9. Dia

NINE

After a long,bumpy flight through terrible weather, we finally made it back to Boston. The rest of the group ended up getting their flight re-routed, so I have an extra night to figure out how I'm going to explain any of this to Mads. I never told her that I lost my job and possibly my apartment, because I didn"t want her feeling guilty about it. It wasn"t her fault, but she will automatically blame herself because I missed work to be with her at the Super Bowl.

As fucked up as the situation is, I have no regrets about going to the game. My job at the club has been a strain on my physical and mental health, but I stayed because I felt like I didn"t have another option. Most of the patrons were very nice, but some were completely out of line and disrespectful. I can"t tell you how many times I was touched inappropriately by drunk assholes thinking they could do whatever they wanted as long as they left me a good tip. I guess the silver lining here is that I don't have to deal with that anymore. And in two weeks, when the divorce is final and I can pretend like this marriage never existed, I can take the money from my ring and start my life here.

I look over to Dalton, who's sitting next to me in the back seat of our Uber, finding him out cold with his head resting back on the seat. It's been a hell of a long day and we're on our way back to his house to sleep before we head to yet another courthouse in the morning to file more paperwork. His head lolls to the side and I take in his handsome face. He's such a good fucking guy and I hate that this could potentially end up hurting him. I can tell he would stay married if I allowed it. But it's better that we get this over with now before either of us ends up with a broken heart. My hope for him is that one day, he marries a woman that can give him everything he deserves. Someone that hasn't been broken and jaded by her past. Someone he can be proud of. That's not me. He deserves more.

I reach my hand up, running my fingers over Dalton's stubbled jaw as he peacefully sleeps. My eyes catch on my beautiful ring, and a pang of guilt hits me at his selfless act of telling me to sell it so I can build the life that I want here in Boston. I'd give anything to keep it. Even though we aren't staying married, Dalton will always be my first and only husband. And as wild and crazy as our wedding in Vegas was, I'll look back on it fondly as the night that he gave me the chance to know what it was like to be somebody's wife.

The car comes to a stop outside Dalton's building, and I softly shake him. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty," I whisper. "We're home."

"Mmmm," he hums as he leans into me. He's so warm and he smells so good. I hate to wake him, but the driver is just staring at me in the rearview, so I shake him harder. "Dalton, let's go inside."

He opens his eyes, giving me a sleepy smile before sitting up straight. "Sorry," he says, running a hand down his face. "Thanks, man," he says to the driver. "Five stars."

I chuckle at how cute he is as I open the door and slide out, Dalton following closely behind. He settles a hand on my lower back as we head to the door and toward the elevator. I shouldn't let him touch me anymore because I'm obviously very weak when it comes to him, but maybe one more night won't hurt. Technically, we haven't started the divorce process yet. Once we do, we have to cut all of the touching off completely.

Good logic, Dia. Not delusional at all.

As soon as the elevator door closes, Dalton leans into me, wrapping his arms around my waist as he presses his lips gently to my neck. It's not a kiss. It's not sexual at all. He's just…holding me. The feeling is foreign at first. I can't remember the last time a man held me without it being part of foreplay or after we got done having sex. Even those instances are few and far between. My instinct is to pull away, but I allow myself to wrap my arms around his neck and hold him back.

It"s just for tonight.

Just as I begin to relax into him, the elevator dings and the doors slide open. Dalton doesn't say a word as he takes me by the hand and leads me down the hall. He stops at a thick mahogany door before tapping a code into the keypad above the handle. When the green light blinks rapidly, he twists the knob and pulls me inside.

His place is exactly what I would expect of a luxury bachelor pad. Everything is dark and modern with silver accents. A large, flat screen TV is mounted on the wall above a sleek electric fireplace. It smells like his cologne and I kind of want to roll around on the carpet, basking in it.

God, who the fuck am I with this sappy shit? Who says that?

"I'm exhausted," Dalton says. "You ready for bed?"

"Yeah, early day tomorrow," I reply. "We should get some real sleep."

He points a thumb over his shoulder. "My room is this way. Do you want to sleep in there with me? If you're not comfortable with it, I have a guest room you can use. You held up your end of the deal in Vegas. You acted as my wife until we left. I'm not going to pressure you into continuing that here."

Honestly, I wish he would. It would make it a hell of a lot easier to act like I hate the idea of being near him if he dragged me kicking and screaming. Instead, I have to figure out how to tell him I want to be in his bed without him thinking I'm softening to the idea of us.

"I mean, technically, we're still married. So, we could sleep in the same bed for tonight. I'll probably get a hotel room tomorrow anyway, since Mads and Blaze will be back. We won't really be able to explain me staying here without telling them everything," I say.

His expression is sullen as he gives me a tight nod before turning down the hall. I follow quietly as he flips on the light switch, revealing his large bedroom. It's literally bigger than my entire apartment back in Chicago. There's a thick black comforter on the king-sized bed. I can see myself falling into it and spending a whole weekend making Dalton bring me snacks while I watch trashy reality TV.

He clears his throat, breaking me from my daydream. "Why don't you hop in the shower really quick and relax your muscles. I'll bring you some clothes and towels."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks," I say, heading toward the ensuite. I don't bother closing the door as I start the shower before peeling off my hoodie and sweatpants, letting them fall to the floor. I turn to see Dalton standing there, unmoving as he takes in my naked body. I give him a small smile, never breaking eye contact, as I open the shower door and step inside. The pressure from the multiple shower heads feels like heaven on my sore body. Traveling always makes me so tired. And after the events of the last forty-eight hours, I desperately need this.

I take a moment to relax, leaning my head forward onto the wall, allowing the hot water to beat against my neck and back. I don"t even register the sound of the door opening and Dalton stepping into the shower behind me until his hands gently run up my arms, stopping on my shoulders. He kneads at the tight muscles, making me moan in relief. He continues massaging me, stepping closer and dropping warm, open-mouth kisses along my jaw. I keep my hands on the wall in front of me, allowing him to continue. I can't help the small moan that leaves me as he digs into a particularly tender spot at the base of my neck, making the tension slowly melt away.

"Relax, sweetheart," he says softly. "I've got you." His tone makes my clit throb with need, but he doesn't lower his hands. He just continues working to loosen the tightness in my body from the long, stressful day. My brain is reeling, unsure of how to act as I realize that he doesn't have any ulterior motives. He didn't come in here for sex. He came in here to take care of me. And all I can think about is how I don't deserve it.

Dalton stops massaging momentarily as he reaches over me, grabbing the body wash from the shelf. He squeezes it into his hands before rubbing it all over my neck and shoulders. He moves down to my back, reaching around and smoothing his hands up my stomach. When he's done there, he continues upward, massaging the minty soap into my breasts. It smells exactly like the stuff I use, which is kind of a weird coincidence.

Fuck, this feels good. My body, which was wound tight just minutes ago, relaxes back into him as he continues moving his hands, making sure every part of me is clean. His erection pokes against my lower back and I'm wondering when he's going to take this thing further, but he doesn't.

He stops, squirting more body wash into his hands before returning them to my stomach and slowly moving downward. "Do you want me to wash down here? Or do you want to do it?" he says into my ear.

I'm at war in my own head, knowing I shouldn't let him touch me anymore, but I can't help myself. I want him to do this for me tonight. I'm exhausted, physically and emotionally. I want to burn this feeling into my brain because I may never have it again.

"You can," I whisper, not stopping him as he reaches between my legs, making sure no part of my body is left untouched.

Dalton takes his time rinsing me with the detachable shower head before quickly washing himself. He doesn't speak as he turns off the water, grabs me by the hand, opens the shower door, and leads me to the counter where two fluffy towels sit. He quickly wraps one around his waist before grabbing the other and drying my entire body. I watch him, completely speechless as he carefully brings the towel around my shoulders before wrapping me into a tight, warm embrace.

Tears prick at my eyes, so I close them tightly, willing them to go away so he doesn't see the effect all of this is having on me. I can't remember the last time a man touched me like this, yet nothing even remotely sexual has happened. I'm used to letting them use my body while I use theirs, then moving on to someone else before we can hurt each other. And that's always been so easy. This type of intimacy with Dalton feels almost uncomfortable, but at the same time, it's like my head and heart aren't on the same page. I'm starting to understand that the reality of this situation isn't going to be as simple as I thought. He's nothing like I expected him to be. The perpetual playboy is already proving to be more caring and selfless than any of the guys I've ever been with, and I just know that letting go is going to change me.

"Let's get you to bed," he says, walking back into the bedroom and pulling back the covers for me. I lay down, completely exhausted in every sense of the word as he rounds the bed, sliding under the covers and pulling my naked body tightly to his. Even with all the thoughts running wild in my head, I drift off feeling safer and more peaceful than I ever have in my whole life.