17. Sam

Chapter 17

Sam

I force a smile at the doorman at the Wallingford Hotel as he pulls open the glass door for me.

“I’m a really big fan,” he says in a low voice. “Don’t let all that social media crap rain on your parade. There must be something good about that Brixton Scott if you’re with him.”

Goddammit.

My jaw hurts from trying to keep the smile plastered on my face.

“He’s a good guy,” I reply, my voice strained. “Just going through a hard time right now.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure that hanging around with you is the best medicine.” The doorman grins wider and steps aside so I can pass. I give him a nod and stalk toward the elevators, keeping my head down.

I don’t need any more fans assuring me that I’m not a complete fucking idiot for getting tangled up with Brixton.

Straightening my tie, I spot Rex a few feet away. He’s staring at his phone and shaking his head .

“What has you in such a twist?” I ask, bringing a hand to the stress knot at the base of my skull. It’s going to take a heck of a lot more than a quick massage to relieve the sharp pain shooting down my spine because of it.

“Posts about what happened at the hospital. How it looks like you started with the biker’s brother according to the video clips that’ve been shared.” Rex scrubs a hand down the front of his face. “Jesus Christ, what the hell else?”

“That’s bullshit,” I hiss as the elevator doors open. “The guy came at Brixton with a knife. He had a weapon. Did that show up in any of the videos?”

Rex lifts an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

“Has the team management seen those?” I walk into the elevator and collapse against the back wall.

“I’m sure I’ll get a call if they do.” Rex lets out a deep sigh. “I’m going to say it again, Sam. I get that you want to honor your word, but this is not a great plan.”

“I’m already in it, Rex. Already implicated. What the hell am I supposed to do, other than ride it out?” I want to tell him the truth, to explain my intentions but they’re just too private, especially after what happened between me and Brixton last night. He’s a selfish, self-centered asshole, and even though I detest him right now, I still feel like there’s more to him than he lets on. And that’s the guy I want to help.

So I can’t walk away, even though my mind tells me it’s the smartest move I can make.

“You’re too goddamned principled for your own good,” Rex grumbles.

Yep. No argument there.

The elevator doors open on the third floor where all of the conference rooms are located. Photographers line the hallway, waiting to get the first glimpse of whoever shows up first. By the way they clamor for a shot of me, I guess Brixton hasn’t made an appearance yet.

Leave it to him to keep the drama level as high as possible.

I keep an easy, relaxed smile on my face, trying to not look like I have a pole shoved up my ass while I make my way toward the conference room door. But everything is stiff and tight, and a strange sense of unease makes my stomach knot.

My cell phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out.

“Hey, Chase, what’s up?”

“You didn’t tell me Brixton Scott stayed over last night,” he says. “He came into the kitchen about an hour ago, shirtless. I think he was looking for you.”

“What were you doing at the apartment so late?”

“I was doing some last-minute studying for my practical exam at the hospital.”

I clap a hand against my forehead. “Dammit. I forgot that was today. I figured you’d be out long before he woke up. Didn’t check to see if you were home before I left for practice.”

“Yeah, well, he looked at me like he saw a ghost. He didn’t even say anything to me. Just made a beeline for the front door and took off. What the hell was that all about? It’s like he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.”

I clutch the phone hard in my hand.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Maybe he had to get somewhere.”

“Shirtless?”

“I don’t know.”

“Where are you now?”

I bite the inside of my mouth. “Press conference at the Wallingford. Brixton is going to give a statement about what happened last night.”

Chase pauses. “And you’re there because of the whole fake boyfriend thing?”

Fake boyfriend .

More lies and hidden truths.

Except there was nothing fake about what we did in the guest bedroom last night.

Every moan, every thrust, every tug of his hair.

My skin prickles. I remember every touch. I can still feel him now.

And there is definitely nothing fake about the swirls of lust snaking through my insides right now at the thought of being buried balls deep in his ass.

The elevator doors ding and the paparazzi crowd the doors, waiting for them to open.

“Yeah. I’ve gotta go.” I click to end the call.

When the doors finally part, Ben steps out with the other guys from the band and a couple of bigger guys…security from last night…follow. Then the camera flashes blind me where I’m standing.

Brixton walks out of the elevator by himself with what looks like an incredibly forced smile on his face. My breath hitches as he strides forward, flanked on all sides by his entourage.

He’s not wearing a tie. No shock there. It’s his way of telling the crowds that he’s not sweating any of the bullshit they’re saying about him. He’s going to be himself, no fucks given, and nobody will control him.

The black suit hugs his long, lean frame. He’s got on a white button down open at the collar. It pops against his tan skin. His sexed-up hair hangs over penetrating ice blue eyes, the only pair of eyes that has the power to unravel me and get me to do things I know are bad for me…but so fucking good at the same time.

Ben guides him in my direction. I can’t tear my gaze away from him, and when he finally makes eye contact, everything around me disappears except him. His long strides close the distance between us, and the power he holds over me at this second makes it hard to breathe, impossible to move. I lose myself in those blue pools, so much emotion bubbling in the depths of his heated stare.

He walks right up to me, reaches for the back of my hair, and threads his fingers into it.

With a hammering pulse, I glance at the cameras pointed directly at us then back to Brixton.

He pushes my head toward his so that we’re practically lip to lip.

Suddenly, it looks like he’s trying to kill me with his mind.

What the hell ? —?

He leans in, his lips brushing against my ear. Goosebumps pebble my skin at his nearness.

Fuck, he smells amazing… why do I have to think he smells amazing?

Every nerve is on high alert, my body damn close to spontaneous combustion right about now with the way his fingers caress the back of my neck. He presses his other hand against my chest where my heart is galloping at a crazy pace.

“Um, this is nice, but there are an awful lot of people watching and filming?—"

“Shut the fuck up,” he seethes. I choke on a breath as the hand in my hair tightens and tugs hard. “You didn’t even warn me, you fucking asshole. You knew what it would do to me and you didn’t say a fucking word. You took off and just left me there to deal with it. You vindictive bastard.”

Shit.

“Brixton, I didn’t know. I swear, it wasn’t my plan at all?—"

“The fuck it wasn’t. You’re pissed that you got dragged into this shit so you wanted to hang me out to dry.”

He takes my earlobe between his teeth and bites down, sending sharp tingles straight to my dick .

God, I hate him. He’s so fucking twisted. How could I have ever thought there was more to this guy?

“You’re crazy. I fucking saved your ass twice last night.”

“And after fucking me once, you decided you needed to do it a second time to really drive shit home. You surprised me, Sammy. I didn’t think you had it in you.”

He pulls my hair again and I grit my teeth.

“Don’t worry, though.” He loosens his grip and moves back the slightest bit, a vicious smirk on his gorgeous, demonic face. “I’m gonna take such a sledgehammer to your precious image that you won’t even recognize what you’re trying to protect.”

Then, before I can even respond, he crushes his lips against mine in a deep and demanding kiss that I feel everywhere.

Fuck my life.