My Forbidden Guy - Liz Lovelock Page 0,1

a small grin on his face.

“Your new nickname is Chicken,” Parker says.

“Gee, you’re a bunch of children. Chicken? Really? You’re going to have to come up with something better than that.” I roll my eyes at the silly nickname.

Parker shrugs. “You’re stuck with it now, Chicken Little.”

“I can deal with it, Little Bro.” I hold my fingers up, indicating the size of something important to him. The group bursts out laughing.

“Ouch.” Parker holds his hand to his chest. I catch Dane staring in my direction. There’s something in the way he keeps a grip on my gaze. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and cock an eyebrow. He shakes his head, but there’s no way he can hide that smile—the one that makes me want him even more.

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” Dane shifts and I lift my head off his firm chest. I stare into his beautiful chocolate-swirl eyes and run my fingers through his longish hair. Damn, he takes my breath away. His hand comes to my cheek briefly then brushes some stray sandy-blonde strands away from my face. Closing my eyes, I relish the touch.

I lift my chin on my hand resting on his body. “I was thinking about when we first met.”

Dane chuckles. “You acted like this stuttering little schoolgirl.”

“Shut up.” I smack his bare stomach, laughing. He flinches.

Dane becomes silent. His eyes bore into mine. “You captured my heart the moment Parker introduced us. All I can say is that I’m glad you didn’t give up on us, even if it meant keeping things from Parker.” It’s like a rope has been placed around my torso and pulled. The tightness uncomfortable.

I had wanted to tell Parker about us, but after some heated discussions, we both agreed it was best if we didn’t, and now here I am, lying in Dane’s bed, with my brother down the hall. An uneasy heaviness begins to weigh down my stomach.

I open my mouth to respond when voices echo outside Dane’s door. Our heads whip around. The voices become louder.

“He should be up by now,” Parker yells from the hallway. Before I can manage to scramble up, Dane sits and brings me with him. His hands touch my side, and he shoves me off the bed like someone would do to their dirty laundry. The wind leaves my lungs as I face-plant onto the carpeted floor. My cheek stings from the impact. I go to stand and give Dane a piece of my mind when his door flies open. I press my body as close to the floor as I can, even hold my breath, just in case.

If Parker stays at the door, I won’t be seen from where he’s standing. I’m wedged between the wall and the bed.

“Get up. We’ve got training in thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, who could miss you yelling down the hall?” Dane bites back as if he’s just been woken up. Please don’t walk into the room.

“Shut up and get up.” Parker laughs.

The door slams shut, and I bounce off the floor like it’s spring-loaded.

“Sorry,” Dane whispers as he rushes off the bed, his arms open. His brows pinch together, worry glimmering in his eyes.

Holding out my hands, I stop him. “Don’t. Perhaps this—whatever it is—has run its course. I’m not the kind of girl who deserves to be kicked off the bed and forced to hide out on the floor,” I grit through clenched teeth. Saying I’m angry wouldn’t even begin to describe the pulsating rage that burns through my veins. I’m hurt. So hurt and ashamed. I blink furiously, hiding the wetness clouding my vision.

“No, Pais, please don’t do this. I’m so sorry. I panicked.” He grabs my arm, but I shove him in the chest. I pick up my flip-flops and bag off the ground in the corner of the room.

Pulling my bag strap over my head, I turn to Dane. His pained gaze stares back at me.

“Look, yes, I’m pissed and hurt. Maybe you need to think about what it is you really want, and if I’m one of those things. Then, perhaps we need to make this official and tell Parker.”

His eyes widen.

When he remains silent, I say, “I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

Again, he doesn’t say anything and lets me walk out the door.

I dart across to the bathroom opposite Dane’s room. This is usually my escape route.

“Pais?”

I pause mid-step, turning. It’s Addison. I heave a sigh of relief. It’s her.

“What are you doing here?”