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I drank my wine again, a pathetic attempt to cover my silence.
“It’s okay, baby. I’m just as addicted to you as you are to me.”
I didn’t want to go out and meet someone new. I didn’t want to picture myself with another man. All I wanted was this…but he was evil. He was a threat to my family and everything that I cared about. How could I possibly want his company, in and out of bed? “What did you do while I was away?” I wanted to talk about anything but the obviously fucked-up situation between us.
“I had a hit in Budapest. Then I went out with Max a few times.” He cut into his food again.
“How’d it go? The hit?”
“I was in and out in thirty minutes. Did my job, then got paid.”
I was still repulsed by what he did for a living. I wanted to say it out loud, but I didn’t want him to throw out accusations that my family wasn’t any better. “Did you get hurt?”
The corner of his mouth rose in a smile. “I like it when my baby worries.”
I looked down at my food and took a bite. “Did you?”
“Don’t worry, not a scratch.”
“And where did you go with Max?”
“A few bars.” He dropped his smile and turned serious. “Spent most of my time wondering when you would be back.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I was under the impression you didn’t want me to.”
I didn’t…but I did. I’d wanted to call him a few times, but I refused to stoop to that level. But the second I was home, I did anyway. “Did you hook up with anyone?” I hated myself for asking that question. I hated myself for caring. But I did care. It tore me up inside to think about him being with another woman. A man like him could have any woman he wanted. He didn’t even have to open his mouth and speak, and they’d hop into bed with him.
Instead of smiling in arrogance, he just a gave a subtle shake of his head. “No.”
I tried to mask the deep breath I pushed out of my lungs, but I knew nothing escaped his notice. He already knew I was jealous. Insanely jealous. Like, red in the face kinda jealous.
“I said no. But good to know you still want my answer to be no.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were getting pissed. It’s been three months, baby. I know you. I know you better than you want me to know you.”
I wanted to pick up my plate and throw it at his head. I hated this. I hated everything about it. And I hated the fact that he was right.
We finished our dinner in silence, back to our comfortable coexistence. When his plate was empty and most of my food was gone, he cleared the dishes and took them to the sink.
“I’ll wash them since you cooked.”
He didn’t give a protest and walked into the living room to turn on the TV.
I scrubbed everything and put it in the dishwasher, but I despised myself for doing it. Now we had a routine—like a fucking married couple.
I grabbed one plate and slammed it into the sink, making it shatter with a bang.
Bones didn’t come back into the room.
I stared at the broken plate and listened to the water run. Bones had given me my freedom, but it didn’t make any difference. I’d never been his prisoner. I’d always been a prisoner to myself. I could ask him to leave, but I didn’t want to.
I wanted him to stay.
Bones came to my side then picked up the pieces of plate without asking what happened.
“I can take care of it.”
“I don’t want you to cut your hands. You need them to paint.” He picked up everything, nicking himself without expressing a hint of pain. He tossed everything in the garbage then went back into the living room so he could watch TV.
I finished the dishes then returned to the living room. He was lying on the couch, all muscle and power. His ink contrasted against his beautiful skin, and the glow from the fire made the tattoos stand out even more.
My knee hit the couch, and I prepared to lie on top of him, my favorite place to rest while watching TV in the evenings.
But he steadied me with his hand and sat up. “We had a deal.” He sat back against the couch and stared at me with his innate power, reminding me of the agreement we’d made earlier that morning.
Was I stupid to hope he would forget?
He kept staring at me, waiting for me to do what he asked.
I sighed through my nose, irritated that so much was going wrong. I went to my parents’ house to clear my head, but now my mind was even more foggy.
