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“It’s not Kurt’s fault. You scared him,” Milene says, takes the cup withmycoffee and turns to leave. She takes two steps toward the living room but suddenly stops, turns on her heel, and marches back. She places the coffee on the counter, takes my right hand, and turns it to inspect the inside of my wrist.
“Do you think I’ll live?” I ask, observing the three-inch long scratch.
Milene glides the tip of her finger over my skin along the scratch and looks up at me. “Yes, unfortunately.”
I grab her around the waist with my free hand and crash her body to mine. She yelps, then presses her palms against my chest as if to push me away. Only she doesn’t. A small shudder passes through her body when I slide my palm under her T-shirt and continue up along her spine.
“Whose is this?” I ask and bend my head to bury my nose in her hair.
“What?” she breathes out.
“This is a man’s T-shirt.” It’s one of the oversized shirts I’ve noticed she likes to sleep in.
“I’m not sure. Probably David’s.”
My hand stills in the middle of her back. She’s wearing another man’s T-shirt. “What about the others? Are those his, too?”
“Some. Why?”
I grab the material of her shirt and pull the damn thing over her head.
“Hey!” She covers her naked breasts with her arms and stares at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Give that back.”
She won’t be wearing another man’s things ever again. I walk toward the other side of the kitchen to throw the T-shirt into the trashcan, then head toward her bedroom.
“You can’t throw away my stuff,” I yell after Salvatore.
He ignores me and keeps walking until he reaches the door of my room, then marches inside.
“Hey!” I dash after him. “You have no business there! Salvatore!”
I find him standing in front of my closet, looking over its contents. He grabs the stack of folded T-shirts I use to sleep in from the middle shelf, crosses the room, and walks out.
“Are you crazy? Give me my clothes back. Right away!”
I’m still standing in the middle of my room with my arms pressed over my boobs when he comes back two minutes later, carrying another pile of T-shirts under his arm. Without any explanation whatsoever, he returns to the closet and lays the shirts on the shelf where mine had been.
“What is this?” I snap. “Another of your power games? You can’t go around throwing away other people’s belongings! Salvatore, are you even listening to me?”
“No.” He closes the closet doors and approaches me, holding one of the shirts he brought in his hands.
I’m just about to lay into him again when he holds up the T-shirt and pulls it down over my head.
“Arms,” he says, holding the shirt.
“You need help,” I say through clenched teeth.
Salvatore bends until our faces are at the same level. It’s ridiculous, how pretty those amber eyes of his are. Or how absolutely excited it makes me every time he pins with his piercing gaze.
“Arms, Milene.”
I press my lips together, unwrap my arms from my chest and slide them into the sleeves he’s holding out for me.
“Satisfied?” I snap.
He looks me over. The hem of his T-shirt almost reaches my knees.
“Very,” he says and casually walks out of the room.
