Damage Me (Crystal Gulf Book 2) (17 page)

I extended my hand, ignoring her curiosity. “Deal?”

“Yes, they’re good for me.” She took my hand, giving me a small shake. Then she released me and rose. “Come on, panty-dropper. Let’s go get you clean.” She gathered my crutches and placed them in the perfect position for me.

“I know it’s hard to believe, but I have in fact dropped the panties right off them.” I grinned at her when she wrinkled her nose, grabbing my crutches and pulling myself up. “Right off them.”

“It’s not hard to believe,” she mumbled, rolling her eyes.

“Why not?” I shouldn’t have asked. Whether she found me attractive didn’t matter. In fact, the last thing she should do is find me attractive. But I waited for her answer anyway.

Her cheeks colored, and she looked away. “Because you’re … you know …”

“What?”

She stomped ahead of me. “Let’s go, Dylan.”

Did Bach’s little sister think I was attractive?

I grinned to myself.

Shit just got interesting.

***

Hillary

Hot.

That’s what Dylan was; only I hadn’t known it until a second ago.

The revelation took my breath away. The moment on the couch came out of nowhere. It was a sudden onslaught of unfamiliar emotions. Heat had settled in my belly, and my heart had hammered. His lips had looked so smooth and soft surrounded by the dark hair of his scruff. His eyes were cobalt, this deep rich blue that offset the rest of his pale features. I wanted to kiss him. The thought popped into my head, and he’d been so close, looking at me like he might be thinking the same thing. But that couldn’t be.

For one, I was younger than him. For two, he dated girls like Whitney, confident, sexy bad girls with tattoos. And last, I was Bach’s sister.

I doubted he wanted me around at all, but I hadn’t had anywhere else to go. I couldn’t stand being in that house a second longer with Mom and Bach, one who lied and another who suffered. Mom had protected the monster and Bach kept him hidden to protect me. I threw some clothes on and took off, driving up and down Crystal Beach for a long time before I ended up here.

I entered the bathroom and flipped the light on. Pushing back the shower curtain, I turned the tub on and made sure it wasn’t too hot. I could hear Dylan behind me, the sound of his crutches hitting the floor. There was something frightening about his appearance, a lack of concern, an abandonment of himself. His hair was a mess, his beard was thick, his clothes hung off his body, and he flinched every single time he moved. His body odor was all over him, and there was blood dried on the end of his thigh. I had this unsettling feeling Dylan had given up on himself and didn’t know it.

I swallowed hard at the anxiety that caused me. It shouldn’t matter to me. We barely knew each other, and we’d probably end up parting ways soon. Our lives were not connected. But the moment I walked into his house I finally felt safe. The past week had been torture. The dreams and the memories refused to let me go. But in this house they were quiet. I wanted them to stay that way.

I grabbed a bottle of soap, opened it to take a sniff, and then squeezed copious amounts of the clear blue gel into the bath. Bubbles formed quickly, spreading across the surface of the water.

When I turned around, Dylan was watching me.

“Do you need help undressing?” I rose unsteadily and avoided his gaze.

“You really want to get me naked, don’t you?” His lips quirked. But his smile dropped quickly, as if he were unused to smiling and didn’t want to maintain it. “I could use help with my shirt. Just don’t cop a feel.”

Dylan naked? I tripped over the rug and stumbled, catching myself on the counter.

He watched me. “You all right?”

My ears blazed. “Yes.”

“So how are we going to do this?”

“Umm.” I stepped closer to him and stared, wondering where I was going to start. Finally, I grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Like this?” I pushed it up his torso and then paused when I got to his chest. His eyes were regarding me, and he was immobile. “Arms up. One at a time might be better.” He leaned his right crutch against the wall, and I pulled his shirt off. We repeated the processes until I managed to get it over his head. I dropped it on the floor and then stood back.

I’d seen shirtless guys before. I lived in a beach town and men paraded their bodies around like cattle at a show. I usually did my best to ignore them. Dylan was right in front of me. I couldn’t ignore him. His shorts hung lower than his boxers, and those low as well so that his ab muscles traveled all the way down his body. I counted six hard ridges in his stomach. His belly button was in the middle, interrupting the grooves of his six pack. His chest looked hard and his biceps harder. I knew they were from holding on to them, but I hadn’t known for sure until I saw them. Warm brown hair snaked down and into his boxers and spread across his chest. My belly was hot again, and my mouth went dry. Tattoos wound around his right arm and bicep, ending at the top of his shoulder and stopping at his wrist.

Hot
. Dylan Meyer was so hot.

I tore my eyes from his body. I wanted to run away and regain my breath, but I didn’t have that option. I had to swallow the burning inside of me. “Can you take your pants off?”

He freed his left hand and pushed his shorts off his hips. They fell at his feet, and he managed to kick them away. Free of them, I got to see his wounds for the first time. I gasped in horror and covered my mouth with my hand, not even minding how small his boxers were. His wounds looked fake, like Piper’s Halloween costume last year. Lines of stitching between inflamed red flesh. Blood caked around a wide wound puckered with skin and reddened tissue. There were dots lacing the long wound, as if there were screws somewhere inside of him. His wounds were so infected they looked blistered.

“It’s not that bad,” he barked, eyes dangerous. “Stop it and help me into the tub.”

My eyes pricked. “Dylan.”

“Hillary, don’t, all right? I know. Can you just help me?”

At that moment, I wanted to help him far more than he desired. “Yes. Here.” I slid under his right arm and supported his weight. “Take your boxers off.”

He grabbed the waistband and then looked at me. I looked away. When I heard the material hit the bathroom rug, I began leading him over to the tub. It was a struggle. Unable to put any weight on his right leg made it unbearably difficult. I understood why he hadn’t bothered. At one pointed I leaned him against the wall, making sure to keep my eyes on his face only, and retrieved his crutch. After some time, he finally managed to get in the tub. Sweat dripped down his face, and his teeth gritted so hard I could hear them grinding.

“I can’t bend down.” He was frustrated and in pain. He slammed his fist against the tile and growled. “Forget it. Help me out.”

“No. We’re almost there. All you have to do is bend enough to get your hands on the tub. Use your arms to lower your weight. You can do it.”

“Enough with the pep talk!” he snapped, bare in front of me. Bare emotionally and physically. “If I wanted a cheerleader I would have knocked one up in high school.”

His outburst was the last straw. “I’m sure the squad had much higher standards. Get your butt in that tub, Dylan.”

He grumbled under his breath, but followed my order, giving me a shot of his butt. It was smooth looking and strangely hard to look away from, with muscles rippling around the edges. After grabbing the tub, he lowered into the water with a deep satisfied moan. He leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Relief washed through me. I sank gratefully on the closed toilet and watched him breathe in and out.

“Tell me you weren’t a cheerleader.”

“I can’t.”

He groaned. “Figures.”

For a few minutes the room was quiet save for the occasional shift in the water. The smell of soap swirled around me. For the first time in weeks, I felt a small slice of peace.

“Thank you, Hillary.”

Gone was his frustration. In its place was a softness. It erased the hardness around his cobalt eyes, making them easier to stare into. For some reason, I wanted to stare into them. “You’re welcome, Dylan.”

He grabbed the soap off the edge of the tub and squeezed some into his palm, washing his hair. “So you went to Gulf High?”

“Yes.”

He drug his soapy fingers through his warm brown strands and then glided them all over his face, talking through the suds. “You would have been a freshman when Bach and I graduated. Freaky.”

I counted back and established that he might be right. “So we could have met in the halls?” Something about that made me cast my memory, wanting to know the Dylan who’d been my age. A younger, ganglier version who probably didn’t look as if he’d given up.

“Maybe. I was more concerned with chasing ass in high school, so I doubt our circles mixed.”

“Chasing ass?” I scrunched up my nose. “Didn’t you date?”

“The only woman I ever dated was Harley.”

I let that sink in. Had Harley been the one? How could that be when she was the one for Bach now? Bach and Harley made perfect sense. Harley and Dylan felt slightly off. I wasn’t sure why, maybe it was because of the way Bach looked at her, like she was the only light in his darkness. That was meant for one person. The darkness only responded to one light, of this I was certain.

“What about Whitney?”

“We hooked up.” He brought handfuls of water up and washed his face and hair. “That’s it.”

“But you have a baby with her.” The reminder of Aubrey promptly instilled a sense of reservation in me.
Stop staring at his biceps.
Even if they were soapy and bulging as he washed his armpits … and his armpits were full of straight brown hair …

“It’s sex, Hillary. Not a marriage proposal.”

“Excuse me for having morals.” He acted as if sex was this unemotional activity he partook in for fun, making me think he’d sleep with anyone. I hadn’t had sex, so I suppose my ideals could be wrong, but I doubted that’s the way I’d want it. When I had sex, it would be about emotion. It would be about love and nothing else.

He flung water at me. “I’d excuse you, but your morals are probably your best friend in this city.”

“What’s yours?”

“My best friend’s probably eating my ex-girlfriend’s pussy right now. I don’t have one anymore.”

I was startled for a moment. I didn’t live in a box—well, most times—and I’d been to the bar enough to hear the men talk, but the sudden use of such a dirty word caught me off guard. “Dylan. Could you not talk that way?”

“Grow up. What are you going to do when you do have sex? What if the guy you sleep with likes dirty talk? Are you going to run away and hide?”

“I don’t like men who dirty talk.”

He gave me a look like
come on
. “All women love a little dirty talk.”

“Not me.” My tone was confident, but as I looked into his eyes, I got the impression he was about to prove me wrong.

“I’m almost positive I can persuade you.” His tone lowered. Combined with the water clinging to his eyelashes and lips and I was almost positive he could too.

I’d never dealt with a guy like Dylan in such close proximity. They were watched from a distance, like the wild animals at the zoo.
Do not feed them.
Coupled with his nudity and I had half a mind to prove him right and run away. “Don’t.”

He shook his head. “Sorry, sweetheart.”

My spine straightened and my present slipped. “Don’t call me that.”

The past came hurtling back. I was in Jona’s room. I didn’t feel good.
“You really shouldn’t leave your opened drinks around people you don’t know, sweetheart.”
My stomach plummeted. I dropped to my knees in an instant, making sure to peel back the lid. French toast came spewing out of me, smelling like cinnamon and clove. Zane’s voice laced down my spine. In my ear. He was on top of me and then blackness. Behind me, Dylan tried to get my attention. I ignored him. Wanted to ignore him for longer after hearing
sweetheart
in his deep voice.

Until that comment, his voice had been soothing, this deep, strong force that wrapped pleasantly around me.

“Hilary, wait. Don’t leave.
Please
.”

I paused with my hand on the wall, just in and out of the bathroom, not even realizing I’d made the decision to leave. “I have to go. I want to go.”

“You can’t leave me here. I need you.”

I covered my ears, hoping that would prevent Zane from penetrating my brain.
“Drink your beer, sweetheart. You look thirsty.”

“Shut up,” I begged. How could I have been so stupid? I slid to the ground, inhaling the smell of puke in the air and fear on my breath. “I didn’t want that.”

“Hill,” Dylan’s soft tone caressed my back. “Take a deep breath. It works,” he insisted, when I gasped for air. “When I slip into the past it’s scary. It’s like I’m never going to escape what happened. The memories are so real it’s like I’m still stuck there. But I’m not and you aren’t either. You’re here right now in the present. Think about right now.”

“How?” I hid my face between my knees. His zipper came down. I knew what he was going to do. The terror was so real I shook with it.

“Try thinking about … how you were checking me out earlier. Like you wanted to lick every inch of my body.”

My head snapped up, my terror momentarily forgotten. “I did not.”

He gave me a disbelieving look. “Your mouth was hanging open. You wanted me. It’s okay,” he soothed, smile tight. “I know I’m hot as shit.”

The absolute gall of him. “You are not.” But my words trembled on the way out and it was clear I had just lied.

“No?” His intense gaze urged me against the wall. “So you didn’t want me to kiss you earlier?”

I shook my head. “I know what you’re doing. Stop trying to distract me.”

“Did you want to kiss me or not?”

“Not.” I straightened my legs. “Did you want to kiss me?”

He looked at the water, trailing his fingers through a soap bubble. “I shouldn’t want to kiss you.”