You're to Blame(35)

*****

A loud pound on my front door startles me, and I wrap a towel around my waist and check the clock on my cable box.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Give it a rest. It’s midnight,” I holler, quickening my pace to stop the assailant from busting down my apartment door. “On a Sunday for that matter.” I whisper the last part, agitated with my visitor for interrupting me from climbing into bed to jerk off. Too much pent-up energy is not a good thing for a guy like me. I haven’t hooked up with anyone in... FUCK! When did Charlotte and I start hanging out?

“Open up, Duke, right now.” Charlotte yells. Speaking of jerking off. “I’m serious. I can hear your big ass feet clomping around in there.” She smacks her fist against the door again as I open it.

“Good evening, Charlotte. Fancy running into you here.” Damn. Is this girl trying to kill a guy? What is she wearing? The lightweight sweater shifts, exposing her shoulder when she shivers from the cool wind. Can her black leggings be any tighter? They leave zero to the imagination. I adjust myself, less than discreetly, at the sight of her.

She leans into the doorframe and glares at me, focusing her attention on my black eye. “He wasn’t lying,” she says with a loud sigh. Her tiny fingers reach up to touch near my brow, but I shift before they connect.

“It’s all good. Just a bruise.”

She rams past me and enters my apartment. “And why do you have the bruise?”

“Please, come on in.” I shut the door, barricading us inside the small space. I’m far too observant of the fabric slipping lower on her arm. The hint of her black lace bra peek-a-boos out to say hello.

“I’m not kidding, Duke. Tell me why you have the bruise.”

I pull the towel tighter around my waist. “Something tells me you already know.”

Charlotte, for the first time, zones in on my lack of clothing. I allow the towel to slip a centimeter, and her eyes bulge. That’s right, baby, take a good, long look.

“Wait ‘til you see the whole package.” I wink, and her face shifts and contorts between anger and amusement.

“Will you put some clothes on?” She bites her bottom lip like she’s trying to stop herself from saying anything else.

“Why, am I distracting you?” My tongue glides along the inside of my cheek. I’m half-tempted to drop the towel and give her a show.

“Quit being cute and put some clothes on,” she demands, clamping her jaw tight.

“So, you think I’m cute, then?” I break out into a wide smile, taunting her.

Unamused, she raises her eyebrow, and I do as she says, choosing to forgo a shirt. I waltz back into the room, and her eyes focus on my chest. She sees something she wants to touch, and I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t allow her to explore every dip and ripple. Her fingers dig into her thighs. The thought of what they’d feel like digging into mine is enough to drive a man mad.

“You get in bar fights, and you read.” She laughs this sweet sound I’m sure has caused many guys to want to sweep her off her feet.

“You’re surprised?”

“What’s not to be surprised about? Now, tell me why you got into a fight.”

“I lost my cool.” I sigh. “The guy who wouldn’t leave you alone last night, I overhead him saying some things that made my blood boil.”

“And that’s reason enough to get in a fight? Some stupid guy talking shit?” She narrows her disappointed eyes at me.

I step away, knowing I’m about to show my cards. “Why do you care what I do?” Smooth, Duke. Flip the table on her.

She runs her thumb over the edge of the bookcase. “You know why,” she whispers.

“Quit with the bullshit, Charlotte,” I demand, and her eyes widen. “They were talking about you. Saying vile things. Yes, I lost my shit. What do you expect? They were talking about you.”

Please don’t ask questions.

I need to escape this conversation before I tell her the truth. Some stranger putting his hands on her aches in the depths of every bone in my body. The thought of her being hurt, it’s unbearable.

“Why? Who am I to you? Why do you care what they say?” she asks, but she knows the reason, the same way I know why she’s here right now.

“You’re Jacob’s, and I sort of thought we were friends.” Fuck it, I’ll keep lying and pretend my actions have nothing to do with her being under my skin.

I sit down on the couch, facing the wall away from her.

“I can’t have you out there getting the crap beaten out of you. I have enough people to worry about. The last thing I need is for you to be in the hospital. Just another thing I’m to blame for,” she explains. Her ass plops down on the sofa beside me.

“I can handle myself. I’d do it all over again if given the chance,” I admit.

She peers at me through her long, thick eyelashes. “Well, don’t, okay?”

“Fine,” I deadpan.

She shakes her head and laughs, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re so full of shit, Duke.”

“It’s my job. If you come into Murphy’s, and someone isn’t acting right, then I will correct them.” It’s true. If I heard any man speaking about a woman in the manner in which those assholes were, I’d step in. The difference is I’d stop after one hit. This guy didn’t get the same courtesy. No, he got an ass beating. A well-deserved one, while his friends ran, knowing damn well I’d give it to them if they tried to butt in.