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“Yeah,” I say, straightening from the couch. “We just finished up. Pierce was on his way out.”
He fires a laser at me, and I move toward the kitchen to put more space between us.
“Oh yeah?” Kim says with forced cheerfulness. “Have a great night.”
He stands as well, crossing a look between Kim and me in disbelief.
“Where’s Tristan?” she asks. “In the shower?”
I cringe as Pierce’s expression darkens further. She was probably trying to change the subject, but she couldn’t have picked a worse one.
“No, he left,” I say, swallowing hard.
“He ran off like a little wuss a couple hours ago,” Pierce says.
I glare at him as Kim tenses.
“A couplehoursago?” she directs at me.
I shrug. “Yeah, they had a fight and he left.”
“To go where?”
“Who cares? Probably to score some drugs or a hooker or something,” Pierce says, swiping his coat from the back of the couch. He gives me another hard look as if expecting me to surrender, but I can’t. Iwon’t. I’m not wrong to want some space right now.
In fact…
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he says in a stern tone.
I blink at him. “I’m busy tomorrow.”
His face reddens as his grip tightens on his coat. “No, you’re not.”
“She said she is,” Kim says, glaring at him.
Pierce’s stare bores into me, and an icy vapor sweeps through me.
“I’m pretty sure she isn’t,” he hisses, stalking toward the door. He yanks it open and blasts me with a warning look before slamming it shut behind him.
I’m shaking when Kim turns a stunned expression on me. “What was that about?”
My mouth opens to answer, but I don’t know how. How do I explain the complexity of what just happened? Even harder, the silent threat I’m still trying to process?
“Nothing. He’s just being Pierce,” I say.
“What, a massive dick?” she mumbles, dropping her purse by the door.
A familiar defense rises to my tongue, but I don’t voice it this time. She’s right. He is a dick. Worse than that, and I’ve never felt so trapped in my life. Would he make trouble for Tristan if I broke up with him? Without a doubt. That was the meaning behind that cruel look as he left.
“How was work?” I ask instead.
Her brows scrunch together as she studies me. “Work was fine. Early shift. What did they fight about? Did…” She stops, suddenly going pale. “Tristan didn’t take his coat. Or his bag. Where did he say he was going?”
“He didn’t say. He just left.”
She fishes her phone from her purse and brings it to her ear. Her eyes widen when we hear a buzz from his bag. Bending down, she opens the flap and pulls out his phone along with his wallet.
Shit.
