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“There was a time.” Her sugary voice reminded me. “There was a time when you’d do anything for me.”
Worst part? The bitch was not wrong about that one.
“How’s your husband?” I changed the subject.
“Still alive,” she huffed. “Unfortunately.”
At least we could agree on one thing.
“How’s your new girl?” It was Nina’s turn to ask.
“Why are you asking? Think you could fuck that up for me, too?”
“Now, now.” She chuckled. “Come on, Dean. Don’t be like that. I’m happy for you. All I want is to secure my future and leave my goddamn awful husband behind. You’ve got plenty of money. I have what you want. Why are we running around in circles?”
“Because I want you to stay poor and miserable.” There. I said it. “And, because, apparently, I don’t mind paying the price to keep you that way. Enjoy your filthy motel, Nina. Bye.” I hung up and downed three more glasses of liquor.
As I was making breakfast, I heard Rosie shuffling in my bedroom. My heart sank. If I scared her away by being an aggressive asshole, I had no one to blame but myself. Was she buying time to try to avoid me? I made out the sound of her turning on the faucet, flushing the toilet, and wondered how much longer she could postpone facing me.
“Good morning.” I heard her gruff voice and turned around from the stovetop to watch her walking around in my dress shirt, her light brown hair a hot mess. She smiled at me, a toothy one from the heart, then turned around when she found her jeans. Her bare ass—I tore her underwear last night—peeked from under my shirt when she bent down to pick them up, and fuck, her skin was red and raw. It was bruised down to her inner thighs, and there were streaks and little cuts from the broken glass I cleaned this morning. I wanted to throw up, but held myself together, turning off the stove and piling scrambled eggs and bacon onto our plates.
“Hungry?” I cleared my throat.
“Famished,” she said absent-mindedly, pulling her jeans on. “But I need to go down and put on my percussion vest, take my medicine, all the rock ‘n’ roll stuff. My own version of breakfast of champions.” She pretended to flex a non-existing bicep.
She wanted to go. Leave. Of course, she got scared. I showed her the ugliest side of me and expected her to just…what? Roll with it? It was too soon. Way too soon. Frankly, when you’re my type of fucked up, the best time to show your significant other your inner scars is never o’clock.
“I can bring them to you,” I said, hoping to fuck I didn’t sound too desperate. She flashed me an odd look.
“You don’t know what I need.”
Right. I had no fucking clue. Other than that ugly-ass vest. I recognized it from Todos Santos.
“I made you some breakfast.” I tilted my chin to the dining table I’d never used. I usually sat at the island when I ate, and even that was rare. In fact, I didn’t remember the last time I ate at my apartment. Every time I was there, it was a protein shake and fruit to keep me going until my next meal. I was pussy-whipped to the max here, with a table full of whatever-the-hell I could find in my fridge. I bet Rosie didn’t have the greenest clue I’d never done something in my life for anyone. Anyone but her.
Her baby blues scanned the table, a smirk on her face.
“Hey, Dean?”
“What?”
“I’m just going down to get my meds and vest, then I’m coming back up. You know that, right?”
“Of course.” I snorted. No. No, I didn’t know that.
My face must’ve given away a peek into my inner shitshow, because she giggled as she tiptoed to me, pressing her lips to mine as she wrapped her arms around me in a hug. I gathered her and squeezed, this time careful not to hurt her.
“Are you enjoying my morning breath?” she droned, exhaling on my face on purpose.
“I want to bottle it and make all my employees wear it as their new perfume,” I retorted, kissing the side of her head. “But just in case, I’ll buy you a toothbrush so you don’t have to go downstairs when we have breakfast. Ever. Bring your meds. Your clothes. Your vest. Do you want a drawer?” I refrained from asking if she wanted my whole fucking closet, although I did think it’d be fun to have her shit around. All those secondhand, tattered shirts and Forever 21 skinny jeans in my nickel hardware, black imperial walk-in closet that was the size of her whole living room.
“Mmmm.” She leaned forward for another kiss, and my hands itched to clutch her ass and throw her on the counter for a morning fuck, but she needed her medicine, and I needed to not make new marks on her before the day had started.
