Wildfire
Page 34
When we sold the house and moved into the warehouse, my parents built me a loft apartment—a bedroom and a bathroom, accessible only by a wooden staircase. I could retract the last ten feet of it, which effectively frustrated my sisters’ attempts to bug me when I wanted to be left alone. I even had a window for my bedroom. It was a cozy space, my retreat from the world, my favorite place, where I ran away to when I was tired and overwhelmed. Right now it seemed empty. My bed seemed too big and empty too.
How in the world did I get used to sleeping next to Rogan so fast? I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights we slept together.
He didn’t ask for my DNA profile. I couldn’t decide how to feel about it. It depended on why he didn’t request it. Did he not request it because he loved me and didn’t care if we were genetically compatible, or did he not request it because he wasn’t thinking of anything serious like marriage?
Did I want to marry Mad Rogan?
Marriage meant exclusivity, but in the world of Primes, affairs weren’t just common. They were almost normal. I would do almost anything to stay with him, but sharing him with anyone else was beyond me.
Something knocked on my window.
Maybe it was a bat.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I climbed out of the bed and walked to the window. A small grey rock tapped the glass from the outside. Knock-knock-knock.
I looked down. Rogan stood on the sidewalk.
Well. Think of the devil.
I pulled the latch up and opened the window. The rock streaked to the ground.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“I said wait for me.”
“I did. I waited for an hour. Then I had to go home.”
“You’re mad at me.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Why would I be mad at you? Is it because as soon as we had sex, you jumped out of our bed and rushed to see your ex-fiancée and was gone for almost two hours?”
“One hour.”
I checked the clock by my bed. “One hour and twenty-two minutes.”
“There was a hysterical child on the other end of the line. When I got there, his sister woke up and started crying. Then Rynda cried.”
“Did you soothe them to sleep?”
He gritted his teeth. “I made sure they aren’t crying.”
“Great. Then the problem is resolved. I’m going back to bed.”
“I asked you to wait for me and you didn’t.”
“Why would I stay there, Rogan? You weren’t there. I have my own bed right here.”
“What exactly did you want me to do? Was I supposed to listen to her scream and tell her to fuck off because I would rather stay in bed with you?”
“So now I’m the bad guy?”
“Well, yes, a little bit. I went to do something nice and you got mad about it. You’re overreacting.”
Ooh, no he didn’t.
“Nevada, as the Head of a House, there will be times I will have to get out of bed, no matter what we’re doing, and go take care of things.”
“Taking care of your ex-fiancée is House business?”
“I’ve known her since we were children.”
“Mhm.”
“She’s practically family.”
“And what am I?”
He realized he’d walked into it.
“As it happens, I’m also about to become a Head of a House. You’re right, sometimes things do come up, and we have to leave and take care of them. I’m not just going to lay all sad in your bed waiting for when you decide that you’re done blotting another woman’s tears. I have profile requests to evaluate and kidnappings to solve.”
“What profile requests?” he growled. “Who?”
“Not you, if that’s what you’re asking. You didn’t check on our genetic compatibility.”
“Who, Nevada?”
“Do you think if you snarl enough, I’ll tell you? You’re not that scary, Rogan, and I don’t respond well to intimidation. Maybe you should lather up some spit.”
“Who was it?”
He was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let go of it until I told him, and it had very little to do with what I wanted to fight about. Fine. “House Tremaine and House Shaffer.”
“Did you say yes?”
“Not to Tremaine.”
“You said yes to Shaffer?”
“Yes.”
He lapsed into silence. His face arranged itself into a cold mask. “You’re right. You are becoming the Head of your House. Might as well start planning now.”
Oh, for the love of . . . “They asked for my basic profile to eliminate the possibility of familial relations, because they’re worried I might be a Shaffer love child.”
“They asked for it to ensure that there are no complications preventing a match,” he ground out. “That’s the first step.”
I leaned through the window and savored the words. “You’re overreacting.”
A door swung open somewhere and Catalina called out, “Mom says that you should either have sex or stop arguing, because it’s past midnight and all of us are trying to sleep. Figure yourselves out!”
The door slammed shut.
“That’s okay,” I hissed. “We’re finished talking. Just one question before I go: in your expert opinion as the Head of a House, when Rynda called you, was it a true emergency? Was it something that absolutely couldn’t be resolved without your presence, or was it another opportunity for her to make sure that you’re emotionally engaged to take care of her and her children if Brian doesn’t make it? And if it was a true emergency, why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”
I slammed the window shut. There. I got it out.
He stared at me through the window, turned, and strode across the street.
That’s right. Just walk away.
I threw myself on the bed. Well, that went well.
Something thudded outside.
Now what?
I got up and went to the window. He stood in the middle of the street. A stream of pallets and huge tires flew past him, stacking themselves on the ground under my window.
I just stared, mute.
The stack grew with ridiculous speed. He was building a ramp to my window.
I pulled the window open again. “Are you out of your mind?”
His face was grim. “No.”
How in the world did I get used to sleeping next to Rogan so fast? I could count on the fingers of one hand the number of nights we slept together.
He didn’t ask for my DNA profile. I couldn’t decide how to feel about it. It depended on why he didn’t request it. Did he not request it because he loved me and didn’t care if we were genetically compatible, or did he not request it because he wasn’t thinking of anything serious like marriage?
Did I want to marry Mad Rogan?
Marriage meant exclusivity, but in the world of Primes, affairs weren’t just common. They were almost normal. I would do almost anything to stay with him, but sharing him with anyone else was beyond me.
Something knocked on my window.
Maybe it was a bat.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I climbed out of the bed and walked to the window. A small grey rock tapped the glass from the outside. Knock-knock-knock.
I looked down. Rogan stood on the sidewalk.
Well. Think of the devil.
I pulled the latch up and opened the window. The rock streaked to the ground.
“I’m trying to sleep.”
“I said wait for me.”
“I did. I waited for an hour. Then I had to go home.”
“You’re mad at me.”
Thank you, Captain Obvious. “Why would I be mad at you? Is it because as soon as we had sex, you jumped out of our bed and rushed to see your ex-fiancée and was gone for almost two hours?”
“One hour.”
I checked the clock by my bed. “One hour and twenty-two minutes.”
“There was a hysterical child on the other end of the line. When I got there, his sister woke up and started crying. Then Rynda cried.”
“Did you soothe them to sleep?”
He gritted his teeth. “I made sure they aren’t crying.”
“Great. Then the problem is resolved. I’m going back to bed.”
“I asked you to wait for me and you didn’t.”
“Why would I stay there, Rogan? You weren’t there. I have my own bed right here.”
“What exactly did you want me to do? Was I supposed to listen to her scream and tell her to fuck off because I would rather stay in bed with you?”
“So now I’m the bad guy?”
“Well, yes, a little bit. I went to do something nice and you got mad about it. You’re overreacting.”
Ooh, no he didn’t.
“Nevada, as the Head of a House, there will be times I will have to get out of bed, no matter what we’re doing, and go take care of things.”
“Taking care of your ex-fiancée is House business?”
“I’ve known her since we were children.”
“Mhm.”
“She’s practically family.”
“And what am I?”
He realized he’d walked into it.
“As it happens, I’m also about to become a Head of a House. You’re right, sometimes things do come up, and we have to leave and take care of them. I’m not just going to lay all sad in your bed waiting for when you decide that you’re done blotting another woman’s tears. I have profile requests to evaluate and kidnappings to solve.”
“What profile requests?” he growled. “Who?”
“Not you, if that’s what you’re asking. You didn’t check on our genetic compatibility.”
“Who, Nevada?”
“Do you think if you snarl enough, I’ll tell you? You’re not that scary, Rogan, and I don’t respond well to intimidation. Maybe you should lather up some spit.”
“Who was it?”
He was like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let go of it until I told him, and it had very little to do with what I wanted to fight about. Fine. “House Tremaine and House Shaffer.”
“Did you say yes?”
“Not to Tremaine.”
“You said yes to Shaffer?”
“Yes.”
He lapsed into silence. His face arranged itself into a cold mask. “You’re right. You are becoming the Head of your House. Might as well start planning now.”
Oh, for the love of . . . “They asked for my basic profile to eliminate the possibility of familial relations, because they’re worried I might be a Shaffer love child.”
“They asked for it to ensure that there are no complications preventing a match,” he ground out. “That’s the first step.”
I leaned through the window and savored the words. “You’re overreacting.”
A door swung open somewhere and Catalina called out, “Mom says that you should either have sex or stop arguing, because it’s past midnight and all of us are trying to sleep. Figure yourselves out!”
The door slammed shut.
“That’s okay,” I hissed. “We’re finished talking. Just one question before I go: in your expert opinion as the Head of a House, when Rynda called you, was it a true emergency? Was it something that absolutely couldn’t be resolved without your presence, or was it another opportunity for her to make sure that you’re emotionally engaged to take care of her and her children if Brian doesn’t make it? And if it was a true emergency, why didn’t you ask me to come with you?”
I slammed the window shut. There. I got it out.
He stared at me through the window, turned, and strode across the street.
That’s right. Just walk away.
I threw myself on the bed. Well, that went well.
Something thudded outside.
Now what?
I got up and went to the window. He stood in the middle of the street. A stream of pallets and huge tires flew past him, stacking themselves on the ground under my window.
I just stared, mute.
The stack grew with ridiculous speed. He was building a ramp to my window.
I pulled the window open again. “Are you out of your mind?”
His face was grim. “No.”
