Page 16 of Nonverbal


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My fists are clenched, so I relax my hands and stretch my fingers. I’m way too awake now for a nap. I hunker down on the couch to watch the news. Josh. Who the hell is Josh and why is she ‘hanging out’ with the douchebag? Does he call himself Rings as a nickname because he thinks that makes him cool? I fucking hate hipsters. The pussy probably ties his hair in a man bun.

After what feels like forever, Amber and Paige finally emerge, a pair of wedges on Paige’s feet clicking against the tile. The Pepto Bismol wedges.

Paige spins around, her dress now pulled down to hide the black panties. She plops next to me on the couch and leans closer so I can see the details of her smoky eyes and outlined lips. She kisses the back of my hand, leaving a perfect pink imprint.

She’s fucking gorgeous, is what I think. I thought the yoga pants and tops were doing me in, but this is a whole new level. Maybe she looks great in everything.

I swallow, studying the lipstick mark on my hand. My voice is stuck, so I clear my throat to get it going. “Good. You look good.”

She stands and yanks the bottom of her dress up, revealing panties and a good chunk of torso. My eyes widen and dart away. I glance back. Not to be a pervert and stare at her crotch, though I am tempted. Her injuries are different. Bruises are less purple, more red and yellow. The stitches are gone.

“Paige!” Amber shouts, racing around the couch. “Don’t flash him.”

Paige rolls her eyes.

“When did you get the stitches out?” I say, pointing at the puckered pink gash under Paige’s rib.

Amber yanks the dress down. “Mrs. Cho. She used to be a nurse. She came over this morning. Didn’t take long at all.”

I study the carpet, my chest hollow. Once Paige heals, is she going to leave? It’s not the first time I’ve thought about it. I said she could stay as long as she wants, but that might only be a few more weeks.

I turn back to the news as Paige skips to the door. What do I care? She’s free to do what she wants with her life, live wherever she wants. She’s Amber’s friend. I don’t have ties to her. Or obligations.

Paige glances at her phone.

“Have fun,” Amber coos from the kitchen table. “Remember my advice. Take it slow. Don’t be aggressive. Let him lead. Touch his thigh a lot so he knows you’re interested. Deep breaths about the new environment. It’s okay to go to the bathroom and imagine you’re somewhere else if it gets overwhelming.”

What kind of advice is that? Sounds like she’s trying to get Paige into bed with the fucking douchebag. And if Paige might get overwhelmed, why is Amber encouraging her to go?

Paige slings a purse over her shoulder.

Luck for what? I turn the volume up on the TV as Amber fusses with Paige’s hair before she leaves. As soon as the door closes, I mute the news. I know it’s not my business, but I can’t sit around and say nothing. This whole situation doesn’t sit well with me.

When I turn toward the kitchen, Amber is sitting at the table with her arms crossed, glaring as if expecting me to protest. Damn right, I’m going to protest.

“Who is Josh?” I spit.

She sighs. “Brody, why do you care? You agreed to leave Paige alone. She’s my friend and this is none of your business. What do you care what a grown woman does with her free time?”

I struggle for words. “Because.”

“Because what?”

“Because—” I fling my hand toward the front door. “Because, do you know this guy? Who is he? Is he an asshole? Is she somewhere safe? There are a lot of assholes out there. Didn’t she get out of an abusive, toxic relationship? Now you’re encouraging her to go out with some douche?”

“God, Brody. You know nothing about Paige’s past. Are you suggesting she can’t take care of herself as a grown, independent woman? She’s an adult and can make her own decisions. She deserves to have her choices respected.”

“I’m not saying she can’t take care of herself, but grown people get themselves in bad situations. Look at you.”

She stands so quick the chair almost falls back. “Me? Don’t you dare start with that shit.”

I’m in too deep to stop now. Words that have been rattling around my chest for days, months, years all bubble to the surface. “You’re being irresponsible. If she’s your friend, you should watch out for her. Sounds like she’s been looking after you, but you can’t be bothered tonight, huh?”

Her voice turns hard and low, so low I barely hear, “You don’t get to say that.”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

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