Rival (Fall Away, #2)(31)

He inched closer to me, his steps like a beast of prey. “Not mad, really. Just surprised.”

“But you’ve had other girls in this bed, haven’t you?” I asked. “Why not me?”

I hadn’t really thought about it until the moment I asked the question, but it was true. Madoc had slept with other girls in this bed, in this room. Probably.

But never me.

“Is that what you want?” His voice, sultry and sexy, played with me.

But I faltered.

Did I want that?

“You didn’t love girls in this bed,” I assumed. “You f*cked them.”

They were in, and then they were out, only to be replaced with another one.

I could talk myself up one hill only to find that I was still at the foot of mountain.

I did not want to be used, forgotten, and nameless.

He was right. What the hell am I doing? I looked everywhere but at his eyes, not sure where the answers were or even what the hell my questions were anymore.

Madoc and I could screw tonight. I could walk out of here instead of being kicked out . . . but what would Madoc have really lost?

Nothing. Having sex with him and then taking it away didn’t hurt him at all.

I blinked long and hard, finally seeing how stupid I’d been. So I stood up, tears stinging my eyes, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “No, I guess I don’t want that after all,” I whispered and walked past him out the door.

“Fallon?” I heard him call, confusion lacing his voice

But I was gone.

Running across the darkened hallway, I dove in my own room, slammed my door shut, and locked it. I collapsed against the door, breathing hard, and closing my eyes so the tears wouldn’t come.

I hadn’t cried in years. I was always able to stop it, to swallow it.

You can do this, I told myself. Just do it. Before you do anything else stupid.

My phone sat on my bedside table, and I opened my last text.


Will post when you’re ready.

That text was three days ago when I arrived. My weak fingers tapped out my response.

“Fallon?” Madoc knocked on the door, and I stopped typing.

“Just leave me alone,” I ordered, talking to the closed door.

“No.”

Excuse me? I raised my voice to respond to him. “You told me to lock the door to keep you out, dickhead. That’s what I’m doing.”

“I came up with that line when I was sixteen and had toothpicks for arms!” His muffled voice got louder. “I have muscles now,” he continued, “and this door is going to be firewood in five seconds if you don’t open up!”

I raced over and yanked the door open. “Don’t you dare!”

“What’s your problem?” He pushed past me into the room, turning around to face me. “We had a fun day. And I had an even better night planned, beginning with the Jacuzzi.”

Of course he did.

I slammed the door shut behind him, shaking my head and letting out a bitter laugh. “I told you to leave me alone. Why can’t you just do that?” My tone stayed flat, but the muscles in my arms and legs were rigid as I walked past him.

He hooked my elbow, bringing us face-to-face.

“You come into my room, dressed like that.” He gestured up and down my body. “And then you run out, expecting me to not wonder what the hell is going through your head?”

“What does it matter? You don’t care. Not about anyone but yourself, anyway.”

I pulled my arm away and walked over to the side of the bed, putting a safer distance between us.

His eyebrows were pinched together in confusion, like he didn’t understand what I was getting at. Why would he? I’d done a complete about-face from earlier, letting him seduce me, and then I’d changed the game and tried to seduce him to prove that I could. Crashed and burned at that—and now I was pushing him away. He was confused, and he should be. I sure was. I had thought I knew exactly what I wanted to have happen when I came back here.

“Where the hell is this coming from? Is this about the other-girls-in-my-bed question?” he asked, inching toward me.

A small, quiet sigh escaped me, and with it, my plan. “It doesn’t matter.”

“I could ask you about other guys, but I don’t.” His expression was angry. “You want to know why? Because I would care. Do you really want to know how many girls I’ve had in my bed? How many girls I’ve slept with?”

He would care?

“No, I don’t want to know. We’re not in a relationship,” I bit back.

Madoc stood immobile, his face hardening a bit and his chin lifting a little, but other than that his body was like stone. I didn’t know if he was angry, hurt, confused, or annoyed. But I knew he was thinking. I watched his large frame, his black pajama pants hanging low on his hips, walk across my bedroom, take my wide gray cushioned chair, and carry it to sit in front of my floor-length mirror.

“Come here,” he commanded, and I curled my toes, staying planted where I was.

When I didn’t budge, he softened his voice.

“Please?” he asked.

He planted himself in the chair and looked at me through the mirror, waiting.

He leaned back, slouching, with his legs about a foot apart. His chest glowed smooth in the barely lit room, and I had to lick my lips, because I was so thirsty all of a sudden.