Page 35 of Player
"Iaman asshole, never forget that, Dixie," I state. Shedoesn't look convinced, so I add, "My good mood is only because we won tonight."
I realize she's standing almost naked in front of me, and even though I just patched her up and she's not in her normal state, I find her incredibly hot.
Damn it!
No, something's seriously wrong with me lately. Why does this woman affect me so much? I swore I wouldn't sleep with her, yet that resolution seems to slip further away every time I see her.
Dixie nods, and I wonder if it's in response to what I just said or if she's lost in her thoughts.
"Don't go thinking I care about your life, Alabama. I just didn't want you messing up the common area with your blood."
Without waiting for her reaction, I leave the bathroom. I hear Dixie's footsteps behind me, but I pay them no attention. I feel the familiar anger rising. This time, it's directed at myself. What's wrong with me that I care about Alabama? I should have let her handle her own mess.
I walk past the glass still scattered on the floor and head towards my room. When I reach the door, I glance over my shoulder and see that Dixie has started cleaning everything up. She's wiping the blood with paper towels, then using a broom to sweep up all the glass shards before dumping the whole lot in the trash.
Her perky, tight, delectable ass, barely covered by black panties, taunts me, and I'm forced to mentally count to ten to not react to the sight. That's all the time it takes for my roommate to turn back around. She doesn't seem to have any intention of going back to bed.
Her eyes meet mine. The pain I noticed earlier has receded, but I can tell she's not herself. I'm in the middle of an internal conflict, torn between wanting to goback to my room and wanting to ask Dixie for an explanation. Without thinking further, I turn around and retreat into my room. My door isn't even closed when Dixie's silhouette materializes on my threshold. I give her a surprised look.
"What now?" I mutter.
She stares at me intensely, as if trying to read me.
Good luck with that!I think bitterly.
"What's wrong with you?" she finally asks.
I don't hide my smirk, bitterly commenting, "You're asking me that? You could have bled out in the living room without even reacting."
She raises her eyebrows. "That's ridiculous!"
"Oh really? When exactly were you planning on treating your hand?"
Dixie looks away for a split second, without answering.
"Why were you up?" I regret asking the question, and at the same time, I want to know her answer. What she does, or doesn't do, somehow interests me.
"I had a nightmare," she admits reluctantly.
"You're just a little girl, Alabama."
My comeback at least has the merit of stinging her pride, because she lifts her head, squares her shoulders, and retorts, "Is that what I look like?"
She gestures toward her barely covered body. My gaze runs down her curves, registering every detail along the way.
"Maybe not on the outside," I concede, "but inside, you're just a kid."
A murderous gleam passes through her brown eyes. I love making her angry. Actually, it could totally become my favorite activity.
Suddenly, Dixie closes the distance between us. She presses herself almost against me, and again, I feel her scent envelop me. I clench my teeth. It would take just a smallmovement on my part for my hands to grab her hips. And who knows what would happen next?
Fuck! I'm such an idiot!
Nothing would happen because Alabama is not my type of woman. The only hitch is that my body doesn't seem to be on the same wavelength, and in no time, Dixie will notice.
As if reading my thoughts, my roommate places her hands on my chest. I inwardly curse myself for not putting on a t-shirt. No! More than that, I should never have left my room.
"What the hell are you doing?" I growl through my teeth.
