The Lies Between Us (The Devil's Dust #4)(18)

Hours later, I plop down on his extremely comfortable couch and flip on the TV, exhausted. Pulling the pillows from behind me to get comfy, bright pink stands amongst the fabric. My eyes widen as I pull one of the pillows out and more pink panties fall into my lap. Screaming, I fall backward off the couch, my legs and arms going every which way.

Growling in frustration, I pull myself from the floor and stomp to the kitchen. I grab some tongs I just washed and head back to the lacy panties. This proves he can have any girl he wants, that he is indeed a playboy. And what girl forgets her damn panties? I reach my arm out as far as it will go and pluck the underwear up with the tongs. Keeping my hand outstretched, I head toward the trash to dispose of them.

Throwing them in the trash, I can’t help but stare at them. As gross as it is, I find the playboy vibe hot.

“Jeez, get a grip, girl,” I mutter to myself, slamming the lid of the trash back.

After searching the couch for more crusty panties—thankfully, I found none—I watch Pretty In Pink, Riding in Cars With Boys, and Knocked Up one right after the other. I cry during each movie, but after watching that last one, I can’t help but sob uncontrollably. I miss my baby. I want my brother. I want someone to hold me and just let me cry it out, damn it!

I grew up strong and always pushing through the tough shit in my life. I just stepped over it and figured out what I needed to do next. I’ve never sat down and given myself the opportunity to feel bad for myself, and I sure as hell never depended on another to make me feel better. But I think that’s starting to hit max capacity, and I’m beginning to crack. Lip is making me depend on him, and my wall of emotionless independence is tumbling. I’m tired of being that strong female; I’m just exhausted and beginning to feel nothing but numb.

The front door opens and I quickly wipe the snot from my nose and rub at my tears. Shit. Shit. Lip is home. I have the TV so loud I didn’t even hear his motorcycle pull up.

Lip tosses his keys on the coffee table and stops. I can feel him eyeing me.

“You okay?” he questions, his tone soft.

“Um, yeah. Just a sad movie is all.” I glance at the TV that is now showing Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead. Go figure.

Lip looks at the TV and then to me, his eyebrow arching.

“They should have told their mom,” I mutter, turning away from his intense stare.

“The place looks great. You didn’t have to do that, you know,” he states, falling back into the couch. I pull my legs up Indian-style and shrug.

“It’s the least I can do after you let me stay here for a while.”

“I don’t mind the company.”

We sit in silence, watching the movie. Every now and then, I can feel his stare on my skin. I can’t help but eventually glance at him and our eyes meet briefly, my stomach fluttering with little butterflies. My eyes catch a tattoo that looks like bolts in the shape of an X of some sort, the word ‘PRIDE’ written under it in cursive.

“What?” My eyes shoot to Lip, not realizing I was sitting here gawking at his impressive arms.

“What is that?” I question, running my finger along the ink. He looks down at my finger and smirks.

“It’s a piston.” My brows furrow. What the hell is that?

Registering the confusion on my face, Lip chuckles and explains. “It’s a very important part of an engine. If it ain’t got it, it ain’t running.”

I nod, looking back down at the tattoo when I realize my hand is still resting on his strong arm. I peer under my lashes at him. “And what does pride have to do with that?”

“If a man doesn’t have pride, he ain’t going anywhere,” Lip replies, looking right at my mouth. A lump forms in my throat, and his eyes gleam with a gloss of desire.

I pull my hand away and clear my throat. Lip stretches out, running his hands down his jeans.

“You hungry?” Lip questions. I tear my eyes from the TV screen and nod eagerly, thankful for a distraction.

“Yeah, I could eat.”

“Let me see what we got.” He stands from the couch and my eyes sweep to his tight, jean-clad ass. The man has to work out with a body like that. I look down at my own, feeling incredibly insecure. I should tone up. I groan in frustration, feeling like a little girl sitting next to her crush. My heart is beating wildly, my palms are sweating, and I couldn’t even tell you what the hell we just watched.

“Um, Cherry?” Lip chuckles my name. I turn in my seat, finding him carrying a cup with the purple and white flowers I put on the kitchen island. “Where did you get these?” He smiles, and I can’t help but smile in return.

“Um, I may have plucked a few from your neighbor.” I scrunch my face in confusion. I got them when I took the trash out.

“I thought they looked familiar.” He shakes his head before returning them back to the kitchen. I hop up on my feet and follow him into the kitchen. He turns to face me and rests his hands on the counter behind him.

“She cleans, she decorates. Does she cook, too?” he teases. My lips purse and I look off.

“This place is so manly. It needed a female’s touch.” I cross my arms and look at the stove. “I don’t know how to cook, though,” I admit.

“Really?” He looks shocked. “What do you know how to cook?” I look up at the ceiling, trying to think.