Ladies Man (Manwhore #4)(11)

“No one important.”

I hang up and exhale.

My phone rings less than five seconds later. I see Tahoe Roth flash on the screen and freeze.

One ring, two rings, three, and I still can’t make up my mind whether to answer or let him go to voicemail.

Do I answer or not? Do I freaking answer or not? Do I want him to know or do I want the Earth to swallow me whole?

I decide to answer as naturally as possible. “I dialed by mistake, no need to call back.”

There are giggles in the background and the sound of a closing door. “What’s up, Regina?” He sounds amused.

“I just had sex with Trent and the condom broke.”

Silence.

“It broke and I couldn’t find it,” I blurt out, my voice breaking unexpectedly. I scowl and stare into the glass doors of the hospital, my stupid voice still wavering. “I just had the most humiliating moment of my life at the hospital while some guy…” I shudder. “Anyway, the condom broke and I’m on my way to get a morning-after pill—I just don’t want to go back in there and ask for one.” I sigh. “What about you, you seem very busy. I don’t think the tied woman will appreciate staying tied while you hear about my evening.”

I hear a muffled, “Untie her and show yourselves to the door,” and then his voice sounds close to the speaker. “I’ll be right over.”

“What? No!”

He hangs up.

I text him.



I’m not even home!

Where are you?



I hesitate, then give him the name of the hospital.

I’m pacing as I wait. The tires of his car screech soon afterward on the hospital driveway, and he swings open the passenger door from the inside.

And he’s so good-looking—he looks especially perfect tonight—I purse my lips, humiliated all over again, and at the same time, relieved.

I don’t know why I called him out of all the people in my contacts list. I don’t know why I bolted so fast out of my apartment, refusing to even look at Trent or ask him to come with me.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, as I was going through the uncomfortable and humiliating moment of spreading my legs open so a gloved hand could retrieve the condom, I found comfort in the thought of Tahoe. I used him to distract myself, to keep from feeling dirty and alone. And now here I am, standing in the hospital driveway while he leans across the passenger seat and waits for me to move.

“Get in,” he says, all lowered brows, his eyes glimmering with protectiveness and concern.

I do, shutting the door to find myself enclosed in the confined space of his white Ghost.

The scent of leather and pine trees hits me, a scent I associate strongly with him.

There’s a silence as I sit in the passenger seat, and he sits there, his hands gripping the wheel, his jaw set as he inhales. And I realize I must smell awful, like a hospital, like antiseptic and maybe even sex. He turns around as if to say something.

“Don’t give me shit,” I warn angrily.

He scowls. “I’m not.”

I scoff.

He shifts gears and pulls into traffic and laughs darkly.

He’s pissed off as he drives, I can tell.

“I’m upset on your behalf. What kind of moth—”

“It was an accident, okay?”

He growls under his breath, “Bullshit,” then eyes me, his voice painfully tender as he reaches out to take my chin and draw my gaze to his. “Hey. Gina. You okay?”

His touch could break me right now. My eyes water and I glance out the window. He drops his hand and puts it back on the gearshift.

“So he’s not perfect,” I blurt, throwing my arms in the air. “Sometimes the guys you’re dating never are. You start to wonder why you even bother…” I glare out the window. “But then you think of the cuddling, and just having someone’s warmth in bed, and who cares about perfection?”

Silence.

I glare defensively and cross my arms tightly over my chest. “Why am I telling you this? You wouldn’t even know. I doubt you’ve slept with a woman after…you know.”

“That’s right, Gina. I just use them then kick them out the door,” he says sarcastically, almost with self-loathing.

We end up at the pharmacy, buying me a morning-after pill. Just in case.

He adds a pack of Trident bubblegum, then fishes out his card and pays for everything.

“Thank you,” I whisper as I pull out his gum, hand it over, and carry the bag to his car. “I’ve never taken one of these but Wynn has and she says she felt absolutely awful, crampy and like shit,” I complain as he opens the car door for me.

He climbs behind the wheel, and he’s dead silent and unnervingly thoughtful as he drives me to my place. He parks the car, and as I say thank you and get out, he turns off the ignition and follows me into my apartment.

Silence up the elevator.

He takes the key when I fish it out and opens the door, then he waits for me to pass. I’ve never had Tahoe in my apartment. It’s a little jarring to see him step inside. He throws his jacket aside, rolls up the sleeves of his navy-blue sweater, and settles on the couch.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

I don’t know why, but the sight of Tahoe invading my apartment and taking up my couch makes me feel vulnerable. The situation strangely intimate.