by Kata Čuić
It didn’t occur to me how little sleep he must be getting between the fights every weekend, probably training harder at the gym, keeping up with classes, and working his already insane hours. “Why are you sleeping here? You have a perfectly good bed downstairs. In your apartment.”
This is how it should have been. The three of us cozied up and relaxing on a lazy Sunday. Having them both in my space now makes me want to throw up. There’s only so much faking life I can do in a week. After last night’s drinking binge, I don’t think I have it in me to play nice.
“There’s a woman in my bed who refuses to leave,” he mumbles.
His admission further assaults my fragile grasp on control. I don’t want him in my bed after he’s been with another woman all night any more than I wanted to be the other woman to Kieran.
“Don’t worry about it.” Rosie sits up, dipping her chin to avoid eye contact. “I’ll get her out.”
“If this revolving door keeps up, I’m moving in with Emma. At least she’ll leave me alone when I need it.”
I mime an owl, swiveling my head and blinking my too-wide eyes. I’m not sure whether he means that as a compliment or an insult. “What the hell is going on? Why are you two here?”
Jason rolls his head to face me. “You’re supposed to be having a team meeting. If you’ve made up, I’ll stay awake long enough to watch you kiss.”
Like a bad habit I’m not ready to break, I punch his shoulder. The idiot only laughs at my effort.
“No one is making up or making out. Go back to your apartment. I’m no longer a part of your team, remember?”
Jason aims a cocked eyebrow toward the foot of the bed where Rosie’s gaze darts around the room. “Ro? Did you forget your mission this morning?”
“No,” she hedges, then coughs. “I’m sorry, Emma. All right?”
“Sorry for what?” Jason prompts before my brain has even caught up to her words.
Rosie chucks my throw blanket at him like a missile. “Jesus, I’m not a kindergartener who needs you to tell me what to do.”
“Then act like it.” He glares at her. The whole moment is a complete contrast to the night Kieran met them here.
“I’m sorry for not telling you I’m a lesbian sooner. I’m sorry I was texting Jason behind your back. And,” she heaves a deep breath, “I’m sorry you were a replacement for what I could never have with Hayleigh.”
The shock of her admitting what I figured out for myself pins me to my own headboard. I didn’t think I was wrong, I just hoped… Being right isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Tears well in my eyes. I bite my lip until I taste copper to tamp down my emotions. The last thing I need is for anyone, especially the people who betrayed me so completely, to see any weakness from me.
A large hand clamps down on my thigh. “M’sorry, too,” Jason mumbles, already half asleep but fighting to keep his eyes open. “Hurts.”
He loses the battle as silence descends around us. It’s not soft and comfortable, but sharp, piercing, and nothing I associate with friendship. The warmth of his touch spreads through me like a fever taking hold—slowly at first, then with gaining momentum until my entire body burns in the aftermath. My lower lip trembles, so I glance down to avoid Rosie’s stare.
Jason’s fingers are black and blue, the knuckles swollen and scabbed over. The sight of his injuries snaps me out of my misery. This, I can do. It’s much easier to focus on solving a problem rather than self-pity.
I pry his hand loose, then search in my bathroom for everything I’ll need. Rosie remains quiet, watching as I disinfect and bandage Jason’s hands. She stays on the bed with him as I retrieve ice packs from the freezer.
He sleeps through it all, soft snores the only soundtrack to my work. Not even the ice packs make him flinch. His body remains prone, face plastered against my pillow. A tiny wet spot on the fabric indicates he’s drooling. It’s almost cute, but that’s not what strikes me at the moment.
How can he be relaxed enough to leave himself completely open to attack in my bed? For the past month, his main worry has been retribution for losing his cool and starting a fight that got us all into this mess. He’s made it perfectly clear he trusts no one, least of all me.
Maybe he’s able to sleep from a combination of sheer exhaustion and Rosie’s protecting presence.
The thought makes me gag. I pick up the bag of Danishes and march to the kitchen, intent on depositing them in the trash. He probably spit in the filling. Another sweet little revenge.
Rosie’s hot on my heels. Frustration rolls off her until she finally can’t hold her tongue. “So, that’s it? You’ll forgive him, but not me? He didn’t even say what he was sorry for like I did!”
The pastry bag makes a satisfying thump as it meets the bottom of my garbage can. I dump out the full pot of freshly brewed coffee next. Jason might have tampered with it, too.
As much as I hate his paranoia rubbing off on me, I’m not about to take any chances.
“Oh.” My actions must be proof enough for her that I haven’t accepted anyone’s apologies.
“Asking for forgiveness isn’t the same as seeking absolution for your guilty conscience. Just because you confessed doesn’t mean anything.”
“What do you want from me?” Rosie throws her arms in the air, her shout echoing off the cabinets. “I can’t undo the past!”
“I wish I could,” I mutter. If only I’d known then what I know now, maybe none of us would be in this mess. Even though hindsight is twenty-twenty, there’s no way for me to determine which lynchpin started the dominoes into motion. Was it befriending Jason? Pledging SST? Accepting Kieran’s offer?
I wouldn’t do any of it for a chance at a different outcome.
“You regret it.” Rosie’s eyes widen in understanding. “That’s why you used being a virgin as a reveal. You wish it was a truth.”
I sigh, bracing my hands on the counter. Memories of the last time I did this, sandwiched between Kieran and Jason, flood my mind. “We all live our own truths. This is mine. Like you said, we can’t undo the past. I’m trying to learn from my mistakes and do better.”
“Does that mean you’ll forgive me?” The hesitance in her voice catches me off guard.
She’s changed, too. I’ve seen it all along. Nothing about her is the same as it used to be—not her style, not her confidence, not her social habits.
I don’t want to go so far down this rabbit hole, I become someone unrecognizable. I don’t want to become the kind of person who’s hurt me so much. “Yeah. I forgive you.”
She lurches forward, her arms spread wide.
I put a hand up to stay her advance. “I forgive you, Rosie. That doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“Okay.” She nods rapidly, inhaling a sharp breath. “Yeah. That makes total sense. I’ll earn it back. Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you the truth.”
Shock overtakes me, and water spills out of the carafe I was filing, sloshing over my hand. I didn’t expect her to agree, let alone be so excited for the chance to prove herself. We stare at each other. Her, eager and practically bouncing on her toes. Me, still shocked.
Jason’s snores float in from the bedroom. Which gives me a brilliant idea.
Since it’s the cause of all this, anyway… “What did you blackmail Jason with to get him to come to that first party?”
Rosie’s mouth gapes. She opens and closes it several times. “Oh, shit. You went in for the kill without any buildup. I’m not prepared.”
“That’s fine.” I go about making more coffee, surprised I’m thinking so clearly before even a sip of the stuff. “I’ll wait.”
“I can’t tell you that,” she whines. Loudly. “This isn’t fair. That’s something you need to ask him.”
My brain might be firing on all cylinders, but my patience is wearing dangerously thin. Especially after being ambushed in my own apartment while dealing with a raging hangover. “You have a minute to answer.”
I’m not even sure why I’m being so magnanimous. It’s not like she’ll tell me the truth, anyway. She clearly doesn’t want to come clean about this.
Rosie groans, then straightens her spine, crossing her arms over her chest. Like my ultimatum suddenly brings back her old confident personality. “I’m not going to tell you. Number one, it’s not my place. You need to ask Jason. Number two, even if I do tell you, your trust isn’t going to magically fall into place after one lousy confession. It was stupid of me to think it might.”
I raise my eyebrows at her tantrum. She isn’t wrong.
“I have to go get that chick out of the apartment, anyway. Jason hates randoms being in his space.”
“Then maybe he shouldn’t invite them there!”
Rosie chuckles as she heads for the door. “You think you have everything all figured out, don’t you? I can’t tell if you’re brilliant or stupid. The jury’s still out.”
“Eat dirt, Rose Marie Kavanagh.”
Is it childish? Yes. Does it make me feel better? Slightly.
The door slams shut behind her, leaving me with only one more problem: the man sleeping in my bed.
I slap my laptop closed as the sound of my bedroom door creaking open permeates the silence. Jason groans as he trudges toward the kitchen. “Did you drink all the coffee?”
“Yes.” I smile to myself. It was delicious and not at all tampered with.
The faucet turns on, and he bangs around, making himself right at home.
I watch with narrowed eyes. He has some nerve.
“Fuck.” He winces as he reaches for the filters, then drops his arm, cradling his side.
I’m out of my seat in an instant, anxiety dulling the edges of my annoyance. “Take off your shirt.”
He faces me, a lascivious smirk on his lips. “Don’t you mean pants?”
My face must crinkle in confusion because he explains. “If you’re going to offer me a blow job, then I need to remove my pants, not my shirt. I’ll accept your offer in lieu of an apology.”
I thought my hangover was ebbing, but the urge to vomit grips me. “What would I be apologizing for, pray tell?”
“For hours of lost sleep when you’d show up at my apartment after your fuck fests. For presuming you have any say about who I text or who I’m friends with. For not staying out of this when I told you to. For going behind my back and plotting with King.”
I get up in his face as much as our height differences allow. “Hurts, doesn’t it? How dare you assume I should apologize for going behind your back when you’ve been doing the same to me for years. When I gave Rosie the chance to make amends and tell me what she could possibly have blackmailed you with to make you come to the Fall Opener Party, she walked away rather than tell me. If you don’t like secrets, then maybe you shouldn’t be hiding so many.”
He pales—as much as he can, anyway. Just as quickly, he leans down to me, that infuriating smirk back in place. “You don’t want to know everything as much as you think you do.”
I place a hand on my chest, faking a gasp. “Oh. Maybe I shouldn’t offer to blow you, then. I might discover the reason you’re an insufferable asshole.” I reach on my tiptoes until my lips could brush against his if I wanted, then whisper, “Small penis syndrome.”
Jason’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. He straightens abruptly, staring at me with a blank expression for several heartbeats.
Just when I think I might be onto something, he tilts his head back and laughs. The noise jolts me. I haven’t heard him laugh like this since the night Rosie whispered in his ear at the poker table. It’s a beautiful, loud, boisterous sound.
“Ow,” he chuckles, but favors his side again as he comes down from his high. “Fuck, that hurts.”
“It won’t emasculate you to take off your shirt. I’ve seen what’s under there before at the fights,” I remind him, my mind spinning with worry.
He shoots me a much more typical deadpan glare before peeling his tee off, wincing as he lifts his arms.
I stifle the gasp threatening to alert him how bad his injuries might be. His right side is covered in deep bruises. My gaze flicks over his torso, taking stock of every change in color from his tan skin, any potential swelling beyond the curve of his musculature. I walk around to his back, examining him from all angles.
“I honestly thought he had a chance,” Jason guffaws. “He got a couple good hits in I wasn’t expecting. It was an actual fight last night, not just me trying to keep the audience coming back for more.”
And to think, I missed it. Darn.
He jumps when I press my hand to his ribs.
“I need to feel if anything’s broken.” Although, my fingers won’t detect a fracture. Only an X-Ray could do that. Even a hairline can turn into a punctured lung if he fights next weekend.
“Don’t lick me again to check,” he whispers. “I wouldn’t want you to be offended by my tiny erection.”
I pause my movements. “Lick you again?”
“You really were drunk last night. You don’t remember, do you?”
Renewed horror washes over me. What I do recall is bad enough. “I didn’t.”
“You did,” he assures through more wincing laughter. “Something about a pastry bath.”
My shoulders slump with relief. That doesn’t sound so bad.
“I need you to take a deep breath and tell me if it’s only surface pain or something sharper.” I press my hand against the blackest bruise, feeling only sinew and smooth bone beneath my touch.
“Surface,” he grinds out.
I step back, satisfied he isn’t in any immediate danger. “You can’t do this every week. These bruises will take a while to heal, and they might go all the way to your ribs. If you fight again before you’re a hundred percent, you could break something.”
“Thank you for your input, Dr. Hastings, but I’ll manage.” He continues his previous task of brewing a fresh pot of coffee. When he goes to dump the old filter and grinds into the trash, he glares at me. “I brought you these, so you wouldn’t have to hallucinate eating them anymore. What the fuck, Emma?”
I shrug. “I’m not about to eat anything you spit in because you hate me so much. I have higher standards than that.”
He plucks the bag from the garbage, setting it down on the counter between us. “If I was going to do anything to them, I’d have jizzed in the dough. Only the good stuff for your highness.”
“You probably were dried out after all the jizzing you did last night.” Another witty one-liner worthy of mental accolades. I’m getting better at this.
He sucks in a deep breath before cornering me against the counter. “Just another thing you owe me an apology for. I try to do something nice as a peace offering, even though you were a fucking handful last night when I should have been concentrating on beating my opponent, and you throw it away without caring what your distraction almost cost me. Get on your knees.”
Anger surges through me, even as I’m impressed with all his speaking, but I call his bluff and do what he requests. I bat my eyelashes up at him from the floor. “I want you to know, if your penis is laughable, that’s fair game for my reveals.”
“No, it’s not. You wouldn’t jeopardize our operation by making me look like less of a threat.” He unbuttons his pants but halts before he unzips. “I want you to know, if you’re really offering to let me fuck your mouth, that’s fair game for my moral code of conduct.”
In a frightening display of stubbornness, I open as wide as I can. Then, I giggle and close my mouth. Just a bit.
As suspected, he hauls me up to my feet. “Kiss me first.”
“What?” That’s not at all what I expected the next move in this game to be.
“That’s the price of admission,” he whispers in my ear. “You want to suck my dick, you have to kiss me first.”
My heart stutters with a stab of pain. “I’ll bet you say that to all the ladies.”
“I do.” He looks me directly in t
he eyes. “That’s exactly why I haven’t been getting laid or blown like you believe.”
I refuse to admit defeat or show any weakness, though my chest aches. “How noble of you. Surely, you can make an exception to your morals for someone you loathe so much. Seeing as how I’m incapable of saving myself, you really should play the hero and allow me the honor of sucking your dick, since I so freely offered. We wouldn’t want to hurt her highness’ self-esteem by assuming she’s a poor blow, now, would we?”
“Why are you being like this?” He shakes me, which is becoming an oddly familiar feeling. “This isn’t you.”
In what I hope to be a calculated play, I admit something I expect him never to believe. Exactly the opposite of my own reveal. “It wasn’t me to be a fuck toy to Kieran, and yet, here I am. I’ve always been an overachiever, so If I’m going to be used, then I want to do it well. And really, what’s the difference? I’m already your own personal doctor and trainer. Think of it as physical therapy.”
Jason brings his nose to mine. “Guys who look like me don’t get to act like guys who look like Kieran. Do you understand that? I could have banged any number of women in the past few weeks. They offered. Come morning light, if they didn’t feel satisfied, they weren’t going to cry about being used for a fuck toy like you are. It’s not bad enough I got into a fight because I didn’t want to rape a drugged woman. I’m not going to dig myself further into this hole by facing sexual assault charges, too.”
There’s nothing noble about his statement. He isn’t wrong, either. The dark underbelly of the feminism movement slaps me in the face. How many romance novels have I read and enjoyed in which exactly that scenario plays out? The alpha-male, in a clear position of power, takes what he wants, but it’s okay. Because he’s hot, and though the heroine struggles with the knowledge their lust is wrong, she wants it and eventually gives in.
“I’m sorry,” I blurt.
“You’re sorry,” he patronizes, releasing his hold on me. “I’m sorry. Rosie’s sorry. Everyone’s sorry.”
Except one person. Kieran King has yet to make any apologies or excuses for his actions.
