So Bad (Bad Boy Next Door #1)(9)

She mumbles something unintelligible.

I lay across the bed next to her, arms hanging off the side. “What’s that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Where’s my dress?” She pronounces each word as though she’s speaking to an imbecilic dog.

“I told you, you puked on it. It’s gross. I threw it into the tub.”

Shit. I should’ve probably put some clothes on her, instead of leaving her in her bra and panties.

Screwed the pooch on that one.

She groans. “I need to get dressed. I can’t go back to the guest house in my underwear.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Moan-uh; you’re pretty fucking hot dressed like that, if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you. Gimme.”

I shake my head.

“Fine. One of your T-shirts then.”

I roll off the bed and dig through my drawer. I grab a shirt and tug. Damn thing’s stuck. I yank harder and the shirt pops out, along with three condom packages, which land on the carpet at Mo’s feet.

“Seriously?”

I gather them up. “Hey, at least I use protection.”

“Whatever.”

I hand her my shirt. She flops backward onto the mattress, arm over her eyes, my shirt lying over her lacy bra. That blue scrap of fabric and the one barely covering her curls will be burned into my memory forever.

I lay beside her.

She slides away from me and slips the shirt over her head, poking her arms through. She gives me a falsely bright smile. “Okay. Well, thank you for the rescue. I’m going to head back to my place. See ya.”

When she stands this time, she weaves a bit on her way to the door.

“Maybe you ought to stay for a while.”

She pauses, grabbing the doorframe. “And have the staff find me in your shirt and nothing else first thing in the morning? Yeah—no thanks.”

“And people thinking you and I are hooking up is such a bad thing, why?”

“Because you’re a manwhore and I’m not anyone’s one night stand.” Mo tosses my cock a look that would wither a lesser man’s woody. “No telling where that thing’s been. There’s no way I’d sleep with you. The very thought disgusts me.”





THREE





It takes all I’ve got to make it to the guest house without falling over. The cotton stuffed into my head clouds my thoughts. I grab the door handle and try to turn it. It doesn’t budge.

Perfect. It’s freaking locked.

I plop down on the warm concrete at the edge of the porch. I need my keys. They’re in my bag, probably in Danny’s room. But, after that last exchange, I can’t face him again. Not right now.

I threw up on him. And I’m such a huge liar.

I’m going to hell.

Either for lying or for the way I lust after Danny Jennings. Probably both.

The image of his dick, hard and straining against his boxer briefs, comes to the forefront of my mind. I had no idea a guy’s cock could get that big. I mean, I knew they grow, but that thing…

Oh, Lord, what happened after we came home?

The last I remember is Danny punching Paul. The expression on Paul’s face—too bad; he deserved it. Jackass.

I tuck my hand between my thighs. Did Danny and I…?

No. Surely something would feel different, right? Would Danny do that?

Elbows on my knees, I prop my chin in my hands and close my eyes.

The Danny I knew three years ago wouldn’t have taken advantage of me, or any girl. Today’s Danny? I don’t know.

As if conjured from my thoughts, he appears in front of me, dropping my purse onto the porch. “Need this?”

My gaze travels from his bare feet, along his jeans to that V leading to his abs, up and over his crazy beautiful man chest. I continue past his frown to clear green eyes. His brows knit over a pained expression.

If I didn’t know better, I’d think I hurt his feelings. Right. Like that’s even possible.

I let out a huff of air. “Thanks.”

I stand and pull the hem of Danny’s shirt down as far as I can; it hits me mid-thigh.

I dig out my key and unlock the door.

Danny stands in my doorway, his fingers hooked to the top of the outside doorframe, showing off his ripped torso to perfection. I ignore the desire bubbling in my lower belly.

In my room, I grab some shorts and a top of my own. I stop in the bathroom to brush the funk out of my mouth. I even hop in the shower. Perhaps it will clear my head.

If I take long enough, he’ll leave.

Nope.

When I return to the living room, he lounges on my sofa as if he belongs here.

“Feel better?”

I rub my forehead, frowning. “No.”

He heads into my tiny kitchen. In just a minute, he’s back with two cups of coffee. “Here, I made this while you cleaned up. It might help.”