I turn back to face the guy I want to impress and the guy I want to forget, and I silently wonder how today could possibly get worse.

“Ashton. Babe—we’ve got to get going if I’m going to get to the airport in time.” I hear the voice before the blond appears through another entrance into the room with her purse and coat slung over her arm. Leaning over the back of his chair, she lays a long kiss on his lips.

Connor leans toward me in ignorant bliss. “That’s Ashton’s girlfriend, Dana.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Man Whore

I’ve given up on talking by this point. I know that whatever comes out of my mouth will be idiotic gibberish because I tend to speak that way when I’m nervous or shocked or upset. Right now, standing here, watching Ashton and his girlfriend kissing, the perfect storm of all three brews inside me.

Dana pulls away from Ashton at the sound of her name. “Hi, Reagan! Hi . . .”

“This is Livie,” Connor says.

She offers me a warm smile. “Hi, Livie. It’s nice to meet you.”

I try to smile back. I think that I succeed. I’m not sure; it could have looked more like the sneer of a rabid animal. I’m too busy trying to calm the screaming inside of my head.

That ass**le cheated on her. With me!

My eyes dart to his face, to see that he’s staring at me with a strange expression. It’s not his usual arrogance. It’s not guilt, which it should be. No, I know exactly what it is. Desperation. He’s pleading with me not to say anything. He doesn’t want his girlfriend to find out. It all makes sense now. This is why he wants to keep what happened between us quiet. But then . . .why would I be famous?

I sneak a peek at Connor to see him smiling at me. It’s a warm smile, not the amused smile of a guy who knows that I messed around with his roommate and am now being introduced to said roommate’s unsuspecting girlfriend. Either he doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with what happened—making him a complete ass and so not the nice guy that I thought he was—or he doesn’t know.

I don’t get it. But everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to respond to Dana. I swallow and then do my best to force out a pleasant, “Hi, Dana. Nice to meet you too.” It must have sounded passable, because she smiles and nods before she grabs hold of Ashton’s arm and yanks at it. “’Kay, seriously, Ash. Get that gorgeous butt up so we can go or I’ll be late.”

He complies, sliding out of his chair with ease to tower over her. Her loose curls spill back as she tilts her head back to gaze at him. The way that her eyes sparkle—like Kacey’s do when Trent is in the room—I can tell that Dana is head-over-heels in love with him.

I want to be anywhere but in this room with this sweet, unsuspecting girl and her lecherous boyfriend right now. “Connor, where’s your bathroom?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.

With a nod to the left, he says, “There’s one through that doorway, around the corner. First right.”

“Oh, I’d give that one an hour,” Grant warns from behind us. “Ty was in there. It’s not suitable for ladies. Or most humans.”

“It’s that damn chili your mama made!” Ty bellows from the kitchen.

Shaking his head at his roommate, Connor says, “Third door to the right, upstairs. You want me to show you?”

“No, I’ll find it, thanks.” I pat his arm as I turn to dash out of there.

“It was nice to meet you, Livie,” Dana calls out.

“You too,” I throw back with a smile, rushing to the stairs. I hope that wasn’t too rude but I can’t help it. She’s super-nice and that’s making me want to scream.

I hear Ashton behind me say, “I’ll meet you out by my car in five. I’ve got to change and grab my wallet.”

He’s following me.

Blood rushes to my ears. I speed up, taking the steps two at a time, determined to get behind a locked door before I have to face him. And I would have made it if my toe hadn’t snagged the lip of the top step, sending me sprawling out onto the hardwood floor, flat on my stomach.

My face burns as I scramble to my hands and knees, still determined to hide. I hear a soft chuckle behind me as two hands grab my waist and yank me to my feet effortlessly.

“Jeez, Irish,” Ashton mutters. I bristle as I feel his hand touch the small of my back.

“I’m fine from here,” I mutter angrily, twisting away from him as I hurry toward the bathroom.

He follows suit, increasing his speed behind me. “I doubt that,” he says, but he doesn’t laugh. When I reach the third door to the right, Ashton grabs my hip and practically shoves me into the spacious room. I spin around to close the door but it’s too late. He’s already maneuvered his way in, shutting the door behind him. And locking it.

“What are you—” I start to say in a biting tone but his hand clamps over my mouth.

“Shut up.” He pushes me backward until the edge of the granite countertop hits my tailbone, keeping his hand on my mouth the whole time. I briefly consider biting it but I restrain myself. I’d probably draw blood, I’m so angry. Livie the Biter. God knows that would only add to whatever stories are already circulating about me.

He’s staring down at me, those deep brown eyes intense and thoughtful. My nostrils catch that light musky cologne of his. It instantly triggers memories from last Saturday. Memories that just won’t leave me alone.

I look away from him as my heart starts racing and I feel the first trickle of sweat down my back. I just want to get away and I can’t. He’s trapped me. The entire situation is overwhelming and I have to fight to keep my knees from buckling. Or maybe it’s just Ashton that’s overwhelming me. Everything about him. I swallow repeatedly.

“If I move my hand away, will you keep quiet and let me explain something?” he says with a warning glare.

My brow furrows. What is there to explain? That he got drunk and cheated on his girlfriend? But at this point, I just want to get away from him, so I bob my head.

The second his hand drops from my mouth, my anger flares again. “How could you do—” My words are cut off as Ashton grabs my waist and spins me around to face the mirror. I’m about to twist my torso against him to get away, but then I look up at our reflection and find his dark stare pinning me with its strength. My breath hitches.

“How do you know Connor?” His voice is strangely calm. I tense as his hand lifts to brush my long black hair off to the side, his fingers grazing my neck.

“I met him the other day,” I answer involuntarily, distracted. “Didn’t he mention it?” What is he doing?

“No.” His index finger tugs gently at the back of my shirt, pulling it down far enough to expose my tattoo. “Small world,” he murmurs as his finger runs horizontally along the writing. He exhales slowly, his breath sending shivers down my back and legs, stiffening my entire body.

I set my jaw. “Unfortunately.”

His finger stops moving as searing eyes flash toward mine in the mirror. When he looks back to my tattoo, I catch the little smirk. His finger starts running back and forth along the ink on my back again, the motion drawing my breath out of my lungs and making my face redden. “Now you see why last Saturday needs to stay between us?”

“It should never have happened in the first place,” I say, my voice cracking as his muscular arm reaches toward the bottle of lotion on the counter, pumping a small amount onto his fingers. With a pinched brow, I watch as he brings it toward me and, in the most gentle of touches, begins to smooth it over my freshly inked skin. I close my eyes as I swallow, taking a moment to enjoy the cool, soothing cream. That damn thing has been driving me insane all week. I’m diligent with caring for it, but I have to admit that my hands don’t feel nearly as good as his.