Page 28 of Love Me, I Dare You

“Like you?”

His eyes met might, dark and full of so much sorrow. Full of so many questions, but even worse, full of so many lies. Lies, he continued to tell not only me but himself. That he didn’t want me. That I meant nothing to him. That he was nothing more than my brother’s best friend and I was the little sister he had to avoid.

“Not like me, Bailey. You never want to be like me.”

Present

I wake up to the sound of the running water coming from the bathroom inside my bedroom. Cursing at myself for waking up from my dream, a dream I had of Nash from back when we were younger at the county fair, I shake off the lust creepingup my spine. It was from the night I nearly kissed him, only he stopped me before I could make a fool of myself.

I didn’t fully understand what he’d meant. Not to be like him. It was just as cryptic then as it was now. I knew things with his family, his upbringing and childhood weren’t perfect, but I never understood the extent of how much he suffered living with his mother and father. Not when my family was the complete opposite.

We were told to stay away from the Bishops, raised to fear and their unruly ways, but there was nothing about Nash or his brothers and sister that scared me. It wasn’t until the day he broke my heart that I understood the warnings my father had given me all my life were meant to be heeded. But by then it was too late. I can’t let myself forget that now.

Swiping a hand over my forehead, wiping away the beads of sweat forming, I sit up in bed when I realize the sound of the shower is coming from my bathroom and not the guest bathroom down the hall. Shit. I didn’t realize when I let him stay that we would have to share a shower because the one down the hall was only a half bath with a small tub. That was also something I needed to have remodeled. I didn’t think it through, but realized maybe he would shower elsewhere. Not sneak into my bedroom while I was asleep and dreaming of him, to make matters worse.

I rush out of bed and bang on the bathroom door. “Get out of my shower, Nash!”

He doesn’t answer, but the water shuts off, telling me he’s heard me. I can hear the creak of the pipes as the water stops its flow through them. He better not have finished up all the hot water.

“Nash,” I shout yet again, but before I can bang my fist, the door opens, a bare chested Nash in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist, standing under the doorway.

“Morning, Angel,” he says, his morning voice something they ought to research for its effects on a female libido. Water droplets fall from his dark wet hair and trickle down his glistening tan skin and the ridges of his impeccably sculpted muscles, making my mouth go incredibly dry.

Black ink beautifully decorates his skin with various drawings, symbols, and script. The sleeves of his arms are nearly fully covered in the bold black markings. I want to take my time, trace every single one, and listen to each story they tell about the places he’s been.

Nash clears his throat and my eyes flick back up to his, remembering he’s standing half naked in my bedroom. The teasing smirk he wears when he notices how entranced I was by his naked torso makes my knees weak and my thighs squeeze to suppress the need building at my center. Not to mention the way his gaze drops to my chest, and my pebbled nipples poking through my thin silk cami, makes me acutely aware I’m nearly naked in front of him.

Not that I’m at all uncomfortable with my body or showing it off, but this early in the morning, when I don’t have my mask or the rest of my disguise in place, I’m incredibly self-conscious.

Unsure of what to do, I punch him, nearly breaking my fist as it slams against his pecs. “Ouch, what the hell, Nash? Are you made of fucking steel?”

“Just a hell of a lot of iron, B,” he mocks, but I don’t laugh.

My face wrinkles in annoyance. “Why the hell are you standing half naked in my bedroom after using my shower?”

“I needed a shower. You only have one. There’s no way I fit in that tub, and I couldn’t exactly risk my head being cut off if I’d woken you up to ask. I know how much you love your beauty sleep, though since you say you work so early, I’m not sure you even get any.” He reaches for me and gently tugs on the hem of my camisole. “This is fucking adorable.”

Realizing I’ve woken up to the sound of the shower running and not my alarm, I turn back toward my nightstand in panic and grab my phone from the charging port, shrieking when I see the time. “It’s fucking nine am, Nash. Why the hell did you let me sleep in?”

“Hey, don't get mad at me. I just woke up too. I figured since I didn’t hear an alarm go off that maybe you weren’t going in after all.”

I curse when I realize I didn’t set my alarm last night before getting into bed. I was so tired and mentally drained from ever that had occurred, not even thoughts of Nash kept me up for more than a minute before I succumbed to a dead sleep.

“You don’t understand, Bishop. I was supposed to open the cafe and…” Looking down at my phone, I notice the five missed calls and eight unread text messages from Billie.

Billie: Charlie called. Said he walked by HoneyBees on his way to the mill and didn’t see anyone inside.

Billie: He asked if we were suddenly closed on Saturdays. Wanted to know if he had to make his own coffee at home from now on.

Billie: Tried calling you but you’re not answering.

Billie: Is everything okay?

Billie: B? Is it Nashiel? Has he done something to you?

Billie: OMG! Did you sleep with him and have fallen into a coma from the amount of mind-blowing orgasms he gave you?

Billie: Cause fuck me, Nash Bishop looks like he knows his way around a clit.

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