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SIX

DAYNA

It feels like we’re flying. Dash is careful as he weaves between traffic, but I want to scream at him to go faster, to push us to the edge of safety. I’m free, alive in a way I haven’t felt for so long—maybe never.

The wind whips at my bare legs, and I’m careful to avoid touching the pipes, like he told me, but every inch of me is vibrating with excitement.

Whenever he slows, his hand wraps around my thigh, squeezing, as if to remind me he’s here, that he’s got me. I’ve never had that from anyone, and I don’t know what it means from him, but I just lean into the moment.

My heart sinks when my building comes into view.

I could have sat behind him like this for hours, just letting my mind escape.

There is no expectation, no weight of judgement, no voices in my head telling me I’m not enough.

My mother’s words that usually repeat on a loop all day long are, for once, silent.

But it all comes flooding back when he pulls up at the kerbside, and real life crashes into the illusion.

I don’t want this moment to end, but he pats my leg, a signal to get off.

Once I’m back on solid ground, I fumble for the strap at my throat, but I can’t find the catch.

Dash climbs off the bike and steps into my space, swallowing all the air intended for my lungs.

His eyes lock on mine as he undoes the helmet, and every caress of his fingers over my skin sends shivers skittering up my spine.

He’s so fucking handsome this close up.

He pulls it off my head, gentle in a way that shouldn’t be possible for someone as big as him. I don’t know what to do with someone who looks at me like I’m not just a convenient placeholder, like I’m a good time but not a long time.

Which is why this won’t last.

It can’t, no matter how much I want it to.

I wrap my arms around my waist, a shield against whatever bullets are going to hit when he fires them, and then I wait. For the disappointment, for the censure, for the end.

I brace for the lecture about being reckless, about pulling him into my drama.

It doesn’t come.

He fastens the helmet to the back of his bike and turns back to me as if he’s unbothered by my shit.

I’m completely at a loss because this isn’t the usual script. This isn’t how things go for me.

And I’m too busy being mesmerised by him to figure out what the fuck it means.

He reaches for me, and my heart squeezes. I lift my gaze as he flattens down a piece of my hair.

And then I ruin it. Of course, I do. I ruin everything.

I can’t help it, though. My body is conditioned to see danger even if there is none. So, when he reaches for me, I flinch.

His expression morphs into something dark, something dangerous, as if he’s looking for my monsters to hunt down. Then it softens in a way that makes my chest ache.

“You don’t have to fear me, Dayna.”

I swallow past the lump in my throat. Why do I feel as if he has cracked my chest open and is peering at all the secrets I keep locked in my heart?

“Why would I be scared of you?” I keep my voice light, as if what he said is stupid. As if I didn’t recoil like I feared he’d hit me. “I just didn’t want you to mess up my hair. I spent an hour curling it for tonight.”

Light, breezy, a deflection that is so second nature to me, I don’t even realise I’ve done it until the words are out of my mouth.

His eyes narrow and I avert my gaze behind the smile. He sees too much. Thinks too much, and that scares me. Dash has this way of peeling back my layers that no one else has ever managed.

Not even Ivy or Katie.

My breath gets lodged behind my ribs. He’s going to say something, to call it out and demand to know why I reacted like that, and I am not nearly drunk enough for that conversation. Besides, he doesn’t need to know about my psychotic mother and her hands-on approach to parenting.

He doesn’t need to know anything.

In fact, it’s better he knows nothing about me at all. He’s already too close, too deep.

Relax. When he finds out how much of a fucking disaster I am, he’ll disappear anyway and none of this will be an issue.

That thought makes me feel sick.

I squeeze my pain into a box in the vaults where I keep the rest of my trauma and issues.

Get ahead of it. Make the first cut before he can.

“Thanks for the ride,” I say before he can open his mouth and deliver words that will leave me bleeding on the pavement.

I don’t want you.

You’re not worth it.

You’ll never be anything.

Each one hits like a bullet, and I force a smile to hide my pain.

“Also,” I continue, “thanks for the heroic save. I’ll tell everyone how brave you were.”

Walk away. Get inside. Die of mortification. Never speak of this night again.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says.

My chest seizes. “Do what?”

“Act like you’re not bothered by what happened tonight.”

Shit.

Abort. Abort. Abort!

He thinks he can fix me, can paper over the cracks in my broken piece. I see it in his eyes, but he’s wrong. There’s nothing worth fixing here and we both know it.

Cut this shit off before it gets too deep.

I tilt my head to the side, adopting an amused look that carves a jagged cut through my chest. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re one of those.”

He frowns. “One of those what?”

“A man with a hero complex.” Hurt flashes in his eyes, only for a second, but I see it. I feel it like I’m bleeding myself. My heart is thumping so fast, even though I keep my expression almost bored.

“I’m not.”

I scoff, even as my chest cracks open. Destruction comes too easy.

Better to kill hope before it can kill me.

“Honey, you wouldn’t be the first man to try, but there’s nothing to understand.

The guy got overexcited. I dealt with it.

” I wave it off, as if I wasn’t dying inside while that dickhead groped me like I was his plaything.

“Everything is fine. I don’t need therapy to talk about my feelings.

What I need is a glass of wine and a shower. ”

Don’t feel, don’t drown.

He stares at me for a moment that feels like a choked breath.

His voice is low and soft when he finally speaks. “I’ll walk you in.”

I wish he’d yelled.

I’m also on unfamiliar ground, and I don’t know what his game is. “I don’t need a chaperone to the front door.”

“I know,” he says then gestures for me to walk.

“I’m not going to fuck you.” I fold my arms over my chest, his smell filling my nose as the hoodie shifts on my frame.

It was a bad idea to put it on. He’s hard to ignore when I’m wearing him.

“I never asked you to.”

This time I’m the one frowning. I don’t know this script. I don’t know how to play it. They always want to fuck. “Seriously, Dash. I’m fine. You can get on your bike and go home knowing you did a good thing. You don’t owe me anything else.”

He leans into me, and my heart stutters. It takes all of my strength not to step back. “Are you going to walk, Dayna, or do I need to carry you?”

I blink at him. “You’re not going to carry me anywhere?—”

I let out a scream as he gathers me into his arms, cutting off my words. I cling to his neck as he strides towards the building, as if this is normal for him.

“Dash! Put me down!

He doesn’t look at me. “No.”

My brain short-circuits. I don’t have any smart comeback for this, and my traitorous fucking body likes being in his arms. He’s warm, strong, and the way he’s holding me makes me feel things I shouldn’t.

There’s an ache growing behind my breastbone and gnawing in my gut that I don’t know how to ease.

So, I just hold on to him, trying to process this.

Whatever it is.

He pauses at the door. “Keys.”

“Oh, just push it open. The lock doesn’t work.”

He stares down at me, his jaw ticking. “What do you mean it doesn’t work?”

This is awkward, and not just because I’m in his arms like some kind of damsel, but because of the way he’s looking at me. He’s pissed, and I don’t know why. “Do you really need me to define what ‘doesn’t work’ means?”

That tick in his jaw happens again. I stare at it, wondering if he can control that. “I want your landlord’s name.”

He pushes the handle down, somehow keeping hold of me while doing it, as if I don’t weigh the same as a baby elephant.

“What? Why?”

“Because the front door to your building should fucking work, Dayna. Anyone could walk inside and get to your apartment.”

I raise a brow at him. “Anyone did. Put me down.”

He mutters something under his breath, but he lets me back onto my feet, and I tip my head back to look at him.

He’s tall, like really tall. And I knew that, but right now, the way he’s looking at me makes me feel small.

I blow my hair out of my face, dropping my hands onto my hips. “Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me tonight, but just because we had sex one time doesn’t mean you have to take care of me, Dash. I’m a big girl. I’ve spent a lifetime taking care of myself. I manage.”

He reaches for me, and this time, I don’t flinch.

What is he doing?

I freeze as he tucks a piece of my hair behind my ear. His fingers lingering a beat longer than they probably should and I’m fairly certain I’m panting like a dog.

“Managing is just code for surviving, Dayna.” His voice is low, soft. “You deserve better.”

My chest tightens, as if there are bands of steel wrapped around my ribs. Is he joking? This part of some elaborate plan to laugh at my expense?

I scan his face, looking for the mockery, but his expression is as serious as the heart attack I feel like I’m having.

Say something. Say anything. Break whatever the hell this moment is between us before you do something even more embarrassing like pass out or cry.

I need to reclaim this conversation.

“If I’d known you were going to be this clingy, I never would’ve fucked you.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wish I could swallow them, barbs and all. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, hurt maybe, irritation definitely.

All wrapped up in confusion.

I have that effect on everyone, so I’m not surprised to see it in his eyes. What I am surprised by is how much it cuts me to see it, and the fact he’s still fucking here. None of my usual defences are working on him.

He takes a steadying breath. “Which is your apartment?”

I jolt back. He doesn’t press me or get angry. Now, I’m really starting to panic. The walls are built around myself are weakening and I don’t know how to shore them back up.

When they get too close my words push them away. Usually.

He’s not taking the bait.

So I do the only thing I can. I kiss him. I show him with my body that I’m what everyone thinks I am. Dirty, loose, only interested in spreading my legs.

I don’t know what I expect him to do. Push me away, thrust me against the wall and take me like I’m nothing, but he doesn’t.

He kisses me slowly, reverently, like I mean something.

His fingers thread through my hair, resting at my nape, while his tongue slides along the seam of my lips.

I am so out of my depth right now that I’m drowning. Every part of me screams to stop this, but the way he’s kissing me, I can’t. He’s everywhere, touching, lighting me up and I’m melting into him against all sense. He touches me like I mean something, like I might be worth loving.

Am I worth loving?

I press my hand to his chest, pushing back as I tear my mouth from his.

He’s breathless, so am I, and he’s watching me like he’s afraid I might bolt at any moment. I don’t speak. I can’t. It feels like there are shards of glass in my throat.

“You should go,” I say.

He doesn’t.

He lifts my chin so I have to look at him, his head dipping so that we’re on eye level.

“Dayna.” Every instinct says run. “Talk to me.”

‘Talk to me’ is the most dangerous phrase in the English language.

I shake my head, stepping back from him, putting distance between us.

“What are we doing?” I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself so tight my ribs ache.

He doesn’t answer. Maybe he doesn’t know, because I sure as hell don’t.

“Goodnight, Dash.” I back away from him, facing him in case… in case of what? I can’t take my eyes off him. “Thanks for caring,” I say as I reach the stairs. “But you’ll learn pretty fast that I’m not really worth caring about.”

And then, I turn and ignore everything as I rush up the stairs.

I don’t stop moving until I’m in front of my door, fumbling in my bag for my keys.

I can’t breathe, can’t think, because this situation is so dangerous it feels like my head might explode.

He looked at me like I matter. Like he could save me.

He kissed me like he wanted to be more than fuck buddies.

And that shit scares me more than anything else.

I drop my keys, my fingers numb, and curse. I ignore the dizzy wave that bowls through me as I scoop them up, only to drop them again.

“Fuck, Dayna,” I snap.

I get them in the lock, fumbling, and once I’m inside, I sag onto my sofa, draping my arm over my eyes, wishing for once I would do what my mother wants and disappear.

What am I doing?

He might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’m already fucking it up.

I sit up slowly.

As always, I’m setting fire to the ashes before they’ve burned out.

He didn’t deserve any of the shit I gave him. Guilt swirls in my belly, thick and clogging. Hate yourself but don’t pass that shit onto other people.

Dash helped. He protected when he should have left me to rot.

Why did he protect me?

He could have turned the other way. Pretended he didn’t see me in trouble. He didn’t blink before he waded in. If I’m being honest I would have admitted I was out of my depth tonight. I got into a situation that had the potential to go badly. That man was pushy and arrogant. I was already drowning.

And Dash…

Fuck.

He put me on his bike. He gave me his hoodie and his helmet.

He brought me home, walked me into my building and I was a bitch.

Shit, shit, SHIT.

I grab my phone before collapsing back onto the cushions. His hoodie is warm and far too comfortable.

I scroll my messages and open the one Ivy sent this morning with his number.

I’ve never been more grateful that my best friends don’t listen to me.

I hesitate before I write the message to him.

Thanks for the hoodie.

And the save from Mr. Grabby Hands.

And the ride home.

Sorry I’m such a messy bitch.

I hit send before I can second guess myself. I don’t expect a reply. He shouldn’t respond to me. I was horrible.

But twenty agonising minutes later, my phone pings with just one word. I stare at the screen, trying to make it reveal what the fuck he means by it, but I’m more confused than ever as I read it over and over.

Dash:

Sleep.