Page 18 of Dangerous Pursuit
Except I'm not sure I did. Another curse escapes me as my eyes land on Xander's chest, skin glistening with come, his cock no longer in the frame.
I lift my eyes to look at his face, and… oh. There it is.Nowit's here.
Xander's eyes dart from left to right, to the ceiling, to the side again. He's looking everywhere. Every-fucking-where except at the camera. He can't even look at the screen. At me.
The face of regret.
I swallow and huff at the same time. For fuck's sake.
"I should—" he starts, his voice faint, but I cut him off.
"Yeah. Me too. Talk to you later."
I end the call as soon as I finish speaking. I can't bear to see that regret.
I wipe my face with my palm and look around. My clothes are scattered on the tiled floor, drenched with water. So is the towel. Water's still running. I don't think there's enough water on this planet to cleanse me right now.
I sigh, unlock my phone again and do exactly what I should have done the second Xander left the club last night—block his number.
Chapter Eight
Xander
I AGGRESSIVELY SHUFFLE the deck of cards in my hands for the 18th time tonight, huffing. How they’re not all bent yet is beyond me. After I'm done, I cut the deck equally aggressively and draw a card from the top of the newly formed deck.
I look at it and huff again.
Back to shuffling.
I can't fucking believe him.
I glance at the clock above my bed—half past midnight. Fifteen more minutes to go. I just hope all the cups of espresso I downed will do their job.
I draw another card. Six of Wands. Oh, how fucking fitting. One for each day of Liam dodging and completely ignoring my calls and texts.
Who the fuck does that? Who ghosts someone right after giving them an epic orgasm?
I freeze mid-shuffle and look into the darkness outside my bedroom window, pondering. Well, I guess some guys actually do that, don't they? God dammit!
I huff again. It's almost time.
I put the deck on my desk, and by put I mean slam, and dial Liam's number one last time for good measure. And as per usual: six signals, and then straight to voicemail.
Leave a message, you say.
I'll leave you a fucking message. In person.
The alarm on my phone buzzes, indicating the wait period is over.
I shoot to my feet, push the phone into my pocket and march to the door, determined. I reach for the handle, but halt. One more.
I pace back to my desk, give the deck a haphazard shuffle, and check the one on the bottom.
Two of cups.
Ha! At least, if things go south, it won't be on me. It'll be on the cards.
***
