Page 5 of Twisted Needs

Throwing all caution to the wind, I take a generous bite.

Anders immediately looks proud of himself. “Worth the ten pounds you think you’ll gain?”

“Maybe,” I mutter. “Can’t ruin my figure.”

The look he gives me almost makes me wish I just kept my mouth shut, and it’s gradually becoming more difficult to blame this on the three beers I had earlier. The kitchen suddenly feels too warm to breathe normally. “Here,” I laugh weakly, handing the spoon back. Our fingers brush briefly.

His gaze stays on mine a second too long. “Thanks,” he mutters. “So where were you tonight?”

I’d be a fool to think I could get away with a night sans his interrogation. I lean back against the counter and answer truthfully. “I went out.”

“Only with Bishop?”

“Mhm.”

“And nobody else?” The question lands lighter than it should, but I know him well enough to sense what’s beneath it.

I cross my arms loosely. “You asking me something in specific?”

Anders shrugs one shoulder. His expression stays easy, but his grip tightens slightly around the spoon. “You smell like cheap perfume, Park.”

That’s code for I know you’ve been out with some whore…

I almost laugh. “Interrogating me now?”

“Just curious.”

“Yes,” he impulsively says a second later. “Tell me.”

“We had drinks at Rogue.” That gets a subtle reaction out of him.

“Oh,” he laughs dryly. “The strip club. Of course.”

“It’s not a strip club.” My mouth pulls into a grin. “Bish held a gun to my head and told me the only thing he wanted for his birthday was for me to take him to the strip club.”

“Sure,” he says skeptically, looking down at the ground for a minute. He sets his pint of ice cream down on the counter and scratches the back of his head.

“Did you hook up with someone?”

“Anders,” I sigh. He knows he shouldn’t be asking me this, and I sure as hell know better than to enjoy it. “You know I didn’t.”

His mouth curves faintly like he expected that answer. “I don’t know anything, Parker.”

“That’s not true,” I mutter. “You know too much.”

Anders watches me quietly for a moment before pushing away from the counter and stepping closer.

My heart beats harder than it should. “Anders⁠—”

“Whose perfume is it?” he asks finally, jealously creeping in quickly. Anders never tries to hide it, even though he knows he can’t keep reacting like this. “Some girl’s?”

“No,” I shake my head. It comes out sounding weaker than I’d wished. “Well…yes, there was a bartender, but⁠—”

“Okay.” His eyes meet mine steadily. “Whatever. I guess it doesn’t really matter.”

Something low twists in my chest. I open my mouth to argue, but I think arguing would just make it worse. One of us needs to keep this under control.

“Am I wrong?” he presses, just itching for a fight.