Filthy English (31 page)

I looked at Dax. His hair was tousled, the strands a mess as if he raked his hands through it a dozen times. “I just wanted to say hi. I didn’t hear you come in last night.”

He leaned back in his chair. Cool. “Stayed at the frat. You know how it is. Lots going on.”

“Oh, a party?” I asked, trying to appear unconcerned.

“Yeah. Off the chain. You should have been there.”

Axel shot him a quick look, as if surprised by his answer.

So did the little sisters. They shrugged and went back to writing.

“I wasn’t invited,” I stated.

Dax shrugged. “Just Taus—no one else.”

Oh.

A few beats of silence went by, and slowly but surely I realized it was becoming weird—me standing here and no one talking.

Axel jumped in. “We, uh, we’re studying for a psych class. Already got a term paper assignment. Trying to get a jump on things before things get crazy.”

“Oh, that’s smart,” I said, my eyes searching for something to land on. Anything except Dax. He didn’t want me here.

Everyone stared at me expectantly. Waiting.

Was it my turn to talk?

No. I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t pretend with him anymore. Not now.

Giving up, I swallowed, said a hasty goodbye, and fled.

Reaching the end of the hall, I turned the corner and leaned against a wall of books, feeling out of breath for no good reason.

Dax was breaking my heart. He was beautiful and broken, not able to see what I could see. And just glimpsing him at a table with other girls, obviously studying, made me bonkers. It was freshman year all over again, only magnified by a million.

Steadying myself, I walked downstairs, found Lulu, and dropped down next to her with a groan.

She flicked her eyes up at me from over a magazine. “What’s eating you? I thought you loved it upstairs with all the musty old books.”

“Dax is up there.”

“And this is a problem?”

“He didn’t come home last night. He had a party at the frat.”

She grimaced. “That’s what he does, Remi. You knew this about him a long time ago.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

I fiddled with my phone. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? Maybe get a beer at Cadillac’s.”

Her eyebrows went sky high. “On a Tuesday? It’ll be dead.”

“Not the first week of school. Come on. I need to blow off some steam.”

She slapped down the magazine. “As long as there’s no tequila involved, I’m down with that.”

On Wednesday, I woke up with a hangover.

I took a long shower, praying the hot water would work its magic on me.

Coming downstairs, I plodded into the kitchen wearing my nightdress. Nothing had changed. No glasses in the sink. No dishes on the counter. I peeked in his bedroom and the bed was still made. No evidence that I had a roommate.

Dax showed up for zoology, but instead of taking the seat next to me like he had on Monday, he aimed for the middle next to a couple of pretty girls. He sent me a polite nod, and I wanted to scream at him.

He bolted from class when the professor dismissed us, and I followed him out in the hall. “Dax?”

He halted and turned to face me. “Hey.”

His casual words didn’t fool me. The barrier he carried to protect himself was already in place.

“You haven’t been home much.”

Concern etched his face and he came in closer. “You’re not scared there alone are you?”

“No.” I nibbled my thumbnail.

“What’s wrong?” His eyes searched mine.

“I miss you.” I said the words honestly, not caring.

He whitened. “Please don’t say that. You can’t.”

Blood left my face, and I closed my eyes, digging deep to find a tiny piece of strength to walk away from him.

Why are you still standing here, Remi?

Don’t you have any pride?

How much will it take for you to leave him alone?

The answer burned in my head—so simple and easy, like beautiful things usually are.
I loved him.

There are no coincidences in life, only fate pushing you toward one another.

He was my imperfect soul mate, and every tiny thread in the universe had stitched my heart to his, piecing us together, fashioning us into something that was, in my mind, absolutely perfect.

The broken ticker in my chest knew it.

My bomb-ass brain knew it.

I suspected he knew it.

I was crazy for him, always had been, and it was never going to change. Even when I’d been with Hartford, the majority of my heart had belonged to Dax. Oh, I’d ignored it for three years, shoving it down deep, constantly reminding myself of how he’d hurt me. He’d been too young then. He hadn’t been ready. Maybe he still wasn’t ready—but my love?—it was wild and crazy and wicked with a filthy need for him. I craved him, body, soul, and mind.

I don’t think I’d want to live if he died.

I don’t think I could carry on without knowing he was breathing.

Like a piece of carefully folded paper that’s been hidden away but is now opened, I saw everything clearly. The truth had been right in front of me the entire time.

He was mine; I was his. Nothing would ever change that.

I opened my eyes when the sound of a phone vibrating brought me back. It was Dax’s.

He didn’t notice, his eyes on my face, as if mesmerized by what he saw.

“That’s your phone,” I finally said as it continued to shake, the sound coming from his backpack.

He opened his backpack and checked it. Looked back at me. “It’s Declan. He’s waiting for me to come to the gym. I have to go.” He didn’t look like he wanted to go, a torn expression on his face.

“Then go.” I pushed a piece of hair out of my face, and his eyes widened.

He dropped his book bag. “Where’s your ring?” he barked.

“I gave it back to Hartford. I—I wanted to tell you, but there hasn’t been a good time. You’re never home—”

“Remi.” His voice was low. Gravelly. “Why didn’t you tell me? Text me? Something?”

“I’m telling you now. Here.”

He sucked in a shuddering breath and swallowed, his throat working to form words. “I’ll—I’ll be home tonight.”

Around two, Malcolm texted me a pic of him holding a can of Ragu.

I want spaghetti. Mom says she’ll bring me and the groceries if you’ll cart me back tonight.

I grinned.

We just had it a few days ago. Don’t you get sick of it?

Look who you’re talking to. I have a one-track mind. I like what I like,
he typed.

You know how to get what you want that’s for sure,
I said.

Send me a pic of you.

I took a selfie of me with a crazy expression on my face and my tongue hanging out.

You look like dad.

I laughed.

See you soon.

Mom and Malcolm arrived around four. She hadn’t seen the place yet, so I gave her the tour. She asked where Dax was, and I told her he was rarely around. She didn’t know Dax was the guy from freshman year, and I didn’t tell her. There was no reason to.

But I did tell her about Hartford. She let out a long sigh, but accepted it along with the promise she could hook me up with her boss’s son.

I laughed.

She left to head to work, and Malcolm and I played a quick game of Scrabble while the sauce and noodles cooked.

Dax came in the back door. He was sweaty, wearing athletic shorts and a white wife-beater. Obviously he’d been working out. He ran his eyes over me, his gaze lingering on my bare left hand, a strange intensity in his eyes.

“Hey, bro,” he said to Malcolm as they greeted each other.

“Is that my sister’s name on your chest?” he asked, cocking his head as he peered at Dax’s chest.

Oh. I hadn’t noticed you could see part of his tattoo, too caught up in the fact that
he was here.

Had he worn that to the gym?
He was showing people?

My heart fluttered.

I busied myself checking the stove.

Malcolm walked over and got in Dax’s personal space to get a better look, taking in the top of the flag and the bottom of my name that disappeared under his shirt. Dax didn’t seem to mind.

“Will you take off your shirt?” Malcolm asked.

Dax looked at me, shrugged, and pulled his shirt off.

Like mine, the redness of the image had healed leaving only a vibrant flag, and my name written in black.

My eyes popped at the hard muscles of his pecs, the tanned skin of his six-pack, the deep V that tapered down to his hips. He looked even bulkier than in London.

Malcolm glanced at me. “Did you know this?”

“She has one too,” Dax said, stalking around the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge. He chugged it, eyes on me, making me squirm.

Malcolm cocked his head, studied me, and then checked out Dax’s face. A flicker of understanding dawned. “Oh. I get it. You two like each other. You’re probably having sex.”

Dax spit out a mouthful of water then grabbed a dishtowel to get it up off the floor.

“Malcolm, remember those conversations that aren’t your business? This is one of those,” I said sternly.

Dax rose back up from cleaning the water.

“Are you mad at me for saying inappropriate things?” he asked Dax, a dip in his shoulders.

“No, dude. Not at all.”

Malcolm nodded. “Good. Then tell me what it’s like to get a tattoo.”

“Sure.” They sat down at the table as I stayed at the stove, listening as Dax described the process, how long it takes to heal, and if it hurts. Malcolm had a million questions, and Dax answered each one, describing the shop where we’d gone and the different images he’d seen people get. He showed him his dragonfly, turning his bicep so Malcolm could peer down at it and trace over it.

“Remi loves flying things,” he mused, glancing at me. “She tried to beat me at Scrabble with
quail
but I got her with
Xerox
.”

“Good job.” Dax laughed. “Once I beat my brother Declan with
Xylol
. He claimed it wasn’t a real word, so I pulled the dictionary out and proved it. It’s some kind of volatile hydrocarbon apparently. I won, and to this day he still doesn’t know that it was a total Hail Mary. Now I refuse to play with him, so I can say I won the last game.”

Malcolm laughed and wandered off to watch television while I finished everything up on the stove.

“Do you want to eat with us?” I asked, at the sudden silence in the kitchen.

He walked over and stood next to me, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. He studied me intently like he always did.

“Stop staring at me,” I said. “You’re making me paranoid and it’s kinda creepy.”

He spun me around and pinned me against the counter. “Is it really over?”

I didn’t have to ask what he was talking about.

“Yes.”

“Why?” His voice was raw.

I touched his lips, wanting them on mine. A few beats of silence went by.

He groaned.
“Remi, just say it.”

“Because he’s not
you
. I want you.”

He inhaled sharply, fear on his face. “Remi, don’t you see—
you don’t need me.
You need a guy like him. I can’t be what’s on your list. I don’t have a plan after college. I’m not responsible. I live from day to day. Hell, I don’t even know if I can sell this house.”

My eyes softened. “For you, I don’t have a list. I don’t need one. You check all my boxes, Dax.”

He let me go and stalked around the room, his hands all over the place as he spoke. “Every fiber of me
wants
to believe what you say. I’ve pictured us a million times, but in the end you leave me for someone who’s got his shit together—like fucking Hartford. I can’t watch someone I—I . . .” He stopped and exhaled. “You’re the only girl who’s ever walked away from me.
Ever.
You went out my frat bedroom door, and you never looked back.
You were pregnant and you never looked back.
”

“We aren’t those people anymore,” I said, watching him pace.

He strode back over to me, eyes flashing. “The thing is, I don’t think I
could ever
leave you, Remi.”

“Dax, please.” His voice was breaking me. I didn’t understand.

“Since your dad died, you’ve gotten it in your head what kind of man you need to be happy.
I’m not it
.” He paused. “And now you decide I’m the one. I can’t . . .” He let me go, grabbed his shirt off the counter, and slipped it back on. “I—I need a break from this.”