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But I’ve never felt what she makes me feel.
My phone lights up again.
I want to pretend if I ignore her, she’ll just go away, but this insistence is unlike her.
And the cowardice is unlike me, but I still find myself refusing to look at the fucking phone. I’ve never been one to hide from accountability. In fact, I can’t fucking stand people who do, but it feels like things are spinning out of control, and if I just don’t look…
The goddamn phone vibrates again, so I rip it off the charge cord and chuck it across the room.
Brynn jerks when the phone hits the wall, and I freeze. Her brow furrows and she shifts, throwing her arm over my abdomen, then falling back into a peaceful slumber.
I close my eyes, ignoring the light from my phone, ignoring the feeling of impending doom, ignoring everything that isn’t in this bed, because I don’t care about any of it right now.
Just when I finally get myself under control and I feel like maybe I can fall back asleep, I hear a noise that stops my heart.
The front door.
Fuck.
Heart pounding, adrenaline pumping, I ease away from Brynn and slide off the bed. I bend to grab my sweatpants and step into them as I’m walking, but I don’t stop to grab my phone.
A light switches on in the living room.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I ease the door open, stealing a quick look back at Brynn, then easing the door shut so I don’t wake her up.
Then I turn to face Sloane Whitley, standing in my kitchen with a key card to my apartment in her hand.
“What the fuck, Sloane?”
“I told you I was coming over,” she states. “You didn’t answer.”
“I was asleep. It’s the middle of the night. And have you ever heard of knocking?”
“I don’t need to knock on the door of my own father’s apartment, Killian.”
She sounds tired, but she also looks surprisingly out of sorts. Her blond hair is up in a Tinkerbell bun, but it’s sagging and strands have escaped. She’s wearing heels and what appears to be an extremely skimpy dress underneath an oversized, white Calhoun University sweater.
“Is everything all right?” I ask her, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. “Did the job go bad?”
“No. Well, yes,” she says, scowling at me. “I thought he was gonna fuck the guy up, not kill him. That was a lot to witness, and then I had to ride back to my sorority house in the murderer’s car, so… yeah, a heads-up about the extent of tonight’s work would have been appreciated.”
“To be fair, I did ask if you had any questions,” I state.
Her blue eyes widen. “Okay. Fair. You did. And I did ask a question, and that is what we need to talk about.”
Feeling my guard go up, I cross my arms over my chest. “Paris? I already told you it was cold. What more did you need to know?”
Sloane looks away, shaking her head. It takes her a moment, but when she looks back at me, she asks slowly, “Do you know how many times I’ve looked at that screenshot of her kissing your cheek? I don’t even want you to know because it’s pathetic. And you made me feel pathetic, Killian, when you humiliated me at my own event—”
“Oh, you mean when you were trying your best to pimp her out? You knew none of my friends would fuck with her, so you tricked her into participating and then you invited Alpha Chi trying to get one of the spoiled frat boys or a member of the douchebag society to bite. It was fucking transparent, Sloane. I saw the guys in that crowd, I know who you invited, and I know why you invited them.”
“Well, you showed me, didn’t you?” she explodes, eyes wide. “You took her to fucking Paris!”
Eyebrows rising, I take a step toward her. “I need you to lower your fucking voice right now.”
She swallows, her gaze shooting to my bedroom door. “I take it she’s asleep in there.”
