Chapter 12

12

"Daaaallas," Drea singsongs, leaning her face over the driver's seat. "Can we stop at Starbucks?" Her bottom lip juts out in a pout as Dallas' brown eyes drift up to the rearview mirror, meeting hers, then one side of his mouth tugs up in a smirk as he nods.

"Yesss!" She celebrates, leaning back and turning her head towards mine. "I so need some coffee. Whatta 'bout you, girl?"

I slide a hand across my stomach. "I think I'll get a green tea, I'm feeling bloated lately."

Drea pulls a face. "Shark week?"

"Nah…" I pause, trying to remember when my last period was. The stupid IUD I got at Trey's behest a few months back has generously gifted me irregular periods. Even with it being his idea- because 'bare is better'- he never trusted it, always pulling out and jizzing on my chest instead. Maybe that's why sex with Bowie is fucking top-tier. Ha, pun intended. Aside from the air of maturity he has, the feeling of his huge cock twitching inside me as he finds his release is a whole tantalizing level I didn't know needed unlocking. "It's probably from all the sodium in the takeout. Let's cook at home this week," I add.

She shrugs. "Yeah, okay. We'll go grab some groceries later."

"Maybe tomorrow," I say, my lips curling in an impish grin. "I've got a date tonight."

"Shut up!" Drea slaps my arm.

My eyes dart to Dallas, then back to her. "Later."

"Fine," she answers with a roll of her eyes as Dallas joins the drive-thru line. I start to pull my card out of my purse, but Drea stops me.

"My treat, babe. I owe it to you for last night." She tosses me a wink as she digs in her own wallet. "Oh, I'm gonna get egg bites too, you want any food?"

"I'm good, thanks. Bowie made us breakfast."

"Whaaat?! Damn girl, no one made me breakfast," she fake whines, shooting a pointed look to Dallas in the rearview mirror.

"Pretty sure that mouth was too busy to eat this morning anyways," Dallas murmurs, arching a teasing brow at my best friend as he pulls the Range Rover up to the speaker.

I can't help but bark out a laugh as Drea shoots him a scowl before rolling down the window to order.

My phone vibrates on my lap, and I tilt the screen to see it's a message from a number I don't recognize.

Unknown

Dinner at 8. Dallas will bring you back to my place.

Ok Boss, but how'd you get my number?

Bowie

I have my ways.

Just like you have a driver and a penthouse... what else should I know?

Bowie

I want you bare tonight. No panties.

The promise of pleasure sends a wave of heat crawling across my skin and pooling between my thighs as I re-read that last message. I'm about to ask if we can skip dinner tonight when Drea thrusts a white to-go cup at me, breaking me out of my lust bubble.

Sipping on my tea, I start to try to plan my outfit for tonight while Drea and Dallas flirt snarkily back and forth the rest of the way home.

"So, he hauled you upstairs like a caveman, made love to you, and then made you breakfast?" Drea asks, turning onto her stomach on the towels we have spread out. It's so nice outside that we decided to do the dick debrief while laying out on the roof. It's the easy moments like this spent with my best friend that make me feel so lucky to have her in my life.

"Yup," I grin, folding my arms under my head and resting my cheek on them to face her. "It was sweet, really, but I think I like the rough stuff better. What was Dallas like?"

"Ohh," she sighs. "His dick has a wicked curve that hits my g-spot with every thrust. I'm ruined for other men."

"So you're going to see him again?" I ask.

"I mean, we exchanged numbers, so we'll see what his game is like out of the bedroom," she says nonchalantly. "Tell me more about this date tonight?"

"He wants to talk, and I can't get a good read on the guy. He's obviously older, what if he wants a relationship? I just got out of a serious one, should I really start in on one again with the first guy I fuck?"

Propping up on her elbows, Drea shoots me a dirty look as she grabs her water. "First off, the only thing serious about your last relationship was you. Secondly, how old is he anyway? Because this morning, all I saw was gray sweatpants." She side-eyes me, smirking while taking a drink. She isn't subtle in the slightest and I wish I could say I wasn't thinking about it too, but who am I kidding?

"I don't even know! See, there's so much I don't know about him!" I groan, letting the existential crisis take over.

"Calm down, you don't have to make a decision now. Go to dinner, get some food, get laid, and take it from there. I mean, it's not like you're stuck with the guy. If things don't work out, you can get another job and have no ties to him."

"I like my job though," I whine. "But yeah, you're right," I sigh, rolling up to sit. "I'm gonna go for a run around the park, clear my head. And maybe I'll feel less bloated, too."

"Gross, I'm going to go take a nap then," she says, pushing to her feet and pulling me up with her.

Walking back inside, Drea goes straight for the couch, turning on another season of that reality dating show she's obsessed with while I dip into my room.

I pull a gray ASOS crop top over my black sports bra, folding the waistband of my navy running shorts down as I try to think of where I stashed my earbuds.

After ten minutes straight of tearing the place apart, I realize they're probably still at Trey's, since he always borrowed them when he went to the gym. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I send him a text and lace up my Nikes.

He responds almost instantly that he has them and will be home all afternoon if I want to come get them. I'd rather he wasn't there, but against my better judgment, I agree.

Grabbing my keys and wallet and making Drea promise to do my makeup later because I suck at smokey eyes and want to look extra sexy for this date, I head out, hop in my car, and peel away towards Trey's.

The entire drive there, I can't shake the unsettling feeling that washes over me. My eyes dart between the mirrors checking my surroundings, the hairs on the back of my neck raising as I pull to the curb. Shifting into park in front of the old brick complex, I notice a familiar silver vehicle parked across the street.

What the fuck…

I climb out of the car, fumbling with my key fob in my sweaty palm. Paranoia and intrigue fuel my steps as I march across the street and tap my knuckles against the tinted glass of the Range Rover.

Dallas rolls down the window, wearing dark aviators and a passive grin on his face.

"Can I help you?" I ask, staring at my reflection in his mirrored lenses.

"Nope, I'm good. Thanks," he replies, starting to roll the window up.

I lean through the window to stop him. "Then, why ya followin' me?"

"Just doing my job."

"And your job's to follow me?"

"Today it is," he answers boredly.

I rock back on my heels, folding my arms across my chest. "Well, if I'd known that, we coulda carpooled."

He laughs, identical dimples framing the smile that splits across his face as he rolls the window up.

I can see why Drea was so drawn to him.

Shaking my head, I spin on my heels and enter my old building, stepping into the elevator and hitting the button for the fourth floor. Looking around, I can't help but compare it to the one in Bowie's building. I felt like a queen moving in here; the group homes made this place look like a castle. Kinda how Trey seemed like a prince but played me like a fool. I realize now just how easily perspective alters your perception.

I raise my middle finger towards 4B as I pass before lifting a fist to knock on the chipping white paint of 4D.

Trey pulls back the door, black shorts hanging low on his hips and a gray hoodie swallowing him whole. His face is a little thinner than the last time I saw him, dark circles brimming his stormy eyes as they make a pass over my body before he offers me a lazy smirk. "Hey Wren, looking good."

I roll my eyes. "Wish I could say the same."

"Ah, don't be bitchy, or I'm not giving you these," he taunts, holding my earbuds out, and like a damn fool I try to take them, only for him to raise them above his head.

"I haven't seen you for a while, let's catch up." His forearm rests on the door frame as he leans against the side of it. "How's the new job? Do you like it? Are you safe?"

"Trey, I work for an investment group, not the mob. Not exactly a dangerous career." I open my palm and extend it toward him, urging him to get on with it. "Now give me my headphones."

"C'mon, let's talk," he tips his head inside the apartment. "Have a drink with me."

"We have literally nothing to talk about."

He leans forward, the stench of cheap vodka coating his words. "You could tell me about your job, what you've been up to since you broke my heart and left me."

"God, are you drunk?" I roll my eyes, shoving a hand at his chest. "I didn't leave you, you cheated on me and I couldn't break something you never had."

"Be a fucking bitch why don't you. To think I was gonna-"

Tired of his bullshit discord, I wiggle my fingers in a ‘gimme motion'. "Headphones. Now, Trey."

"Fine," he sighs, holding them out.

"Thanks!" I chirp, plucking them from his fingertips and turning towards the elevator.

"Wren," he calls out hesitantly. "Just be careful." I still, his words lifting the edges of the scab on my heart. "I was shitty at showing it, but I did care about you."

I swallow harshly, head swiveling to meet his sincere gaze. I wish I could believe him, but the hurt is still raw. Rolling my shoulders back, I lift my head, decidedly determined to ignore his false platitudes. "Take care of yourself, Trey," I offer before he closes the door and I get on the elevator.

It's so much easier to hate him, to remember all the bad times when he's being a douche, but when he says something so simple and kind, I get transported back to the night we met at the frat house, when the guy I came with ditched me. My friends had already gone home, so I was all alone. Trey waltzed in like a knight in shining armor, letting me sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch. His sweet gestures continued the next day when he drove me home without any expectations. I miss that guy, the one who'd hold the door open for me, made me feel special, and let me build up the fantasy of forever with him. That guy's long gone now, and looking at his sullen face in the doorway only reminds me of how much he's changed.

Pushing open the main door, I unlock my car as I stride towards it. Before I can grasp the door handle, though, a hand grips the back of my head and slams my face into the car window.

A burning sensation erupts from my nose, the metallic taste of blood flooding my mouth as I scream out in pain. Fingers tighten in my hair, setting my scalp ablaze as my face smashes into the glass over and over again. I try to fight back, but black spots cloud my vision, knocking me off my axis. My pulse thumps loudly in my ears, muffling the voice that's cussing me out as a large arm bars my throat, cutting off my oxygen.

I'm pulled back against my attacker's body, his hot breath skating across my skin, sending chills down my spine as he snarls in my ear. "You don't know what you did."

My fingers claw at his skin, desperate to draw another breath so that maybe I can scream for help. For some reason, Sandra Bullock's SING from Miss Congeniality comes to mind, and I try to throw an elbow into his solar plexus. I miss, but I manage to step on his insole, making his grip go slack enough that a fresh burst of oxygen surges into my lungs.

I blink chaotically, trying to clear the haze that's overtaking my sight when I notice a figure rushing across the street at me. With a gargled gasp, I toss my fist back, feeling teeth scrape my knuckles as I miss his nose. I feel his body being pulled from mine, but not before a foot lands square in my back, propelling me to the ground. My head throbs in blinding pain as I groan, pushing up on my hands and tilting my face to see Dallas choking out Allen from accounting.

Our eyes meet, a flicker of fear lighting up in Dallas' features as he shoves Allen aside.

The adrenaline ebbs from my system as quickly as it came and my arms give out, my body curling up in the fetal position on the concrete. I feel the trickle of warm blood cutting a path down the side of my face, my body shaking. I raise a hand to swipe it away, but instantly recoil at the sting of my fingers brushing a gash on my eyebrow. My stomach bottoms out at the bite of pain, and suddenly I'm just exhausted. The faint sound of sirens pierce my ears as I try to draw in a deep breath, but the constraining pain in my ribs stops me from being able to.

"Fuck, Wren," Dallas mutters as he kneels beside me, scooping me up and cradling me against his heaving chest. I groan, pain searing its way through my body as I go limp in his arms. He hurries across the street, laying me down as softly as he can on the cool black leather seats in the back of his Range Rover. The doors slam, Rover lurching forward, and the last thing I hear before it all goes back is him talking to someone on the phone.

Preconscious is a state of mind between conscious and unconscious, an odd state of alertness that most people don't realize exists. Here, you have a sense of the world around you, but no ability to interpret time. I see the flashes of bright lights, hear the murmur of voices, feel the jostling of my aching body… but the only thing my mind seems to focus on is him.

Bowie.

How asinine is it that I've been jumped and beaten on the street but my concerns lie with being late for a date?

The loud sounds of commotion beside me shoots a blaze of awareness through my body. My eyes flutter open, everything slowly coming into focus. I see the plain beige walls of a hospital, Dallas' eyes rounded in fear as someone pins him against the wall. The harsh sound of Italian words string together in a familiar lilt that I recognize before I even see his face.

"Bowie-" I start, but the word comes out strained and gravelly, like I've swallowed razor blades. I try to clear my throat- big mistake- and it burns instantly, the pain reverberating through my eardrums.

His hulking frame freezes, instantly removing his forearm from Dallas' throat as he swivels around. "Passerotta," he breathes in relief as he stalks to the edge of the bed. "Who did this?"

I draw in a breath, the ache of constriction banding my lungs. "Allen," I breathe out.

His lips tighten into a thin line and his dark brows slam down as his eyes sweep across my face. Bowie has never scared me- his gruff nature has always been a turn on- but there's a flare of anger that darkens his hazel orbs. It should terrify me, it should tell me that this man is dangerous, but it has the opposite effect. The vein in his neck pulses and the muscle in his jaw feathers before he looks back over his shoulder.

"Allen Whitmore, find him," he growls at Dallas.

Dallas nods, fishing his phone from his pocket as he paces toward the door.

"I swear I will spill enough blood to flood this city to find him, Passerotta."

I haven't known Bowie long, but there is a conviction in his words that steals my breath faster than the kick in the back of the ribs did. I'd like to believe I'm a strong, independent woman, but the possessive promise and use of my nickname has me wanting nothing more than to curl into his arms and let him take care of me.

Fingers brush the side of my face, his throat bobbing in a hard swallow before he leans in, his warm breath caressing my cheek, "I'm so sor-"

My hands cup his face as I pull him closer, slamming my mouth against his. His lips part in surprise and I can taste his hesitation before he deepens the kiss.

Screw talking and defining us over dinner, I want him now. He came here for me, that has to mean something.

I wince slightly as he threads his fingers into my hair and his teeth scrape my bottom lip, but there's no part of me that minds the pain when Bowie's the reason behind it. Our lips move in equal hunger as my fingers dig into his cheeks. I don't need him to apologize for something outside of his control or reprimand Dallas. In this moment, all I need is his reassurance that this isn't temporary or a mistake, that being here is his choice and that I'm his choice.

"Knock, knock," a man in teal scrubs calls out from the doorway, and Bowie jerks back, breaking our kiss.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Katz," the man says as he steps closer, casting a nervous glance at Bowie.

"How are you feeling..." his eyes shift down to the clipboard in his hands, "Wren?"

"Been better," I croak out, hand reaching up to rub my throat.

Bowie twists at the waist to grab a dusty pink pitcher from a side table and pours me a glass of water. He shakes his head 'no' as I try and reach for the cup, instead holding the plastic straw to my lips.

The water is cool as it slides down my throat, temporarily soothing the burning sensation. Bowie sets the cup down for me, taking my hand back in his.

"Good, good. So," Doctor Katz continues, flipping through the pages. "Your head CT doesn't show signs of bleeding or swelling, which is great. The contusions on your ribs, face and throat seem to be superficial and shouldn't cause any long-term damage."

"When can she leave?" Bowie asks, face stoic as his thumb rubs a gentle circle on the back of my hand.

"Well, normally she'd be clear within an hour but, with the loss of consciousness and the baby, we'd like to keep her overnight for observation and to remove the dislodged IUD."

Bowie's motions still, that impenetrable mask of his cracking as his mouth goes slack. My heart lurches into my throat as my eyes widen at the doctor. "Baby?" I squeak. I couldn't have heard that right.

"I take it you didn't know?" He lifts another page on his stupid clipboard before looking back at me. "Well, Congratulations, Miss James. You're about six weeks along."