“That settles it,” she said. She held out her hands, reaching for mine. “You and Oliver can scene. Hash it out on the field, you know? He’s part top, part pathetic little bottom, so he can get out those urges to dominate you and hit you a few times. Whatever happened between you two would be over, and he could leave you alone.”
Was she serious?
“He would kill me,” I said.
“No, he wouldn’t.” A smirk crossed her lips, and she tapped her chin. “He’s all talk, no game. The kind of man that likes being flashy,” she narrowed her eyes, “someone who pretends like he’s a big, bad man. But really, he’s nothing to worry about.”
But the feeling from before still ate away at me. She hadn’t asked why Oliver would want to kill me. Maybe he had already told her about Dean. I knew I should have told her about that night, but I didn’t want to bring it up then.
I tilted my head. “You’re not bothered by the abduction thing?”
“Everyone’s got their stories,” she said, reminding me of the kindness Nate had shown me earlier.
The doors swung open, flooding the bar with light. “Speak of the devil,” Christine said.
With the light silhouetting him from behind, his arms at his sides, his fists clenched, Grant glared at me.
Shit.
