Playing Patience

Page 53

I glared back at him. He was right. I was totally jealous, but at the same time, it was wrong of me to want him for myself when I could never be his. Not in the biblical sense anyway. No guy I knew would ever be okay with never having sex and sex wasn’t an option for me. I didn’t think it ever would be.
“I have nothing to be jealous of.”
I wished I could’ve had a better comeback than that, mostly because it was a big, fat lie, but also because he was so snappy with the comebacks and I wanted to burn his ass with a good one.
His face suddenly got serious. “You’re right. You have nothing to be jealous of.”
I wanted to ask him what that was supposed to mean, but it seemed useless. Instead, I tilted up my cup and took a big swig of the mystery drink. When I brought my cup down, I blurted out the one thing that was eating at me.
“Did you sleep with her?” I asked.
His face was stone-like, dark skin over steel. His eyes cut into mine and I knew I’d gone too far. I sounded like a jealous girlfriend and it was none of my business who he had sex with. I knew that and he knew that.
“You’re a nosey one tonight, aren’t you?”
I didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t answer my question.
“Whatever,” I said as I pulled away from the wall and started to walk away.
He grabbed me around the wrist and pulled me back.
“No,” he said.
That tiny word made everything better and I hated it. Why did I care who he slept with? He was a sexual guy and I was sure he screwed a different girl every chance he got, but somehow seeing it made it real and it sucked.
“Good, there’s hope for you yet. I knew there was a decent guy in there somewhere.” I attempted to smile at him.
He didn’t smile back. Instead, he leaned in and glowered down at me.
“I wouldn’t be too hopeful, snowflake. Do yourself a favor and quit deluding yourself into thinking there’s anything even remotely decent about me. I make the guy your daddy warned you about look like a little bitch. I get high, I drink, and I like to fuck. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll jog your pretty little ass back to Pleasantville and stay away from me.” He licked his thick lips in emphasis before he lifted his beer and downed it like it was water.
“You just proved my point. Only a nice guy would give a girl like me that kind of warning.”
There was more to him than just sex, drugs, and music. I’d gotten a glimpse of the decent guy he kept locked inside. He could try and hide from me all he wanted, but I knew the truth. He was good. He could’ve left me to die, but he didn’t. He could’ve taken full advantage of me in his room that night, but he didn’t.
Sometimes when he looked at me, I saw more in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what it was, but it was a spark of something that begged to be released. It wasn’t the delusions of a girl with a crush. I wasn’t seeing things that weren’t there.
He moved quickly and pressed me up against the wall. His large hands captured the sides of my waist and gently squeezed. My ribs ached and protested, but I didn’t show any pain. Leaning down, he ran his lips up the side of my neck until I could feel his breath against my hairline. He nipped at my earlobe and then planted a soft kiss behind my ear. My legs wobbled and my eyes closed.
“You’re doing it again, pretty girl,” he whispered. The smell of vodka roamed around me. “You need to understand the nature of the beast. Even a rattlesnake hisses in warning before he attacks.”
I swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t attack me.”
“You bet your sexy khaki-covered ass I would.”
“Then do it.” I dared him.
He leaned back and looked down at me with an arrogant smile.
“Nah, you haven’t earned it. Plus, I have a thing for redheads.” He fingered a strand of my hair.
And just like that I was pissed off. He was so annoying! He thought he was all that with his overconfident ass smothered in sexiness. He thought he was God’s gift wrapped in tattoos and piercings. It was like he expected women to drool over him. Well, damn him and damn me for doing exactly what he expected. I could practically feel the drool on the side of my mouth.
Did he think because he was baked in red-hot lust and seasoned with pheromones he could talk to people any way he wanted? Did he think because he could play the guitar all the women around him were just supposed to turn into Zeke groupies?
Sure, I totally wanted to throw my panties at him every time he played, but the point is he didn’t know that.