Page 22 of Dash

I scoff, even as my chest cracks open. Destruction comes too easy. Better to kill hope before it can kill me. “Honey, you wouldn’t be the first man to try, but there’s nothing to understand. The guy got overexcited. I dealt with it.” I wave it off, as if I wasn’t dying inside while that dickhead groped me like I was his plaything. “Everything is fine. I don’t need therapy to talk about my feelings. What I need is a glass of wine and a shower.”

Don’t feel, don’t drown.

He stares at me for a moment that feels like a choked breath.

His voice is low and soft when he finally speaks. “I’ll walk you in.”

I wish he’d yelled.

I’m also on unfamiliar ground, and I don’t know what his game is. “I don’t need a chaperone to the front door.”

“I know,” he says then gestures for me to walk.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” I fold my arms over my chest, his smell filling my nose as the hoodie shifts on my frame.

It was a bad idea to put it on. He’s hard to ignore when I’m wearing him.

“I never asked you to.”

This time I’m the one frowning. I don’t know this script. I don’t know how to play it. They always want to fuck. “Seriously, Dash. I’m fine. You can get on your bike and go home knowing you did a good thing. You don’t owe me anything else.”

He leans into me, and my heart stutters. It takes all of my strength not to step back. “Are you going to walk, Dayna, or do I need to carry you?”

I blink at him. “You’re not going to carry me anywhere?—”

I let out a scream as he gathers me into his arms, cutting off my words. I cling to his neck as he strides towards the building, as if this is normal for him.

“Dash! Put me down!

He doesn’t look at me. “No.”

My brain short-circuits. I don’t have any smart comeback for this, and my traitorous fucking body likes being in his arms. He’s warm, strong, and the way he’s holding me makes me feel things I shouldn’t. There’s an ache growing behind my breastbone and gnawing in my gut that I don’t know how to ease. So, I just hold on to him, trying to process this.

Whatever it is.

He pauses at the door. “Keys.”

“Oh, just push it open. The lock doesn’t work.”

He stares down at me, his jaw ticking. “What do you mean it doesn’t work?”

This is awkward, and not just because I’m in his arms like some kind of damsel, but because of the way he’s looking at me. He’s pissed, and I don’t know why. “Do you really need me to define what ‘doesn’t work’ means?”

That tick in his jaw happens again. I stare at it, wondering if he can control that. “I want your landlord’s name.”

He pushes the handle down, somehow keeping hold of me while doing it, as if I don’t weigh the same as a baby elephant.

“What? Why?”

“Because the front door to your building should fucking work, Dayna. Anyone could walk inside and get to your apartment.”

I raise a brow at him. “Anyone did. Put me down.”

He mutters something under his breath, but he lets me back onto my feet, and I tip my head back to look at him.

He’s tall, likereallytall. And I knew that, but right now, the way he’s looking at me makes me feel small.

I blow my hair out of my face, dropping my hands onto my hips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight, but just because we had sex one time doesn’t mean you have to take care of me, Dash. I’m a big girl. I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of myself. I manage.”

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