Playing with Fire

Easton raised a hand and winked at me good-naturedly.

Reign look the other way, avoiding my gaze.

And West? He flat-out ignored me.

I moved quickly, sliding into the seat next to Karlie, giving her arm a squeeze and disregarding the pang of disappointment prickling my chest. He didn’t even say hi.

“Hey, Karl! You having a good day?”

She started talking as I sneaked another look at West. He wasn’t looking at me. He was talking to Tess, who parked her hip on his table, schmoozing while flipping her raven hair.

He is not your boyfriend, my brain reminded me.

My heart, however, wouldn’t listen.

West and I quickly fell into a routine.

During the days, we’d be in college, acting like we did not exist to each other. So much so that people had stopped wondering if I were under his protection, and judging by our scene the night I showed up at the fight club, started talking about how we were archenemies. This made me even less popular—I was now officially the idiot who got on West St. Claire’s bad side—but now no one could accuse West for drawing attention to me.

I knew it was exactly what I’d asked him for, and yet, I couldn’t help but hate it when we passed by each other, training our faces to be cool and blank. Then again, the alternative of people knowing about us, and judging and whispering and talking about just how much I didn’t deserve the greatness that was West St. Claire, wasn’t really an option. I didn’t need a reminder to the fact most people didn’t think I deserved him.

On the days when we had shifts together, we’d work, laugh, talk, then head over to my place. He’d entertain Grams while I showered, reapplied my makeup, did the laundry, and made dinner. Then the three of us would eat together before I put Grams to bed.

Grandma Savvy adored West. He was charming, polite, and rolled with whatever mindset she was in. If she talked to him like he was Grandpa Freddie, he played along. If she recognized he was West, Gracie-Mae’s friend from the food truck, he’d be himself. One day he even pretended to be Sheriff Jones. Though I wasn’t impressed when he tried to carry on his charade as sheriff when we slipped into bed and he began ordering me around.

After dinner and putting Grams to bed, West and I would lock ourselves in my room and explore each other. Sometimes we were slow and leisurely. Sometimes fast and desperate. But we always clung to each other a moment too long, and every time we said goodbye, I watched his back from my window, knowing he was taking a part of me with him.

West made no effort to conceal where he stood about Grams. He wanted me to put her in a nursing home but recognized he wasn’t going to succeed where Karlie and Marla had failed.

That didn’t stop him from trying, though.

He would drop leaflets and brochures for nursing homes in Austin and its surrounding areas in my mailbox and on my desk. Twice, he had asked to use my laptop and left the window open on a website for places that came highly recommended for people in Grams’ condition. Whenever I talked to Marla and West was in the kitchen, and she told me how Grams wouldn’t want to leave the house or visit a doctor, he’d flash me a look.

I knew he was trying to help. I was running out of time to find a replacement for Marla.

Fridays were the worst.

I never went to his fights. Doubted they would let me in after he’d lost his temper on me the last time—plus, one time was quite enough. Seeing him bleed wasn’t my jam. I hated it, even though I understood why he did it.

Friday was the only night we spent apart. We made up for it every Saturday after work. I’d make sure I kissed away every bruise and welt, spent extra time licking his wounds and worshipping every inch of his aching body.

I was falling for this warrior of a man, who fought to get his family back on its feet. Literally.

There were only two things that took away from my sheer glee at having him to myself.

One—I still didn’t know what we were. Where we stood.

And two—I started to wonder whether he ignored me on campus because I asked him to or because he was embarrassed. It was one thing to play, suck, and bite on my marred skin in private when we were in my room, running his fingers over my bumpy flesh as he pounded into me, beads of his sweat dripping down my imperfect flesh, and another to publicly endorse me as his girl.

I tried to tell myself that West wasn’t the give-a-crap type of guy. He couldn’t care less about his own popularity and what people thought of him. But that didn’t always work.