by C. Hoover
I nod and gesture toward the restaurant in front of us. “After you,” I say. “Walrus tusks cloud my vision like chocolate pudding.”
She laughs and opens her door. “One-legged tiger sharks are better for you than vegetables.”
“Jon!”
I’m gripping my phone so tight, I wouldn’t be surprised if it crumpled in my hand. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, calming myself, attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt before I completely flip out.
“Jon!”
I finally hear his footsteps bounding up the stairs. My door swings open and he walks into the room. “What the hell is it? I was taking a shit.”
I look down at the GPS report on my phone. “What’s at 1262 Ricker Road?”
He looks up at the ceiling, drumming his fingers against the doorframe. “Ricker Road,” he repeats to himself. “Mostly just restaurants, I think.” He looks down at his phone and types in the address. “Why? We got a delivery?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Sloan’s on Ricker Road.”
Jon cocks his head. “Did your car break down? She need a ride somewhere?”
I roll my eyes. “She doesn’t need a fucking ride, dumbass. She’s on Ricker Road when she should be on campus. I want to know what the fuck she’s doing there and who the fuck she’s with.”
Realization finally dawns on his face. “Oh, shit. You want to go check it out?” He scrolls through his phone some more. “Looks like Italian. Something called Mi Amore.”
I toss my phone across the mattress and stand up, pacing the room. “No,” I say. “It’s half an hour away. Forty-five minutes with traffic. She’ll be gone before we even get there.” I take a deep breath and grip the bridge of my nose between my fingertips, willing myself to remain calm.
If she’s fucking around, I’ll find out. And if I find out, she’s fucking dead. The bastard she’s fucking around with won’t be as lucky.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say to Jon. “Tonight.”
Carter holds the door open for me. It’s the first time I’ve been inside a restaurant in months; I forgot how good they smell.
Thoughts of Asa finding out I’m here keep flashing through my mind, despite doing my best to focus on the fact that I’m just eating lunch. As innocent as I can pretend this is, if Asa found out...
I don’t even want to think about what Asa would do.
The hostess smiles at us, grabbing two menus. “Table for two?”
“Yes, please,” Carter says. “Bananas like boiled water in Reno,” he adds with a straight face.
I bust out laughing. The hostess shoots us both a confused look, then shakes her head. “Follow me.”
Carter reaches down and grabs my hand, pulling me forward. He doesn’t just grab my hand to lead me to our seat; he intertwines his fingers with mine and smiles at me, causing my heart to pound like a kick drum.
Oh, God, this is wrong, wrong, wrong.
When we reach our table and he pulls his hand from mine to take his seat, it literally makes my heart ache, having to let go of his hand. We both scoot into the booth and rest our elbows on the table between us. I look down at his hands...at the one that just held mine. There’s nothing particularly special about his hand. It’s odd how the slightest touch from that simple hand can cause such a disturbance inside of me. It’s just a hand. What the hell is so special about his hand?
“What?” he says. The sound of his voice pulls me out of my trance and I look up at him. His head is tilted to the side and his eyes are focused on mine. Hard. Like he’s attempting to read my mind.
“What?” I ask him in return, feigning ignorance.
He leans back into the booth and folds his arms across his chest. “I was just wondering what you were thinking. You were looking at my hands like you wanted to cut them off.”
I didn’t realize my expression was a dead giveaway. I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks, but I refuse to look embarrassed. I lean back in my booth and scoot toward the wall, so that I’m not sitting directly in front of him. I prop my feet in the seat next to him and cross my ankles, getting comfortable.
“I was just thinking,” I reply.
He props his feet up next to me, crossing them at the ankles as well. I can’t tell if he’s just getting comfortable, or if he’s mimicking me.
“I know you were just thinking. I want to know what you were thinking.”
“Are you always this nosey?”
He smiles. “When it comes to the safety of my limbs...yes.”
“Well, I wasn’t thinking I wanted to cut off your hands, if that makes you feel better.”
He keeps his eyes locked on mine, his head resting casually against the booth. “Tell me,” he says again.
“You’re pushy,” I say, picking up the menu. I hold it up in front of me, blocking the sight of him. His piercing dark eyes are hard to say no to, so I just choose not to look at him at all.
His fingers slide over the top of the menu and he pulls it down, eyeing me, still waiting for an answer. I drop the menu and sigh.
“Internal thoughts are internal for a reason, Carter.”
He narrows his eyes and leans forward in the booth. “Should I not have held your hand? Did that piss you off?”
The sensually smooth sound of his voice alone tickles the inside of my stomach like a feather, but I try to convince myself that I’m just hungry.
“It didn’t piss me off,” I say, still skirting around his demand for answers. The problem I had with him holding my hand was that I liked it. A lot. But I’m not telling him that.
I pull my gaze from his and pick the menu up again. I don’t want to see his reaction. I read the selections on the menu for a while, very aware of the silence poised between us. The fact that he isn’t saying anything is driving me crazy. I can feel him staring, silently challenging me to look at him.
“Can I get a pizza?” I ask, breaking the silence and changing the subject.
“Get whatever you want,” he says, finally picking up his own menu.
“Pepperoni and onions.” I drop my menu back on the table. “And water’s fine. I’m going to the restroom.”
I move to slide out, but his feet are still propped up in the booth next to me, blocking my exit. I’m forced to look up at him, but he’s still staring down at his menu. He slowly pulls one foot off the booth, then the other, a small smile playing on his lips the whole time. I scoot out of the booth and head to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. I press my back to the door and close my eyes, letting out a deep, pent-up sigh.
Damn him.
Damn him for sitting by me in class.
Damn him for showing up at my house.
Damn him for being involved with Asa.
Damn him for bringing me here.
Damn him for holding my hand.
Damn him for being so nice.
Damn him for being everything I wish Asa was, and everything I wish I could have.
I wash my hands no less than ten times, but I can still feel him. I can still feel his fingers laced with mine...the rough skin of his palm pressed against my hand...the way he pulled me behind him, guiding me through the restaurant...the tingle on my palm that won’t go away, no matter how hard I scrub.
I squirt more soap into my hands and wash them for the eleventh time, then work up the nerve to finally exit the bathroom and take a seat back in the booth.
“I figured you’d want some caffeine,” Carter says, pointing to the soda in front of me. He figured right.
Damn him.
I slide the drink closer to me and place the straw between my lips.
“Thanks.”
He props his feet up on my side of the booth, blocking me in again. “You’re welcome,” he says, shooting me a smile that’s on the verge of seductive, and even a little bit cocky. I catch myself staring at his lips for a beat too long, and his smile widens.
“Don’t smile at me like that,” I snap, annoyed that he’s making
this harder on both of us with his subtle flirtations. I force my back against the booth and kick my legs back up into the seat next to him.
The smile disappears from his face and he drops his gaze down to my arms. Anger returns to his eyes when he notices the fading bruises plastered on me like I’ve been branded.
That’s how they make me feel, anyway.
I run my hands up my arms and cover them, suddenly feeling exposed.
“You don’t want me to smile at you?” he asks, a confused expression strewn across his face.
“No,” I say sharply. “I don’t. I don’t want you to smile at me like you like me. I don’t want you to sit next to me in class. I don’t want you to hold my hand. I don’t want you to flirt with me. I don’t even want you to buy me lunch, but I’m too hungry to really care about that one right now.” I bring my drink to my mouth to shut myself up.
He looks down at his glass and runs his hands up it, wiping off the condensation. He slowly inhales, staring down at his glass the entire time, then expels a long, deep breath.
“So, you want me to be mean to you, then?” He looks at me with an expression so cold, I don’t even recognize him. “You want me to treat you like shit? The way Asa treats you?” He leans back in the booth, folding his arms over his broad chest. “Funny. I didn’t peg you as a doormat.”
I return his heated stare with just as much fury. “Funny. I didn’t peg you for a dealer.”
We hold each other’s gazes, refusing to be the one who cracks first.
“I guess I do have that going for me,” he says with a smug grin. “Dealer? Check. Asshole? Check. What else would it take, Sloan? What else do I need to do to get you to fuck me? You want me to slap you around a little bit? Seems to work wonders for Asa.”
His cruel words are like a direct punch to my gut, knocking the breath out of me.
“Fuck you,” I say through clenched teeth.
“No thanks. Apparently I’d have to hit you first, and that’s not my style.”
I bite my lip and hold my breath, fighting back tears. I’ve spent the last year and a half teaching myself how not to cry in front of assholes. I’ve got this.
“Take me back to my car,” I say.
He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. He groans out of frustration, then clasps his hands together behind his neck. “I’ll take you after you eat something.”
I scoot over in the booth until my thigh meets his feet. “I’m not hungry. Let me out.”
He doesn’t move his feet, so instead I pull my legs up and stand up in the booth, then jump over him. I head for the door, never having wanted to get away from someone so quickly in my entire life.
“Sloan,” he calls after me. “Sloan!”
I swing the door open and walk outside—a rush of wind colliding with my face as I gasp for air. I bend over and put my hands on my knees, inhaling through my nose and out my mouth, over and over. When the threat of tears subsides, I straighten up and walk toward his car. The alarm beeps twice and the doors unlock. I turn around, but he isn’t following me—he’s still inside the restaurant.
Damn him. He just unlocked the car for me.
I slam the door as hard as I can after I climb inside. I wait for him to walk outside, but he doesn’t. Several moments pass, and I realize he has no intention of following me. He’s actually going to eat first. He’s an even bigger jerk than I thought.
I grab the baseball cap off the console and put it on my head, pulling it down over my eyes to block the sun. If I have to wait for him to eat lunch before he takes me back to Asa’s car, I might as well get a nap out of it.
“Can we get these to go?” I ask, handing our drinks to the waitress. “And the pizza?”
“I’ll have it right out,” she says. She walks away and I lean forward, dropping my head in my hands.
I have no idea what just got into me. I’ve never let a girl get to me like this. Much less a girl I’m not even dating.
But damn her! She’s so frustrating. I don’t understand how she can be so headstrong and confident when she’s around me, but at her own home she acts like Asa’s fucking doormat.
Then, out of the blue, she accosts me for being nice to her? What the hell? I realize some women are drawn to men like Asa. I’ve been in this career long enough to see that. But Sloan is different. She’s smarter than that. Which is why it’s so damn painful having to sit back and watch it, because I don’t know what’s keeping her there. Even if it’s not my place, I can’t be alone with her like this and not use it as an opportunity to convince her she’s better than this. Although, I’m pretty sure calling her a doormat and saying the shit I said isn’t how to convince her of that.
I’m a fucking idiot.
“Your order is at the counter,” the waitress says, handing me the bill.
I grab it from her and pay it, then head outside with Sloan’s food.
When I approach the car, I pause before opening the door. She’s sitting in the passenger seat with her feet propped up on the dash. She’s got my ball cap on, tugged down over her eyes. Her dark hair is swept over her right shoulder, spilling down over her arms that are folded across her chest.
Seeing her in her red dress the other night messed with my mind so bad, I didn’t sleep all night. But seeing her here...asleep in my car...wearing my ball cap?
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sleep again.
I open the door and she pulls her feet off the dash, but doesn’t pull the ball cap from over her eyes. She shifts her body more toward the passenger door, a move that causes me to wince.
I hurt her. She’s so damaged, and I hurt her even more.
“Here,” I say, holding the to-go cup out to her. She lifts the brim of the cap and looks up at me. I’m surprised to see that her eyes aren’t red. I assumed the hat was to cover up the fact that she was crying, but she hasn’t shed a single tear.
She takes the drink from my hands, so I hold the pizza box out to her. She takes it, and I slide into the driver’s seat. She immediately opens the lid to the pizza and grabs a slice, shoving it into her mouth. She turns the box so that the pizza is facing me, then lifts it to offer me a slice. I take one and start to smile at her, but remember she ordered me not to. Instead, I take a bite of the pizza and start the car.
We don’t speak on the way back to campus. She’s finishing up her third slice when we pull into the parking spot next to her car. She takes a big swig of her soda, then closes the lid to the pizza and places the box in the back seat.
“Take the pizza with you,” I say, my words ripping a hole through the silence and tension built up between us.
She places her drink in the cup holder and pulls off my baseball cap, smoothing back her hair. “I can’t,” she says quietly. “He’ll wonder where I got it.”
She shifts her body toward me and reaches between us into the back seat to grab her backpack. She faces forward again and tucks her backpack underneath her arms.
“I would thank you for lunch,” she says, “but it pretty much ruined my day.” She opens the car door and rushes out before I can process her words. When her door slams behind her, I kill the engine and get out of the car.
“Sloan,” I say, walking around my car until I reach her. She throws her backpack inside and shuts her back door. She opens the driver-side door and uses it as a barrier between us.
“Don’t, Carter,” she says, refusing to look up at me. “Don’t apologize. You made your point, but I’m too pissed to listen to apologies right now. So just don’t.”
She can tell me not to apologize all she wants, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting her get in that car before I say my peace.
“I’m sorry,” I say anyway. “I shouldn’t have said those things. You didn’t deserve that, but dammit, Sloan! You’re better than this. Give yourself some credit.”
She refuses to look at me when I speak, so I run my hand under her chin and tilt her face up to mine. She darts her eyes to the right,
still stubbornly refusing to make eye contact. I squeeze between her door and my car and make my way around until she’s directly in front of me. I take her face in both hands, desperate for her to look at me. I need her to listen to what I have to say.
“Look at me,” I plead, keeping a firm hold on her face. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”
She continues to keep her eyes locked on mine while a lone, thick tear trickles down her cheek. She wipes it away with the back of her hand before I have a chance to.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve heard that same, uniform apology.”
My hands are still on her face and she’s looking at my chest, avoiding my eyes. I try to lift her face to mine, but she refuses to budge.
“It’s not the same, Sloan. You can’t compare me to him.”
She tilts her eyes up to the sky and laughs, trying to hold back more tears. “You’re no better than he is. The only difference between the two of you is that nothing Asa has ever said to me has hurt as much as what you said today.” She pulls my hands away from her face and climbs into her car. She reaches for the door handle and looks back up at me. “You’re no different, Carter, so don’t you dare judge me. Go save someone else.” She pulls the door shut and I’m forced to take a step back. I watch as she completely breaks down inside the car. She doesn’t look at me again, but I can see the tears spilling down her cheeks as she pulls away.
“I’m sorry,” I say again as I watch her drive away.
After everything I’ve done for her—after everything I’m doing for her—she better have one hell of a good excuse for putting me through this.
She’d be nothing if it weren’t for me. I took her in when she had nowhere else to go. If it weren’t for me, she would have had to crawl back to her crack-whore mother. Just based on the things she’s told me about her childhood, she’s way better off with me and she knows it. A mother who brings home a new sleazy husband every other month? I’d like to see her go back to that shit.
But if she’s fucking around, that’s the first place I’ll drop her off. I’ll be the first one to shove her right through her crack-whore mother’s front door—back into a trailer full of rotating step-fathers who get off on hiding in her closet while she changes clothes.
