DASH
Dash growled at the vomit on his shoes.
The thing was, he’d just showered. Like, he’d been in the shower and enjoying a post-workout scrub and tug, to be honest. He’d soaped up his hands, grabbed his dick, and thought about his head between a woman’s thighs, licking his way up while being watched. He was all about eyes. Give him eyes that sizzled like hot pavement in the dead of summer. Eyes that crinkled at the edges with mischief. A woman who could give him a single look and make him hers. He hadn’t had sex in eighteen months, and while he didn’t have much sexual tension with anything these days, beating out any lingering needs never hurt.
But then he’d heard his phone ping, then ring, and when he looked at the caller ID he was nervous because Poppy only called when it was an emergency. So he’d turned off the water, quickly towel-dried, and answered.
He hadn’t intended to be gone for more than a few minutes to check on Sophie, but now he was still holding her elbow to make sure she didn’t crumple to the ground like a slinky. And then, of course, there was the vomit. Which was just…not great!
Sophie’s head lifted, and her dry, bloodshot eyes met his. “I’m so, so sorry.” Her painted nails flashed like bright red warning signs as she wiped at the corners of her mouth.
Even though he didn’t want to spend another minute in this situation, he couldn’t just leave her there. He was going to have to help her back inside because, with her shaky legs, she looked about as stable as a Chihuahua in a wind tunnel.
“Do you think you can walk?”
She shook her head no. “I just need to stop moving for a minute, if that makes sense?”
He let out a resigned sigh. “Sit here. I’ll get you some water.”
“Can you make it a coconut water, please?” She looked up at him. “Extra electrolytes. Thank you!”
She’d clearly been spending way too much time with his health-nut sister. He cocked his head in an intentionally mocking way. Then he quickly moved up the steps, through the open front door, and into her place.
Well, his place, legally speaking. But as he eyed the potted ponytail palm, the framed photos of clementines over the gas fireplace, and the honey-lemon couch in the center of the room, he realized this wasn’t really his anymore. The guesthouse was sunshine—unrecognizable from when he’d first rented the plain one-bedroom to her. He couldn’t say he appreciated all of Sophie’s choices—he was pretty sure an IKEA kitchen table was threatening to disintegrate from the weight of a stack of notebooks—but this wasn’t his space to decorate.
And he couldn’t linger for too long, as Sophie was waiting. So he walked to the kitchen, went to the sink, and cleaned up with paper towels. His shirt was another matter, so he decided to just take it off. Dash carefully peeled the shirt over his head, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in the trash.
In the kitchen, she’d installed a twee, retro-looking fridge, but the only food inside was a half-eaten wheel of Manchego cheese. There was, however, an abundance of water options—sparkling, mineral, and coconut, which he grabbed a bottle of.
As he walked toward the door again, she was not sitting in the grass, as he’d instructed. Instead, she stood at the top of the steps with her body pressed against the pillar for support. Apparently, she hadn’t listened to him at all.
“Dash…what happened to your shirt?” She smiled, a cocked little thing that raised one side of her mouth and revealed a very pronounced canine tooth, like a demented hungover vampire. He’d occasionally found that smile charming, but today? Not as much.
“Someone puked on it.” He gave her a tight nonsmile back.
A hot wind whipped across the porch and her dress opened slightly to reveal a sliver of freckles that trailed between her breasts.
He coughed and looked away. Part of the problem was that Dash had always found Sophie attractive. Before renting to her, he’d met Sophie through Poppy a handful of times, and every time, he inevitably noticed something kind of tempting about her. Like, when she genuinely laughed, it was loud and uncontrolled and caused people to turn and stare. And perhaps it was a little weird, but he liked the scar on her chest and always wanted to ask her how she got it—he knew there was a story there. Not to mention that she wore these light, flowing dresses that clung to her whenever there was so much as a slight breeze…
But despite all those little details he continued to notice, he knew that he had to keep his distance from Sophie Lyon. Because not only was she his tenant but also his sister’s very best friend in the whole world. And his sister didn’t have a lot of close friends. None of the Montrose children did, because of who their family was. And he wasn’t about to mess up the one true connection Poppy had just because he thought Sophie was kind of cute.
“You’re dehydrated,” he quickly said, clearing away any lingering thoughts. “Here’s your papaya water.”
“Coconut water,” she corrected. “But thank you.” She reached for the bottle, and their hands met. Despite the heat outside, her fingers were icy cold.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re not usually this…messy.” He couldn’t think of a better word for what she was in that moment, but he still winced as he said it. “What happened?”
She let out a pitiful little laugh, then unscrewed the cap and took a small sip. “Well, my life is over. Like, I will probably never work again, and I’m totally embarrassed, and I can no longer go to karaoke bars. And I love karaoke, so it’s kind of tragic… Did you see the video of me?”
“I did.” He’d watched it over Sophie’s shoulder right before she let out the scream of an angry banshee. Not that he blamed her. She’d gone viral while drunk and shouting that love wasn’t real. How many times had he been wasted and done things he couldn’t remember?
“Are you going to make a response video or something?” Dash tried to be helpful, as TikTok was something he actually knew a bit about. “People would eat that up.”
“A response video?” She swallowed loudly. “Maybe I’m just really hungover, but I feel like you’re not using words correctly.” She rubbed the back of her hand across her forehead.
Why had he said anything? He didn’t need to be doling out advice, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Just tell people your side of the story. And make sure to add hashtags. Those are important.”
Sophie frowned. “The thing is, I don’t really have my own side of the story. What I said is true—I’ve never been in love.”
“So I heard,” he said jokingly, but she just carried on talking.
“And I can’t seem to finish my next book because I can’t figure out how to give my characters a happily-ever-after.” She blew air through her lips. “Sorry, I know I talk a lot.”
She talked a lot and kind of quickly. But Dash wasn’t comfortable with people who just unzipped their issues and spilled their feelings all over the place. He found that a lot of actors had this quality. Being on camera meant you were required to be able to tap into a range of emotions at the word Action! But he’d never gotten used to the immediate openness of his former job. Dash was more of a tin can when it came to feelings: tightly sealed, hard around the edges, and not worth the effort.