd gotten the tattoo. I'd gotten it after my first successful robbery when I was seventeen, and there was so much that it represented, things I wasn't proud of. But I definitely wasn't about to tell Chris all that.
A tug in my chest accompanied the lie. Would Chris judge me if I'd told the truth? If he knew about all the awful things I'd done? I couldn't stand the shame that getting so close to these topics brought with it—even if Chris didn't realize he was stepping next to a landmine.
Ready to divert the discussion, I pointed to a pinup model on my hip. Instead of the traditional cutie with boobs, though, I'd had a sailor put in place, his beard thick and anchor-shaped pasties on his nipples. It was a ridiculous tattoo whose only significance was that it made me laugh.
"What about this one? I bet you want to know the story here."
Christian wrinkled his nose. "I try to forget that one. That sailor haunts my dreams."
"Well, that seals the deal; I'm ordering some sailor-themed pasties today. We'll do some role-playing games."
Chris laughed, and it was bright and full. It filled me with warmth, managing to push out the negativity that had threatened to creep back in when I thought about my past. This was his gift: he made me feel like I was a good person. I could forget what I'd done and just...be myself. With Chris, I never had to balance projecting an image of confidence while trying to keep him afloat.
It was this ease of companionship and the way being near him made me feel like I was floating that I knew I'd need to start putting distance between us. But when Chris leaned in to kiss me and his hand started stroking me, all worries about getting too close disappeared.
I leaned on Reagan's desk, shoulders hunched and head bowed. God, why did memories of Chris continue to infect me, when my times with other guys had always rolled off me with ease? And Chris popped into my mind at the worst times. Out in the main parlor, everyone was celebrating. Drinking and joking and eagerly waiting for the screening of our episode. I should be out there with them, but two things were fucking with my good time:
I kept wanting Chris to be there, celebrating with me. He'd been along for the ride from the beginning, since I'd pretended to be hurt at a charity race. His doctor skills brought him to my side, and my charm had made sure he never left it. Well, until I walked out on him.Jason. God, the guy couldn't get a clue. No, I did not want a repeat. No, I wasn't interested. But he was always fucking there, hovering in the shop, trying to corner me, whispering shit in my ear when no one was looking.
And so while everyone else gathered with their loved ones, excited and carefree, I'd run from the absence of Chris and the too-aggressive presence of Jason. Hiding like a bitch in my boss's office.
Except then the door opened, and Jason walked in, sauntering toward me with his hands in his pockets. "Hey, sexy. I wondered where you'd gone."
His brown eyes were locked on me, hunger-like fire in them. He was between me and the closed-again door. Adrenaline shot through me, sending my heart into the worst kind of overdrive. I hated being cornered—I always have. When I was a kid, running with a gang and making stupid decision after stupid decision, being cornered could mean life or death.
It also taught me to defend myself, but Jason...he was the producer of the show. He was as good as untouchable. And I really, really tried to avoid violence, knowing all too well where it could lead.
"Well?" Jason prompted.
"Just taking a moment," I said stiffly. "But I'm ready to head back to the party. Shall we?"
I made for the door but Jason stepped into my path, blocking my way before he advanced. For every step he took forward, I took one backward until my shoulder blades struck the wall.
Then he was pressed against me, his arms braced on either side of my shoulders. Locking me in. "I've been thinking about you nonstop, Dane."
My chest was struggling to hold my racing heart, and my shirt was sticking to the sweat on my back. I should feel flattered; Jason wasn't the first man who aggressively wanted back into my pants, and I'd always been flattered in the past. But he was the first guy I didn't feel comfortable telling to eat a bag of donkey dicks when he wouldn't leave me alone after I'd made it clear nothing was going to happen.
"You should get out more," I suggested. "I'm nothing special."
I could only hope deflection would turn him off. Of course, I had no such luck.
"I don't agree. Remember your cock, deep in my ass? You fucked me so goddamned hard." Jason's eyes were half-lidded, as if he were back in bed with me, and I felt a different kind of hard pressed into my thigh. He wiggled his hips, grinding into me. "I need you inside of me again."
"Yeah, no." I said, keeping my tone even. "That was a one-time deal, Jason. I'm not interested in relationships or pursuing this further."
His eyes narrowed and his mouth was razor thin. The man clearly did not enjoy rejection. "Your bank account is interested, though, isn't it? I don't think you understand, Dane. Part of being a producer is knowing who is replaceable. Who is dispensable. If you want to continue to be part of the show—to continue being paid—I suggest you become accustomed to the idea of being with me. Think of it as a business deal with sex as a perk."
He licked my neck, and I shivered, but it wasn't the good kind. It was the kind of shiver that leaves you cold and clammy, nipples tight with fear. Because the asshole was right. My bank account wasn't just interested in the money—it needed it.
My mom's face in the hospital surfaced in my mind. The stroke had devastated her, leaving the right side of her face and body barely usable. She needed constant care, and my choices had been limited: I could put her in a nursing home or I could hire a private nurse. The nursing home had not been an option. Not for my angel of a mom.
But the private nurse had dried up my savings, fast. And while I did well as a tattoo artist, I didn't make enough to support myself and my mom and her special care nurse and the astronomical hospital bills that had begun to arrive. But I could afford all of it with the TV show. Only with the TV show.
And the TV show belonged to the man currently pressed up against me, mouthing at my neck and jaw. So when Jason whispered in my ear that he wanted to taste my lips, I didn't move to avoid his kiss. My lunch threatened to make a reappearance, burning in the back of my throat, but I swallowed hard and I... I...
I kissed Jason back.
It felt ugly and wrong but, I rationalized, I'd done worse things in the past for less reason. If this was what it took to keep my mother home and recovering with the care that she needed, then I'd let Jason do whatever he wanted. It wasn't like it would be forever.
Jason's teeth nibbled hard at my lower lip, and he groaned before sliding his tongue into my mouth. I was about to retreat into my mind, allowing my body to go on autopilot, when a gasp cut through all of it.
And oh, fuck, I knew that gasp—Jesus fuck, why now?
Jason broke the kiss and we both stared at the door, where Javi stood, mouth open. And behind him...Christian. Pale as a sheet and shaking. He looked thinner than the last time I'd seen him, the shadows dark under his eyes. Those baby blues, the ones that had looked up at me in rapture so many times were now hollow. Devastated. I pushed Jason off of me.
"I... I just needed the bathroom," Chris mumbled. "I—"
He looked at me with complete and total heartbreak written all over his face. Then he ran, the door to the back exit slamming.
"Fucking hell," I snapped at Jason. "Would you take a hint and leave me the fuck alone?"
Even though I might regret it later, at this moment, there wasn't any room for worry concerning the money or the show. All I had space for was concern for Christian. It filled me up, a surging spike of adrenaline as I tore past Javi, chasing after Chris.
I might not be able to be with him, to love him the way he should be loved, but damned if I was going to let it end this way. He deserved better.
My vision was filled with his look of horror, though, and I had to wonder...
Could I fix this? And would Chris even let me try?