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Forty-Six
Magnolia
“Push the X—” Declan tells me with urgency. “The X. The X!”
“I am!”
“You’re not.”
We’re sitting on Julian’s couch. Decks is trying to teach me Grand Theft Auto.
“The X!” he yells. “The X! The fucking X!”
“I am hitting the X!” I yell back. “—Oh wait. No. Sorry. That was the circle.”
Declan groans as Julian sniffs a laugh from his arm chair behind his paper.
“Fuck! How are you so bad at this?” Declan frowns at the TV.
“I’m not bad at it.” I blink. “I’m not bad at anything. Julian—” I pout. “Tell him I’m not bad at anything.”
He doesn’t even glance up. “She’s not bad at anything.” Then his big blue eyes pop up over the top of the paper. “You’re pretty shit at that, though.”
I drop the controller on the couch and walk over to him. Pull the paper from his hands, climb onto his lap.
I’m quite fond of him, if I’m honest. I’ve always been, to a certain extent. Something about him, isn’t there? You get it. Maybe it’s how deep his voice is, or how big his hands are, or that his eyes are the most peculiar blue I’ve ever seen.
And do you know, it is the strangest thing — for all the ways that he’s allegedly the most dangerous man in the country, I feel unbelievably safe with him.
He’s different towards me than anyone else I’ve seen him with, even more so when we’re alone.
There’s still that rough edge, of course. He feels me up all the time, talks about sex a bit too casually for my preferences as well. He’s a big fan of leaving love bites on me, tiny territorial markings of where his mouth has been, but he always pulls me onto his lap or rests his chin on my shoulder if we’re sitting or on top of my head if we’re standing — he’s so tall. And, when he thinks no one’s looking, he whispers things to me. Sometimes they’re sweet nothings, sometimes it’s about what he’d like to do to me later, other times he whispers funny things about other people in the room, but either way, every time, the way his mouth feels against my ear makes my toes curl and forces me to swallow heavy. I still get the feeling like I’m going down the biggest dip of a rollercoaster any time he puts his hands on my body — and his hands are always on my body. He’s still rude to nearly everyone around us, he can be possessive and brash, and he’s always obnoxious, but then he knows that I love someone else, so what leg have I to stand on anyway? And while he can be an absolute brute, he also can then be rather chivalrous — opens doors, puts on my shoes, carries me over puddles — things I think he’d die if other people knew about, like how he holds my hand sometimes just for no reason.
Like now, his finger is tracing down my arm absentmindedly. He’s just gotten done touching my cheek, and before long his eyes wander over my face until they land on my mouth.
He presses his tongue into his bottom lip.
I know what that means. I know his little tells now.
He’d like to have sex. So would I, actually.
The front door slams and we all glance over at Daisy sulking in.
“Hi!” I call out to her merrily, still trying to win her over.
She stares over at me, says nothing and keeps walking to the kitchen.
I look back at Julian, frowning.
“What’s her problem?”
“She hates you,” Declan says from the couch. Julian tosses him a dirty look as I throw a plastic water bottle at him.
“Her and Tiller keep fighting,” Julian tells me. Then he tilts his head before conceding, “And she hates you.”
“Oh no—” I frown, ignoring the last bit. “Why?”
Julian nods, his face a bit strained. “Why aren’t they doing good?”
