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She was quiet for a second. “I wasn’t talking about that brother.”
Oh. That’s right. She had a twin, who was in a crew, and they were known for handling themselves.
“I don’t know your twin. Remember? Want a go at me, you should’ve stuck with the one I used to fuck.” I ended the call, annoyed. If Tasmin wasn’t connected to people from back home, I might’ve been friends with her. But she was and that’s just how it worked out.
“Who did you used to fuck?”
I cursed under my breath.
I’d left the door open, and Cruz was standing there, my bag in one hand and his in the other.
He came into the room, shutting the door, and put both bags on the couch. He remained standing.
“I grabbed your stuff, told them I’d drop it off on my way home. I’m pretty sure one of those girls is waiting to proposition me when I leave here.” He didn’t come toward me, instead he put his hands in his sweatshirt, stretching it and getting comfortable.
Or he looked it.
I couldn’t read him right now.
I was also remembering that I was still wearing his hoodie.
This was the shit I didn’t want to deal with in our arrangement. But I was dealing with it because I didn’t want to end what we had going, and I didn’t want to think any more on that because I should end it, right now, as soon as possible.
I said, “You know Tasmin Shaw?”
He frowned a little, his head cocking to the side. “I think so.”
“Ryerson is her boyfriend.”
“Oh, yeah. He’s a cool guy.”
“I used to have the same arrangement with her half-brother that I do with you.” My tongue was sticking to the back of my throat. I did not want to talk about Blaise with Cruz. “Except he and I were friends.”
His eyes flickered before a long slow nod. “I see. It didn’t end well?”
I hated this, hated it. But here I was, going personal.
I went to my chair by the couch and scooted back in the corner, bringing my legs up and hugging my knees to my chest. I looked away because I did not want to see Cruz when I said some of this.
“Things are a lot with my home life, and that’s all I’m going to ever say about that, but I use sex to cope with it. Blaise fell for someone, called quits on our arrangement, and well; it was during a really hard time at home. I was losing the thing I used to cope with what was going on, and I didn’t handle it very well. Not because of him, but because I didn’t have another lifeline set in place. If I had, I wouldn’t have cared. He didn’t know any of that and I’m still embarrassed, even a year later, how I reacted. I can be…a bitch to push people away.”
“Blaise DeVroe.”
He wasn’t speaking like that was a question. He knew who Blaise was. “Yeah. Seems I have a type.”
“Your ex is another major athlete.” Cruz let out a short laugh. “You acted like you didn’t know who I was when we hooked up the first time.”
My head whipped to his. “I didn’t. I found out in December.”
His eyes were narrowed, and there was a coldness that I’d never seen directed at me. Ice went down my spine. “I don’t like being targeted or used.”
“Fuck you. I did neither.”
His jaw clenched. “I don’t believe you.”
Okay. This was going the route it needed to. “Then leave, Cruz. Our arrangement was for a reason. I didn’t lie, ever. I had no clue who you were until your name started popping up in everyone’s conversations about the hockey team. The door’s that way. No skin off my nose.”
His jaw was still clenching, and he looked away, a harshness coming off him. “I didn’t want a girlfriend.”
“We’re not. I don’t want a boyfriend.”
“We’re something because I’m pissed thinking you targeted me, and I’m not leaving. I should’ve walked the second you said your ex’s name.”
“He wasn’t my ex.”
He shot back, “He was your ex of something.”
I couldn’t fight against that.
“Goddammit!” He rose from the couch.
I watched him, locking down, waiting for him to walk out that door. It’s what he should do. He knew it and I knew it, but I wasn’t being a bitch. I wasn’t sealing the end of us in place, and that was terrifying me.
My phone started ringing again, but I ignored it.
I was waiting for Cruz to either leave or do what he came here for. He needed to make the decision, and I’d handle the consequences.
He wasn’t moving, but he was glaring at me. He was seething, looking like he hated me.
That calmed me for some crazy reason. It did. If he hated me, we could still do this. Hate fucking was sometimes the best kind. Hate fucking. Loathe fucking. Just a good personal barrier in there, between him and me that kept us from getting close because we were already too close. It was too personal. Too dangerous.
