Page 41 of Wicked Minds
God, that came out way too flirty.
Not to mention, I shouldn’t be asking for things like his number.
Except, when he came barging through that door tonight, I instantly felt safer. And the fact he barely wasted any time at all before coming to seek me out… I don’t have to forgive Royce; I don’t even have to like him. Nevertheless, Idotrust him to protect me from Ben. For whatever reason, he’s taken up that mantle, and Royce isn’t the kind of man to take on a task without seeing it all the way through.
He holds out his hand, silently demanding my phone, and I pass it over with only a moment's hesitation.
The angel on my shoulder tells me I shouldn’t be creating any more ties with these boys, and the devil on my other one whispersdo it.
Royce didn’t know me when Grayson started this little vendetta. All he knew was what Grayson told him, and with that knowledge, can you blame the guy for hating my guts? I’d hate me too… Especially given the lie I suspect was made against him. The damage something like that would have done… makes Royce’s actions more than understandable.
And after he found out the truth… he kept Grayson and Logan away, despite the fact I’m sure that put a strain on his friendships with them.
He’s actively sought out my work schedule so he’d be here every night I’m on shift, and followed me home in the early hours of the morning.
So why shouldn’t I give him my number? Why shouldn’t I place this one bit of trust in his hands? I’m already trusting him not to tell the others about Aurora. If I’m entrusting him with her safety, then it’s only fair that I trust him with my own.
“I sent myself a message from your phone, so I have yours if something like tonight happens again,” he says as the phone in his pocket vibrates.
As he hands mine back to me, I notice the red abrasions on his knuckles. “Your hand,” I gasp, reaching for it instead of the phone as I bring it closer to inspect. “You’ve cut yourself.”
“Fucker has a hard face. It’s nothing. Barely a scratch.”
I frown at his dismissal. I get that he’s a fighter and all, and this is probably nothing to him, but knowing he got it trying to protect me makes me feel guilty.
“They’ll be a million times worse after my fight this weekend.”
“You’re fighting at The Depot this weekend?”
“Sunday, yeah. I’m up against Bruiser, a brute of a fighter. Got a body like granite. I always take a good battering when I’m up against him.”
I gape in horror. It might have been hot watching him in the ring, but it baffles me how someone can so casually discuss getting beat up like that. But I guess, if you have the balls to step into that ring, how is discussing it any worse?
He shrugs it off, putting the car in gear as we finally exit the lot and drive to my apartment in silence. By the time he pulls up outside, I’ve made a decision.
“You’re coming upstairs with me.”
He blinks at me in surprise.Yeah, can’t say I blame him.
I gesture toward his swollen knuckles. “If you have a fight in a couple of days, your hand needs to be in top shape. It’s my fault you had to punch him. The least I can do is ice it for you and wrap it to stop any more swelling overnight.”
Leaning across the center console, Royce puts himself in front of my face. “Let’s get one thing straight. I punched that asshole because he had it coming, and because I wanted to. You are not to blame; do not take on that responsibility.”
“All the same, I want to make sure it’s okay for your fight. After all, according to Tara, you’re one of the best fighters at The Depot. I’d hate for you to ruin your street cred over some swollen knuckles. Especially to someone calledBruiser.”
He huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head as he retreats to his side of the car. Still, his gaze bores into me with enough heat that I begin to sweat. “Fine. I’ll let you play nursemaid if it’ll make you feel better.”
“It will.”
He follows me out of the car, into my building, and up the stairs to my apartment. My anxiousness ratchets with every stair we climb until my hands visibly shake as I slide my key into the lock and open the door, inviting him inside. I expect him to run his eyes over every inch of the small, sparsely furnished apartment. Only instead he stands in front of the closed door, staring at me while I fiddle with my keys and stare right back.
This is… new territory.
I feel like I’m standing on the threshold of his bedroom all over again, except the roles are reversed this time. After everything I’ve shared, I shouldn’t feel so awkward about having him in my apartment. The two of us alone. And yet, after the loud bustle of the club and even the hostile tension underlyingevery moment when I was in their house, the silence now is… immense.
Despite the excessive amount of time we’ve spent staring at one another across the crowded club floor… This is a new step in our dynamic. Another layer chipped away.
“Have a seat. I’ll grab some ice,” I say, gesturing toward the small two-seater breakfast bar that divides the kitchen from the living room. “Thanks to Logan, I havebagsof it.”
