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CHAPTER EIGHT
Treyton
“You look like shit,” Kat tells me as I make my way down the spiral staircase that leads to the first floor, where she’s standing in my foyer, way too fucking chipper for ten o’clock on a Saturday morning.
Or maybe I’m in an extra shit mood because when she woke me up with her arrival, I found the bed next to me empty.
Normally, I’d be relieved. And a part of me was. But another part, the much more dominant part, was disappointed.
Yeah, I’m just as confused as you are.
“Thanks,” I grumble, taking the coffee she extends to me when I reach her. “I feel like shit, too, if it’s any consolation.” She gives me a look I know all too well. “Don’t worry.” I turn, heading toward the living area at the back of the house. “I haven’t broken the terms of our agreement.”
“I know you well enough to know that you’re freshly laid. I can smell it on you.” She takes a seat on an accent chair positioned next to the windows, while I flop down on the couch, taking a long sip of coffee before responding.
“You told me to make up with her.” I take another drink, the hot liquid a soothing balm to my hoarse throat.
“I see it went well.” She tries to hide her smile but she does a shit job.
“I suffered through it,” I lie.
Let’s be honest, there was no suffering involved. Unless you count the way Clarke teased me with her mouth until I was ready to blow my load before she pulled away, only to repeat the process. That was torture, but the sweetest fucking kind.
“Yeah, you really look like it was misery,” she deadpans, giving methatlook again. The same look she gave me at the ballfield.
Fuck,I hate that look.
If it weren’t for Kat and that fucking look, I wouldn’t have had to spend the last week with a full nut sack and an infuriating woman that refused to talk to me. The same woman who’s proven to be the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.
Oh, who are we kidding?
This is a hundred percent on me.
Because truth be told, I’m really starting to like Clarke. In a way I didn’t think was possible. And while I’m not ready to admit it to Kat, or even to myself most days, she’s getting to me. I wouldn’t have been so pissed that she avoided me for so long if she wasn’t.
There’s truth in everything I said to Clarke last night. And while I justified it by reassuring myself I’m just following Helen and Kat’s plan, deep down I know better.
I shake off the thought as the familiar anxious knot once again settles in the pit of my stomach.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, hoping to change the topic.
“Well,” she leans forward, elbows resting on her knees, “I wanted to talk to you about this movie Harold is directing.”
“Stop right there,” I cut her off. “There is not a fucks chance in hell I’m going to star opposite Brandy Hill. I can’t believe you’d even bring it up.” I grind my back molars together, tension building in my shoulders.
“Hear me out.” She straightens. “Harold called me.”
“I don’t give a fuck,” I interrupt. “The answer is no.”
“Would you stop interrupting me like a spoiled toddler and listen to me for a moment?” She raises her voice, making mefeellike a fucking child. “I told him when we spoke that you weren’t interested,” she continues. “However, after hearing what he’s offering, I think you should consider it.”
“No.”
“You don’t even want to hear what he’s offering?”
“Isshestill the lead female?”
“Yes, but…”
