It looked like she wanted to list a few hundred things, but she only flicked her eyebrows up and gave a small smile. “Let’s find out.”
I laid out some bacon on the pan. It started crackling right away. I dumped the eggs on top of it, then wondered if maybe I should’ve let the bacon cook first. The truth was I usually grabbed whatever was easy for breakfast. I’d only kicked Charli out of the kitchen for the same reason I gave her shit about nearly everything else: I enjoyed it.
Charli got up and stood beside me, staring down at the pan.
“No.” I jabbed my finger toward the chair. “You’re supposed to be taking it easy. And if you die while I’m alone with you, I’ll have to eat my breakfast with a dead body in the kitchen. And that would be fucking disgusting.”
She gave me a weird look, but sat down, then folded her arms. “I wonder what the opposite of sugar-coating things is. Shit coating? Because whatever you call it, you’re shit coating the fact that you’re worried about me. Even though I’m way past the point where I need to be worried about from the concussion. I went in yesterday and passed all the tests. I’m good.”
“Fantastic.”
“So I still don’t get it. Why does the guy who supposedly wants my life to be miserable also worry about me when I get hurt?”
“What you see is what you get, Charli. I don’t like you. Is that so hard to believe?”
“A little. Yeah.”
“Being willing to let you suck my cock and liking you are two entirely different things.” I dug through the cabinet and shook some salt on the eggs and bacon, which were looking strangely gray.
“You don’t like me so much that you were the first and only one to come wait by my bedside at the hospital?”
“I already told you. If you died, all my effort to torment you would’ve been a waste.”
“I don’t buy it.”
“Buy what you want, Scarface. I don’t really give a shit.”
“Have you noticed you only pay attention to me when another guy gets involved?”
I stirred the eggs around, which just crumpled up the soggy, uncooked bacon in the thickening slop. I cringed at it. “What do you want to hear, exactly?”
“Maybe you could be honest with me. That would be a novel concept.”
“Honesty? Being honest gives people power over you. And if you give people power, they’ll use it to fuck you over.” Even though I didn’t take my gaze from the meal I was screwing up, I was almost certain she was rolling her eyes. “Don’t agree?”
“I think you try to seem like a cold-hearted dick, but it really just makes you look scared. Is that your excuse for everything you do? You’re worried someone will hurt you if you show any hint of weakness?”
I pushed the spatula around the pan, feeling suddenly angry at the fucking bacon that refused to cook even though the eggs were getting dry. “I don’t need life lessons from someone who doesn’t even have a real home. Someone whose own father doesn’t want them.”
I wanted the words to bite deep. To sting. But Charli just scoffed like they’d barely scratched—as if she didn’t even believe I meant them.
“That’s right,” she said. “I forgot your life is perfect. Maybe you can give me some pointers?”
I set the spatula down hard on the counter, then dumped the contents of the pan into the trash. “Yeah.” I closed on her, planting my hands on the armrests of her chair. “Here’s a pointer. When you want something, you take it.”
I cupped her chin and kissed her. Like most things I did, I hadn’t planned on it. I’d just gotten close and inhaled the scent of her exertion and the sweetness of her skin. I’d decided I wanted her lips between mine, and that was that.
At first, she was stiff, but then she kissed me back. She let out a little gasp that melted into a moan.
Her lips closed on mine like warm butter, deliciously soft. Kissing her was like sweet poison. I knew each moment was dangerous. Every brush of her lips and flick of her tongue threatened to sink into me and stay, to take up residence in the deep, dark corners of my mind where I wouldn’t be able to dig it back out.
She bit down hard on me, then slapped my cheek.
I pulled back, grinning at her and checking my lip for blood. “Did that make you feel better about liking it? Because you should probably slap me like you mean it if you want the guilt to fade.”
“I hate you,” She slapped me again, this time hard enough to make white spots blossom in the corners of my eyes.
“Yeah? Then why are you going to let this happen?”