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“You wanted me to!” Jack protested. Now the anger was creeping into his voice.
Of course, that little comment – and his tone – brought out the rage in me.
“Who the fuck are you to tell me I ‘want’ you to come inside me?”
“‘I’ll let you come inside me’?” he snarled, and I could tell by the intonation that he was quoting me. “Remember saying that when I dropped you off at your motel this morning, and you wanted me to come inside and fuck you?”
“I…”
Oh shit.
Yeah.
I had said that.
Of course, that was before I had found out he was lying about my room being tossed by Roach. And before I had begun to question if he had my safety as his highest priority.
“That was this morning,” I said coldly.
He stared at me. “It was a couple of fuckin’ hours ago.”
I turned over on my side and balled up into a fetal position. “You still should have asked before you did it.”
He sat there on the bed, incredulous. “What the fuck is up with you? You were so hot to have me come inside you earlier, and you basically were doing everything you could just now to fuck me – ”
“You still should have asked,” I insisted, refusing to look at him.
There was silence for a moment, then I both felt and heard his weight get up off the bed.
“Fuck this shit,” he muttered angrily, then left the room.
40
Ilay there on the bed and tried to figure out why I was so angry and feeling so sick.
It wasn’t that I was worried about getting pregnant. I was on birth control.
And it wasn’t fear about catching something. We had already had sex without a condom, and I believed him when he’d said he was clean.
No… it was that I couldn’t trust him.
He’d lied about Roach tossing my room and said it was the Santa Muertes.
God knows what else he’d lied about.
To do something that intimate with someone you don’t trust…
Part of me was glad he’d just gone ahead and done it, because if he’d asked, I would have hesitated and said ‘no.’ And then he would have asked why, and it would have devolved into something weird and awkward. And then maybe he would have suspected something…
Suspected something.
That was the other thing.
How much did he know about me? About me being a PI?
About Eddie and the DEA?
Paranoia circled around me like buzzards in the sky, occasionally landing to take a sharp, jabbing bite at my innards.
