“It was a joke!” I said defensively as I balanced the plates on each other.
“It wasn’t funny,” Mom deadpanned. “You sure you’re—”
“Great! Just trying to stop being an asshole, thanks for nothing.” I quickly left the table and put all the dishes in the sink.
“You forgot mine,” Annie said in a small voice from behind me.
Every single nerve ending came alive. With rage. With lust, if I was being completely honest. With hatred at myself, at her, at Claire.
I could see her small frame reflected in the kitchen window. The lights above her created an almost halo effect through the inky darkness of night. And I started to wash the dishes because I couldn’t compartmentalize my feelings anymore.
Maybe that was why I was numb, my body so fucking confused right along with my heart that we were in a purgatory of sorts.
Great.
“You can just set it on the counter,” I finally said, careful not to say anything hateful, wondering why I couldn’t help myself to the point that it was painful to keep my mouth shut. “I’ll get to it in a bit.”
She still hadn’t left.
With a loud sigh, I placed the plate on the counter, then very slowly turned around and crossed my arms. “Something tells me you have a question.”
Her blue eyes were huge, her lips trembled a bit as she crossed her arms like she was uncomfortable with me seeing so much skin when I’d seen her naked.
Being inside her for a few brief moments where I felt like I was cheating on my soul mate, basically was…
She trained her eyes on my shoes then. “Are we going to be safe at the university?”
My eyebrows shot up. “That’s your question?”
I immediately deflated like a popped balloon. She didn’t want to fight me? And I wasn’t making her cry. We were having a normal conversation.
I hated it.
She nodded her head, her short hair grazing her chin. “Yeah.”
It was just us in that immaculate kitchen, with its fancy white granite countertops and state-of-the-art appliances.
“A question for a question…” I said instead.
Her head jerked up. “Okay?”
“Are you afraid of me?”
She gulped. “Sometimes.”
“At least you’re honest.” I scratched the back of my head. “Look, I’m not in a good headspace right now, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t give my life for yours. Does that answer your question?”
She blinked a few times like she wasn’t sure what to say and then a slow nod of her head as she whispered, “Yes. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For answering.”
“You’re thanking me for having a normal conversation?” I asked dumbfounded.
“Well, you tend to yell at me a lot, so yeah, I’m thanking you for not threatening me, yelling, calling me names, or making fun of my tears.” Her smile was sad as she turned on her heel.
Before I could stop myself, I reached for her hand and jerked her body back against mine.
She went completely still in my arms. “Since we’re so good at conversations now…” I whispered in her ear, my arms bracing her against me. My forearms pressed against her breasts. “He’s not good for you.”
“Wh-who?”
“Tank,” I said his name like a curse. “He’s in this just like the rest of us are, only he’s more dangerous because he’s playing games with both sides. This is the only warning I’m going to give you—find someone safe.”
“Safe,” she repeated. “Safe sounds boring. Are you suggesting I find some nice accountant to settle down with? Maybe a teacher? Or a vet, they do save animals.” She struggled in my arms, and I was clearly a sick bastard because I liked her fight, would probably orgasm on the spot if she drew blood with her fingernails digging into my arms. Already my zipper was having a hell of a time containing me.
“Perfect choices. All of them,” I agreed. “Just not Tank.”
“I like Tank.”
“Tank’s a tool,” I snapped. “Besides, you know he serial dated like hell when you were gone. Something tells me you had a small fantasy that he maybe waited before sticking his dick into whatever hot girl looked his way—trust me when I say he’s a player.”
“And what? A tiger recognizes similar stripes? Is that it?” She struggled more. “Let me go.”
“I’m actually quite comfortable.” I held her harder, then heard someone walking down the hall into the kitchen, so chose that opportunity to shove her into the pantry and close the door. Flicking the light on and facing her.
“Ash.” Her eyes were frenzied. “Please, no, I can’t, I can’t do small spaces, please.” She started clawing at my chest.
Frowning, I pulled her roughly against me and ran my hands down her hair to her hips, holding her there. “It’s just a pantry, Annie, and it’s just me.”
She shuddered. “It’s small. It’s dark.”
I flicked on the light and pulled slightly away. “The only difference between the dark and the light is one small switch. The things in the dark still exist in the light, Annie. You just can’t see them—but believe me, they’re there.”