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“Jesus fucking Christ, you’re acting like a child.”
“And,” I say, ignoring his statement, “I’m not being stalked.”
“Fallon begs to differ.”
“You could tell me he wants me locked in a tower. It’s not like he’s here to tell me otherwise.”
Tizio pulls in at the house, and a car flashes lights as he turns off the motor. My prison guards, no doubt.
Great.
He turns in his seat. “This isn’t a game, Karlee. And if you don’t want to be treated like a fucking child, then don’t act like one.”
I have to run to catch up with him. I’m not happy with Brandon, who I got in that argument with and stopped him manhandling me by grabbing his dick, but he’s hardly a stalker. Sammy’s my friend, and honestly, apart from that couple who tried to get information out of me in that fake, polite, friendly way authorities have at times, there’s no one I can think of.
Personally, I’d love to get Brandon a little bit of the Tizio treatment, but . . . I close the door and lean against it. He’s tidying up in sharp, efficient moves that tell me he’s pissed the fuck off. But Brandon’s not that kind of problem.
A so-called friend I was helping set up a system. He stole my work and now can’t work out what went wrong with it when he tried to present it.
Me, I went wrong with it. In through the back door and throwing a cyber wrench into the works. He failed and grabbed me, and I grasped his tiny dick.
Tizio has my textbooks straightened, empty glasses in the dishwasher, and counter cleared. He leans on it and says, “I’m really fucking trying here. Maybe you didn’t notice someoneafter you, but your brother did, and I trust him and his instincts. Fuck, I know the way his mind thinks. He’s not stupid and knows what he’s doing when he puts someone on you.”
“Where is he?”
“Away.”
The word is flicked at me. And his gaze . . . that lingers a moment on my thighs, then up. He deliberately looks at the door and crosses the small amount of distance to turn the locks.
When he sets his gaze on me again, it’s on my face, and there’s a flurry of disappointment that flutters through my blood.
“Why was that guy trying to intimidate you the other day?”
“School shit. He didn’t like the consequences of stealing my stuff.”
There’s a slight twitch of a smile.
I don’t tell him Brandon grabbed me, so it takes me a moment to understand why he’s suddenly frowning and approaching. Shit, I’m rubbing my arm.
Tizio is close, and I breathe him in, sea salt and wood. Clean, subtle, and somehow sexy in that impossibly masculine way. He doesn’t say a word as he peels down the right sleeve of my top, over my shoulder, tugging it low so the long sleeve reveals the top of my arm, not to mention the swell of my breast and lace and cotton of my bra.
But he’s not looking at that. He’s looking at the dark purple and blue bruises with yellowing edges.
And they’re exactly what they look like.
Fingerprints.
“For fuck’s sake, Karlee. Who did this?”
I swallow and tug everything back into place.
If I say Brandon, he’ll probably kill him, anyone really, but . . . no, not if I play it.
So, I smile and toss my hair. “Who do you think? My boyfriend. The one you humiliated tonight. I like it rough.”
My words hang there, and we look at each other, the air crackling between us.
Okay, Hazard’s definitely not my boyfriend and I might be flattered, but I don’t think I like him like that. Now I’m here, now I’m thinking about it.
