Play Rough (Black Rose Kisses #2) - Eva Ashwood Page 0,2

away the sweat. I stand beneath the spray, letting it cascade down my body, head tipped back and eyes closed. If a few tears fall, then at least they’re washed away with the water as it swirls down the drain, and I take the time to clear my head as best I can while I wash up.

After what feels like a long time, I step out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, drying off and wrapping a towel around myself before I walk into the bedroom in search of clothes.

Then I freeze mid-step.

Rory is standing just inside the bedroom door, leaning against the doorframe. He grins as our gazes meet, giving me that same look from downstairs in the gym—only there’s more heat in his green eyes now from catching me in just a towel. He’s shameless, and it’s a sign of just how off my game I am that I don’t even feel mad to see him standing in my room uninvited, staring at me like he wants to devour me.

“I told you to be prepared for the tat,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.

I almost smile at the joke, my lips turning up just a bit at the corners, but it falls flat. I can’t even muster an eye roll like I usually do. Everything in me is screaming at me to act normal and push through the raw emotions churning in my chest before he figures out something is up, but I’m still having a hard time.

And Rory clearly notices. His smile fades, and he looks at me seriously, making a move like he’s going to step closer but then stopping himself.

“What’s going on, Hurricane? I know something’s wrong.” He cocks his head a little, his brows pulling together. “I could tell downstairs. You never let me get away with that much shit.”

I open my mouth to make some rebuttal, but nothing comes out. Shit. That’s not exactly helping. I just shake my head instead, hoping he’ll think I’m just tired or something.

“Mercy,” he presses, finally taking that step forward. “Come on. I’m not stupid. Just tell me what’s up.”

I swallow as I look at him, and he just stares right back, folding his arms in a way that makes it clear he’s not going to budge until I tell him something.

2

Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck.

He looks really worried. I don’t know if I’ve just been doing a bad job of pretending like everything is okay, or if apparently Rory just knows me well enough by now to read when I’m having an off day and realize when there’s something bothering me.

I try not to think too hard about what that means or how it makes me feel. Getting into that mess of feelings isn’t going to do anything but make it harder for me to play the role I need to play here.

But at the same time, I know I can’t just brush him off and tell him I’m fine when he’s standing there looking at me with concern on his face. Usually he’s all easy grins and teasing and flirting, so it’s strange to see him looking so serious, especially when it’s because he’s worried about me.

He came all the way up here to check on me, and I have to say something or he’ll probably get even more suspicious about my attitude.

I sigh and swallow hard, looking at the floor instead of at him because it’s a whole lot easier to contend with the hardwood than the look on Rory’s face.

“I’m feeling kind of… fucked up, I guess,” I admit, licking my lips.

“Did something happen?” he asks, and he’s using that soft voice that means he’s trying to be gentle with me in case something did happen. I don’t know if this makes it better or worse. “Is there anything I can do?”

Goddammit. That part definitely makes it worse.

I can’t tell him the truth—that I watched his friend shoot my dad and I have no idea what he knows about it—so I shake my head, answering both questions at the same time.

“No, it’s just… um…” I lick my lips, my mouth going dry. “It’s that the anniversary of my mom’s death is coming up pretty soon, and I always get kind of down when it comes around.”

That’s not even a lie, really. The anniversary is coming up, and I usually spend a lot of time thinking about her around this time of year. I’ve just been too preoccupied with thinking about Dad and what to