Page 10 of These Wicked Hearts

Ex-fucking-cuse me? “Did you just call me a bitch?”

“Bitchy, technically, but yeah, with confidence.”

“Asshole.” I press my lips tightly together, fighting the pull at the corners. “Maybe I think you’re a bitch.”

“You don’t, though.” He smiles and it’s nearly contagious. I wipe the almost-smile off my face and look away. “Well, fine. I guess I’m a bit bitchy tonight.”

“So, what’s wrong with you?” he asks.

I let out a breath that feels like it’s been sitting in my lungs for years. “Too much.”

I can feel him looking at me. Really looking. My shoulders tense as heat curls low in my stomach. It’s sharp and unwelcome. I feel like he’s putting me under a microscope.

“How many tattoos do you have?” he asks.

“A lot.”

“Me too—” He lifts his hoodie over his head and good fucking god. Holy shit. How do you get arms that defined? He’s so fucking big. “Sleeves on both sides. Then a tattoo on my chest.” I can’t make out details of the designs, but I notice the defined muscles in his biceps. Dark hair dusts his forearms. I notice more dark hair peeking out of his tank top. “I’d feel better if you got down.”

I drag my gaze away from him. “And I’d feel better if you shut the fuck up.”

“But I don’t want to.”

What the hell is wrong with him? This man needs a solid spank on the ass. Okay where the fuck did that even come from? “Why are you being a brat?” That shouldn’t send a hum of pleasure through me like it does.

“Because I like getting my way? Duh. Why does anyone like to get their way?”

“Yeah, well.” My eyes drink in his body. Big and solid. I wonder what it would be like making a man this large fall to his knees. “Maybe someone should teach you not to be so spoiled.” He watches me with heat in his eyes, but there’s an edge of worry I’m sick of seeing. “If I get down, will you drop it?” He nods.

I hesitate just a moment, as if I’m going to challenge him, then I climb down carefully, my feet hitting the concrete with a thud that seems to echo. Next to him now, I realize just how tall he is. I’m five-eleven, but he has inches in every direction on me. “Better?”

He folds his thick arms over his solid chest. “Yeah. Thank you.” I watch him. Hoodie in his hands, he starts to drag his shoe across the concrete, looking like a scolded kid forced to stand at a wall for recess.

Silence stretches between us. “So . . .” he says. “What’s your name?”

“You’re annoying.”

“You mean intriguing. I think you’re intrigued.” He grins.

I blink at him, my jaw tightening. “I think I’m irritated.”

“Mm.” He cocks his head to look at me. “Can I tell you a secret?”

“I’ve known you for five seconds and I already know you’re just going to tell me anyway.”

He hesitates for a moment then starts to play with the hoodie he has in his hands. “I’m—” There’s a snag to his words that pulls my attention. “I’m really sad.” My eyes snap up. “And I don’t want to be alone right now.” A frustrated noise leaves his lips. “I’m just really sad right now.” The confession comes out rough, and his fists clench around the hoodie in his hands before they relax. He exhales and I feel it in my bones when he does. “I’m sorry to bother you.”

I watch him for a moment. This large ridiculous man, but there’s something in his eyes that matches my own. I know pain when I see it. I know exhaustion and absolute hopelessness. Right now, it’s etched all over his handsome face.

“What do you have to be sad about?”

His eyes drop to the concrete between us. “Everything. I came up here for some air, but then I saw you and made the decision to bother you.”

“Lucky me.”

He smiles softly. “Do you live here?”

“No,” I say flatly. “I just climb random buildings for fun.”