Filthy English (19 page)

But I didn’t.

Because I was fucking scared of the power she held over me. She made me vulnerable.

The cashier sent me a quizzical look and handed over what I’d ordered. I shoved money at her and peeked inside to see donuts, biscuits, and muffins.

Good. At least I’d been coherent.

The entire way back, I considered and tossed away different things to say to her when I got back.

I was going to tell her—
fuck, what was I going to say?

That we are impossible? That I wasn’t worth the time? That she’d get tired of my shenanigans? I mean, I didn’t even know how to be a real boyfriend. Hell, I didn’t even know what I was going to do after college.

A few minutes later, I still hadn’t decided, but I knew something had changed between us and we had to sit down and address it. And then make love again.

I entered the hotel, hopped on the elevator, and punched the button for her floor. The door pinged opened, and I nodded at a passing guest as I headed down Remi’s hall.

I halted, my skin prickling. Her door was open.
Chad?
I turned my walk into a full-on run, juggling the bag and drinks in the carrier.

But I froze at her door.

Air got sucked out of me and a brick hit me square on the chest.

What the—

Hartford stood with his back to me, wearing a Whitman shirt, his arms wrapped around Remi’s waist as they kissed. Her hair was wet and hid her face. But her hands—her hands were around Hartford’s shoulders. Holding him.

I inhaled, my body itching to rip him off her and pound him into the wall.

She was mine. She’d never be his.

“Remington, babe, I need you,” Hartford murmured, his hands slipping under the robe she wore.

She said his fucking name, and pain sliced into me like an axe to the heart.

I flipped around and bolted down the hall until I came to the stairwell, slamming it open and tearing down the stairs two at a time. Out of breath and sweating by the time I got to the bottom, I found a trash container at one of the floors and chucked everything from the bakery.

For half a second, I’d let myself believe—
fuck it
. I was done with her.

“Sod it all, you’re rat-arsed,” Spider muttered as he tried to steer me into his flat. I weaved and fell into the foyer wall, knocking over the umbrella stand and a picture of Spider with his band. I cursed as it clattered across the marble tile. The sound of glass shattering hit my ears.

“I’ll replace that,” I slurred. “I’ll buy you a hundred of them.”

He exhaled, holding onto my shoulder. “No need for that kind of extravagance, cousin. Just put one foot in front of the other until we make it to the den.”

He managed to get me to the couch where I crashed down, the entire room spinning like a top. I squinted at the rustic-style light fixture above me, the twinkling lights running together in one big blob. I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

Probably shouldn’t have had that last vodka.

He’d found me at Knights, one of the bars in the West End we went to on a regular basis, which had a VIP room for clients who preferred to be away from the regular crowd. They also provided any extra entertainment if you desired. I had.

The club was intimately lit with dark paneling and full of ritzy clients. I’d waltzed in with one objective: to erase Remi from my brain. I’d tossed Spider’s name around like a football and because the owner remembered me, I’d ended up in private room with two expensively dressed call girls. Maybe. They might have been cheap strippers from the bar across the street. I really don’t know.

The three of us had had a party in a private room with loud music, red leather couches, and a whole lot of vodka. At some point, Spider had shown up and proceeded to wrangle me in his car. Guess the owner had called him. I hadn’t cared at that point.

“What you doing?” I muttered at him, raising my head up from the arm of the couch.

“Taking your ugly-arse shoes off.” He sounded annoyed as he untied the laces.

I laughed. “This is bloody rich. You’re taking care of
me
.”

He shot me a dark look—I guess. It was hard to judge a person’s emotions when you’ve been throwing back drinks for the past three hours.

He tossed my shoes over his shoulder, and a few minutes later I felt him stuff a pillow under my head. “You think you’ll be sick?”

“Hell no. Bring on the Grey Goose from the cabinet.” I slung my head back toward the kitchen, and immediately got nauseous.

“Uh-huh, I think you’ve had enough for one night.”

“Said Spider never.” I laughed.

He disappeared and came back with a small stainless-steel trashcan. “Just in case. Don’t want you to ruin my hardwood.” He smirked, his face softening as he stared down at me. “Remi’s called me a dozen times looking for you and every message she leaves for you gets a bit shittier. You better have a damn good explanation for me being your bloody secretary.”

“Remi—she’s—we’re over.”

“I didn’t know you’d
begun
.”

Neither had I.

“Did you pop your London cherry tonight?” he asked.

I peered up at him. “What?”

“Did you get laid at the bar? You had two girls all over you when I walked in,” he said, enunciating his words slowly.

“Couldn’t . . .”

“Ah.” He left again, and came back with a bottle of Gatorade and two Aleve. “Come on, let’s take your medicine or you’ll feel like shite tomorrow on your way home.”

Sitting up, I guzzled the liquid and swallowed the pills. As I stretched back on the couch, he grabbed a blanket from the hall closet and draped it over me. Once he was satisfied, he sat down on the heavy, metal coffee table and contemplated me.

“What?” I growled.

He arched a sardonic brow. “I’ve never seen you as a moody drunk is all. Not sure I take to it well. I like fun Dax better—not this rock-bottom dude.”

I grunted. “I’m not rock bottom.” A pause. “Thanks for the ride home, man.”

“Yep.”

I nodded. Carefully, since the room still spun.

He rose up to leave.

“What—what did Remi say?”

He opened his mouth and I held a hand up. “No. Don’t tell me. It doesn’t matter. I saw everything I needed to see.”

His hands on her naked skin. Her arms around him.

“Just—just make sure I make my flight tomorrow. I need to get back to Whitman.”

“You got it. Sleep tight, princess.” He turned down the lights and walked out of the room.

I closed my eyes and drifted into a dark oblivion.

I PLOPPED DOWN
on the plaid couch Elizabeth had picked out for me at a second-hand store in Raleigh yesterday and gazed around at my house.

My house.
All twenty-five hundred square feet of it. I wanted to shout it from the rooftop. Hell, maybe I’d climb up there later and drink a beer. Because it was mine and paid for.

“What are you grinning at?” Declan said as he stalked in the front door carrying a box of dishes.

“Just can’t wrap my head around this place.” I stood and took the box from him, although it was clear he didn’t need the help. I wasn’t the only one who’d bulked up even more over the summer.

“You put a lot of work into it these past few days,” he said, glancing around. “Feels good, huh?”

I nodded.

Elizabeth called down from the upstairs railing. “All done cleaning the bathroom and extra bedrooms. It’s ready for your new tenant—if you get one.” She grinned broadly and bounced down the stairs, her hair in a ponytail and a smudge of dirt on her cheek. She was a sweet girl with dramatic dark eyebrows and white-blonde hair; I wasn’t surprised Declan had fallen fast and hard.

I grinned. “Someone’s gonna bite. I posted the ad on Craigslist, the local paper, and put it up on the Whitman website.”

Declan snorted. “You’re gonna wind up with a psycho, mate.”

“It’s not like I could get one of my frat brothers to move in,” I replied. “Judging by the Tau house, they wouldn’t pick up after themselves, and I don’t want a bunch of parties going on. They might mess up the new paint job we did yesterday.” With Declan and Elizabeth’s help, I’d managed to paint the entire interior a nice cream color—or Vanilla Bean as Elizabeth called it.

Declan chuckled. “Those are words I never imagined you saying.”

Elizabeth arrived at the bottom of the stairs and Declan turned toward her, their eyes meeting and clinging to each other as she went straight into his arms. He bent down and kissed her—for no apparent reason other than he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Her hands wrapped around his shoulders as she kissed him back soundly.

I’d gag, but I was used to their PDA.

“Feel free to christen the spare bedrooms,” I said, turning away from their display and making my way to the kitchen. “Just leave mine alone.”

I busied myself by carting boxes into the kitchen, finding a cabinet, and stashing the plates and bowls. My thoughts invariably ran to Remi. She’d been on my mind on and off since I’d left London over a week ago, but I’d had the house to keep me occupied.

She sent me several texts after I’d walked out of her hotel, but I’d never responded. Obviously, she’d had no clue I’d seen her and Hartford together.

I pulled my phone out and scrolled through the messages sent over the span of four days.

Remi, Day 1:

What happened to you? Why didn’t you come back? I’ve tried to call you at least ten times, and now Spider says you’re passed out. Hartford is here, and I don’t know what to do. I need you, Dax. You said you’d be here for me. Please.

Remi, Day 2:

Spider says you left for Raleigh this morning. I know you’re reading this. I thought our friendship meant something to you. Guess I was wrong.

Remi, Day 3:

I can’t believe I let myself get sucked into sleeping with you. If that was all you wanted, why didn’t you just say so instead of going to all that trouble of pretending to be my friend! You’re a douchecanoe and I hate you.

Remi, Day 4:

I don’t hate you, but I hope your dick falls off.

That had been the final message.

I sighed. In the end, it was good that Hartford had shown up.

Because girls like Remi weren’t meant for me, and it’s better to nip it before it festered.

Love hurts, Dax.

Nope. It wasn’t love. It was LUST. And now that I’d nailed her, I could move on.

Another box was on the kitchen table and when I opened it, I saw it was the new glasses Father and my stepmother, Clara, had given me as a housewarming gift. They still had the store stickers on the bottom, so I filled up the sink with soap and hot water to wash them, making a mental note to consider investing in a dishwasher. On a whim, I grabbed the red and white apron off the hook by the back door that said
Mr. Goodlookin’ Is Cookin’—
a gift from Declan.

I didn’t know how much actual cooking I’d be doing, but the sentiment had made me laugh.

A bit later, the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Elizabeth called from the living room.

“’K,” I answered back, my hand in sudsy water. “It’s probably Axel. He wanted to bring over pizza on moving day.” Axel was one of my frat brothers and a football player; I was closer to him than any of the other guys.