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He hums. “It may have come up in conversation. Did that psycho really throw a bomb through her window?”
“It was a Molotov cocktail, not like a grenade or anything, but yeah.”
“That's fucking insane, even for him,” he replies in disbelief.
I switch the phone to my other hand and move to get more comfortable. “I know, but I took care of it.”
Something falls in the background. “Zayn, what do you mean you took care of it?”
“I mean, I took care of it.”
It takes him a second before he groans. “Zayniel,” he whines, using the fake full name he gave me when we were younger. “You beat his ass, didn't you?”
He knows me so well. “Did you expect anything less? He tried to physically hurt Amelia, Knox.”
“I know, I know,” he says to placate me. “I'm not saying what you did was wrong. I'm not. I'm just saying attacking a known drug dealer mental patient maybe wasn't the best idea you've ever had. What happens when he retaliates?”
It's not something I haven't thought of before. I'd be naive to think that he would take my threat and stay away forever. One thing about Blade is that he always needs to feel like he won, and right now, he’s zero for two, once with Amelia, and once with me.
“Then I'll figure that out when the time comes.”
“And Amelia? What if he goes after her?”
The thought alone has my blood boiling. “I'll kill him without a second thought.”
My best friend takes a deep breath. “I don't know what's worse—that I know you're not bluffing for a second, or that I wouldn't blame you.”
That's the thing about Knox. He knows who I am. The good, the bad, and the ugly, and he respects me all the same for it. Our relationship is tight because neither of us tries to change or control the other. It's a mutual understanding that works well for us.
“So,” he changes the subject, “how's the blue balls?”
“The what?” I snort.
“Oh, come on. You can't tell me with her living there that you're not completely losing your shit.”
I chuckle. “My balls are just fine, thank you very much.”
“Sure they are, bud,” he teases. “Speaking of, mine are a little wanting, and Delaney is looking extra fucking hot in that skirt, so I've got to go.”
“I could have gone my whole life without knowing you're about to have sex.”
A bark of laughter leaves his mouth. “Like you haven't walked in on me at least ten times.”
I cringe. “Yeah. I need shock therapy to erase those images from my mind.”
“Enjoy that. And enjoy not getting laid.”
The sound of Delaney's squeal pierces my ear before the line goes dead. I roll my eyes and toss the phone onto my nightstand.
Prick.
IT'S A LITTLE PAST three in the morning when I hear Amelia walk past my room and down the stairs. I've been trying to sleep for the last four hours, but I can't. She's plaguing my mind. After we hooked up at that party, I was able to keep myself from thinking about it because I was too focused on the fact that she went from confessing to having a thing for me for years to not wanting me anywhere near her. Now, however, everything is different.
The two of us spend so much time together that I don't know what to do when she's not around. I crave being near her, and I'll do anything just to get a second of her attention. I've never been like this with anyone, and I certainly never thought that Amelia Donovan would be the one to change all that, but I can't help it. She's got her claws in deep.
I slip out of my bed and quietly make my way downstairs. The only light is coming from the kitchen. Amelia is sitting on the island with the refrigerator open to illuminate the room. She scoops her spoon into the pudding cup and slips it between her lips.
“You're up late,” I murmur quietly.
