I level him with a look because we both know he can be much dirtier than that.
Wanting to inspire his creativity, I slowly trail a hand between my breasts before squeezing one. My other hand slips inside the waistband of my pajamas.
Phoenix’s eyes track the movement, causing my nipples to pucker against the thin fabric.
“And then I’m going to tie you up, spread you open, and taste you until you come all over my fucking face.” He crooks a finger. “Get over here.”
Shaking my head, I mouth, ‘Chandler.’
Phoenix looks like he wants to straight-up murder me before he grits out, “Chandler.”
“Do you want to send this text to Chandler?” a robotic voice asks.
“Yes,” I say.
“Message sent.”
He tosses his phone on the bed. “Just for that, I’m gonna dare you to let me do everything I just said.”
As tempting as that is, I’m on a mission. Sadly, I have to endure one more round before I can accomplish it.
“It’s your turn.”
Phoenix starts to speak, but then my phone rings.
I blanch when I see Chandler’s name flash across the screen.
I clear my throat before I pick up. “Hello?”
“Phoenix is drunk again,” Chandler gripes, sounding extra crabby. “Keep an eye on him tonight and make sure he stays out of trouble.”
It takes everything in me not to crack up. “Sure thing.”
“And take his goddamn phone away,” he bites out. “The last thing I need is him texting Vic Doherty that he wants to tie him up and taste him.”
Bringing his fist to his mouth, Phoenix bites his knuckle, stifling a snicker.
“Got it.”
The moment Chandler hangs up, I can’t contain my laughter, and neither can he.
The husky sound fills the room and, just like his voice, it’s hypnotic and magnetic. I could listen to it on repeat every day and never get sick of it.
“Guess being a drunk has its perks after all.”
I wipe the water leaking from my eyes as I picture Chandler’s face reading that text. “Evidently.”
After a beat, Phoenix’s demeanor turns serious. “Truth or dare?”
I steel myself because I know what’s coming. “Truth.”
“What were you doing at Obsidian?”
Here goes nothing.
“Three weeks before the end of my second year at Dartmouth, I received a call from Mrs. Palma. My dad was acting strange, and they took him to the hospital. Long story short, they ran a bunch of tests and diagnosed him with early-onset dementia.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I ended up leaving college early to take care of him. However, being a freelancer meant he—we—had to pay for his medical expenses out of pocket.”
“I used what was in his savings account and retirement fund to take care of most of the medical debt and pay off the house…and cover my last semester’s tuition because my dad forgot to send them a check. Anyway, I got a job at a restaurant, but I wasn’t making enough money to cover our living expenses. So, I started working at Obsidian…as a bartender.”
His expression morphs to one of sadness. “I…shit.”
I don’t want or need his pity. “It’s fine.”
He inhales through his nose before exhaling sharply. “I wish you had reached out.”
I can’t hold back my laughter, although unlike before, it’s devoid of any humor.
“And say what? Hey, Phoenix. Remember me? The girl you screwed over. Mind cutting me a check for that song you stole?” Anger races over my skin, followed by a sharp kick of sorrow to my rib cage. “We both know you never had any intention of seeing or talking to me ever again, let alone helping me. The only reason I’m standing here now is because of Storm and Chandler.”
Falling silent, he plucks the cigarette tucked behind his ear and lights it.
“This is a non-smoking room,” I remind him, but as usual, he doesn’t give a fuck.
Because he’s Phoenix Walker.
He does whatever he wants without consequence.
Must be nice.
Gritting my teeth, I open the window, hoping to get some of the smoke out. “Truth or dare?”
“I went to Dartmouth,” he rasps, his voice barely above a whisper.
His admission nearly knocks me off my feet. “When?”
Bringing his cigarette to his lips, he takes a long drag. “A little over a year and a half after I left Hillcrest.” A trail of smoke leaves him in a harsh exhale. “Sharp Objects blew up, and I knew there was no way you hadn’t heard the song. Part of me kept hoping you’d hunt me down and scream at me…but you didn’t.”