Beautiful Broken (7 page)

Later, I'd remembered, but by the time I had, it was too late. I was too embarrassed to call and apologize.

Lou grins at me, and, even though there are years between us, I feel the strength of our friendship, and I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, I won't have fucked this up beyond all repair.

I should probably have quit earlier. I botched up two briefs, and my paralegals had to scramble to fix the editorial shit before filing with the court. The stupid part is, it's easy. It's shit I've been doing for years, and I screwed it up because I couldn't quit thinking about kissing her.

This. This right here is why Scout is such a bad idea. Because I know if I let her in—even if I were to take her to bed the way I do every other girl in my life, including Mel—it could never be a casual hookup. She'd slip in, and I wouldn't be able to get her out, because that's what she does—that's what she's always been able to do to me.

Sometimes it drives me bat-shit crazy. Like right now, when I have blue balls and want nothing more than to go home and throw her down on my bed.

And from her response this afternoon, I know she'd be on board.

But she's Scout. Gorgeous, unpredictable, and too damn important to use for a one-night stand.

At five, I lock the office up—Glenda and the rest of the staff left almost an hour ago—and head to my Viper. A text lights up my phone.

Scout
: I need a car. I'm tired of walking all over creation.

I grin. Dial her number and wait for her grumpy voice to slide over the line and wrap around me like a sexy cocoon. "Seriously, D. I'm exhausted and it's only been two days. And what about when I start working?"

"Do not even think I'm letting you behind the wheel of my car, Scout."

She snorts. "Dear god, no. I wouldn't dream of being allowed to drive the goddess."

I laugh out loud at that, and she giggles. "So where are you?" I ask.

"Leaving campus."

My stomach drops, and I clutch the wheel. "The hell are you doing there?"

"Relax, papa bear. I came to see Lou. She's working for her dad."

She's there voluntarily, to talk to a friend? Not to score? And, most importantly,
voluntarily
? Scout never goes to UB by herself, and sure as shit doesn't do it of her own free will.

"She had a counselor for me," she adds.

I pull out of my parking lot and say, "You’re gonna go through with it? Talking to someone?"

"Don't you think I've been trying it my way long enough?"

I nod, and she changes the subject. "I invited Lou over sometime. Do you mind?"

"Of course not. It's your home, too. You know that," I say. She's quiet, but I can almost hear the smile that's turning her lips. "We'll go in a couple days to find you a car, okay? I'll go in late."

And I do hear the smile when she says, "Go see your girl, Dane. Bring me dinner."

She hangs up, and I'm actually thankful—she doesn't hear me murmur, "Mel isn't my girl, Scout."

I shake my head and drop the phone. Try to focus on the fact that I'm going to meet my girlfriend, and not on how much I want to head home and curl up with my best friend's sister and a pizza.

Mary's Diner is quiet—it's still early enough that most of the college crowd hasn't shown up, and the older couples have already come and gone.

Melanie is sitting in a corner booth, her pretty blonde hair cascading around her shoulders. Her entire body straightens when she sees me, a smile brightening her lovely face.

Everything about Mel is lovely—sweet and polished and refined. Sometimes, the polished girl is a huge turn on—especially when I can get her to drop the act and beg me to fuck her.

For a polished country club princess, Mel can talk like a back ally whore when she’s turned on.

I push that thought from my mind and lean down to kiss her cheek. "Hello, gorgeous."

She smiles at me and slides a menu across the table. "I ordered you a sweet tea. Did you know what you want?"

I nod. Of course I know what I want. It's Mary's, after all. There's nothing new on the menu.

Kimmie, Mary's oldest granddaughter, comes by for our order, and then Mel turns her full attention on me.

Growing up, I always thought it's what I wanted. A girl like Mel—classy, sweet, accommodating. A girl who knew what she wanted and wasn't terribly shy about going for it, while still acting like a lady.

It's what Mom was, what she raised Jeanette to be. Ladies.

The problem was, that got boring. After about an hour, I was usually ready to either sleep with her and toss her out, or just toss her out. She's the only woman who's been able to stay in my life—she puts up with my shit, which is a huge point in her favor.

But she's boring. More often than not, I dread having to spend time with her outside of the bed.

The fact that she's an incredible lay is a point in her favor.

"Tell me about your houseguest! Did you bring him?"

I shake my head, toy with my fork. "No. I told you, she's not really up for seeing people."

Mel stiffens. "It's a girl?"

This is the problem. Mel is jealous. It doesn't make sense—not when she knows I mess around with girls in the club, but if a girl makes it back to my bed twice, all that cool calm vanishes and is replaced by a crazy bitch.

And women who are in my life, but not my bed? She hates them on principal.

"Don't do this," I say, putting the fork down and letting a note of anger slip into my tone. "You know what to expect from me. I'm not lying about anything to you. If you can't handle my terms, you’re welcome to head out the door."

She flushes, but I watch her choke off her anger. It takes a remarkable amount of effort.

"Are you going to at least tell me who it is?"

I sit back as Kimmie returns with our dinners. She flashes me an extra smile, which I ignore. She's a good kid, but a little young for me to fool around with—I have some standards. "Scout. She'll be staying with me for the next couple weeks while Atti's out of town."

Mel slowly lowers her fork, her eyes wide and hurt.

That's surprising. Mel never gets hurt. We're too honest for that shit.

"Scout. Scout Grimes is sharing your bed, and you think that's okay?"

"Jesus, Mel. She's my best friend's sister, and I'm letting her crash in the guest bedroom for a few weeks. Don't read into it."

She snorts, but finishes scraping ranch dressing onto her grilled chicken salad. "Dane, my darling, with you, there's always more to it."

"Did you really want to meet to talk about my houseguest?" I demand. I catch her knee under the table and let my fingers feather over her bare skin. A flush—a pretty one—rises in her cheeks, spurred now by arousal rather than anger.

And for a little while, we both can ignore the shadow Scout casts.

Scout

The door bangs, and I jerk upright on the couch as Dane enters the living room. A scream dies in my throat, the memories in my dreams vanishing as soon as I see him.

I shouldn't have gone to the campus. I knew it was a bad idea.

Dane's easy smile falters when he sees me, and he puts the white Styrofoam box down, crouching in front of me. "What's wrong, Scout?"

Tears burn in my eyes, and I open my mouth.

Dreams are the worst—sometimes I wish I could never sleep, never dream. It's one of the reasons I started using. If I drugged myself enough, I wouldn't dream.

"Bad dream," I murmur, my mouth dry. I want a drink—more than I have in months, I want one now.

"Was being on campus a trigger?" he asks, softly.

I stare at him, and I can see my dreams—nightmares. "I was in a stairwell. I despise stairwells." I shudder, and see his face. The anger and revulsion.

Dane is very still, and I blink, look away. "Sorry," I mutter. He swears softly.

His fingers catch the hair hiding my face, push it back gently. Cup my face and turn me to him. "Don't apologize. Whatever else you have to apologize for, telling me what happened that night is never going to be one of them."

"You don't want to hear the dirty details, Dane," I say, and I mean it. He doesn't ever need to think less of me than he already does.

He sits back on his heels, a strange expression on his face. I can't name it. "Scout, I don't
want
to hear them. I'm afraid I'll murder someone if I hear what happened—if I find out who it was. But if talking about it is something that will help you heal? I'm here. I'm
always
going to be here. No judgments. This—" He indicates the space between us. "—is a safe place for you."

Tears burn in my eyes, and I nod, biting my lip. His gaze drops to my mouth, and I'm achingly aware of his fingers still on my face, in my hair. His thumb brushes the corner of my lips, and I feel it like a bolt of electricity going through my entire body.

My dreams have gone—Dane's presence and the mere thought of kissing him again have chased them away. My lips part a little, and I lick them quickly.

And he jerks away, almost as if burned. His ears go a little red, and I'm not sure what's more amusing—the fact that I thought he wanted me, or the fact that I can make Dane Guillot blush.

"I brought you dinner," he says, looking away. "Burger with fries and a salad with grilled steak. I didn't know what you'd want."

I peer into the box and grin at him. It was sweet of him to remember, and sweeter that he brought me options.

Dane being sweet is rare.

I dump some Italian dressing on the salad and take a bite, then reach for a fry that's still warm, smearing mayo onto my burger with one end.

"How is Mel?"

He shrugs. "Pissed that you’re here. Which is to be expected."

I don't know why that pleases me so much, but it does. I take bite of my burger to hide my smile.

"What do you do when you’re home alone?" I ask, after I've finished dinner and Dane is sitting bare foot next to me, frowning at his phone.

"I go out and find someone so I'm not home alone," he answers, barely looking up.

"Well, we could always try what you do to entertain them," I mutter sarcastically.

His gaze snaps up to mine, heavy with hunger, and I shiver. God, he is so hot and I...I want him. Super simple, when you think about it.

"Somehow I don't think getting you naked is a good idea," he murmurs. I shrug.

"Fine." I hop up and go down the hall to the closet where old coats, blankets, and a vacuum that rarely gets used are stored.

"What are you doing?" he calls, his voice warm.

I drag out the box I'm looking for, its contents rattling around. Grin at Dane, who's eyeing me in open amusement. "Wanna play Battleship?"

Dane

We play four games. The tension melts away as Scout trash talks her way to three victories, doing a goofy dance each time she sinks one of my ships.

"You do know I'd kick your ass at Risk, right?" I ask, eyeing her over my glass of sweet tea.

She snorts, waves a dismissive hand. "You don't even have Risk. You can't beat me at a game you don't have."

I make a mental note to pick up the board game on my way home, and start packing away the little pieces. Scout yawns, stretching lithely. Her back arches, her hair swinging and hitting her ass as her breasts push against her thin tank top. She's so damn gorgeous, and so not mine. I stand up, shoving the rest of the game away and putting it back in the closet.

When I get back, Scout is still sitting on the floor, and she holds a hand out. Without thinking, I take it, pulling her off the floor and into my arms. Her body presses against mine in a long, sexy line, and I shiver, knowing she can feel my erection. I jerk away, cursing myself, and look at anything but her.

"I'm headed to bed," I mutter. "I'll see you in the morning."

She opens her mouth to protest, but I'm already moving, some tiny sane part of my brain telling me to get the hell out of Dodge. In my bedroom, I strip quickly and step into an icy shower.

The entire time I'm getting ready for bed—through my shower, while brushing my teeth, picking a suit for tomorrow—I'm trying to think of anything but her. I think of the hot piece of ass I picked up at Victorie's last week, about Mel's silky hair spread against my thighs while she sucks my cock, about the gorgeous blonde from last month's business trip who sent me some risqué pictures a few days ago.

None of it helps. Every time I close my eyes, my thoughts circle back to the gorgeous, untouchable girl two doors down and across the hall.

In my bed, I can't keep thoughts of her away. Her scent is still wrapped around me, the citrusy smell pulling to mind the taste of her when I kissed her. She tasted of oranges and vanilla, like she'd just finished a Creamsicle before I kissed her.

Idly, I wonder what she would taste like if I went down on her. A mental image of Scout sprawled in my bed, my name on her lips as I licked her until she fell apart, fills my head, and I can't stop myself. I slip a hand into my boxers, fisting my erection. I stroke myself as I think about her lips, the little noises she made when I kissed her, the way she would sound if I drove my cock into her, how amazing she would feel.