Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 517(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
“Nope.” He bites out the word before grabbing a slice from his box. “No problem.”
“Great.” I roll my eyes and settle back against the overstuffed cushions. “TV while we eat or no?”
Wordlessly, he grabs the remote and hits play, resuming our Enemies & Escrow marathon.
“What's in there?” I ask, nodding toward the unopened, round tin in the center of the coffee table.
“Dessert.” He reaches for it, peeling back the lid. “Figured maybe it'd make you sweeter.”
My eyes tighten at the corners as a sugary-sweet cinnamon scent fills the room. “Right.” I nod, suddenly at the end of my rope. “Because I'm so miserable I need help being sweet. Got it.”
He sighs and rubs the back of his neck, like dealing with me is just too much. Which is a response I’m used to. Somehow, I’m always too much. “I was just fucking with you, Scar. Don’t be so sensitive.”
I wish it was that easy—that I could turn it off. That I could be the ice queen everyone seems to think I am and let his callous words roll off my back, but for some reason, tonight… I can’t.
“Hey, no worries.” My voice warbles, but I push forward anyway. “I always prefer knowing exactly where I stand with someone.”
He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but no words come out, which is fine by me, because I have nothing else to say to him.
Paying him no mind, I grab my phone and check the time. “James needs his bottle.” I gather my trash and stand. “Thanks for dinner.”
NINE
ELLIS
For the second time tonight, I watch as Scarlet hightails it to the kitchen, this time to prepare James's bottle.
Apparently watching her as she flees is my new hobby, which is fucking ridiculous. If anything, I should be celebrating her retreat. I should find relief and peace in her absence. And yet, somehow, I don’t.
If anything, there’s an annoyingly persistent pinch in my chest. One that shouldn’t be there. One I’m not willing to put a name to it. But if I had to, I’d say it feels a lot like guilt.
Which is bullshit of the highest order. What in the hell do I have to feel guilty over? Have I been in rare form? Sure. But, really, it’s hardly my fault. Not when Scarlet usually gives it back as good as she gets.
Tonight though? She’s a sensitive, weepy mess, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. I much prefer her fire—some sick part of me likes the burn of her sharp tongue.
“God,” I growl, tugging on the ends of my hair. “Gonna drive me up the damn wall.”
“You’re going somewhere?” she asks, her voice cold.
“No?” My reply comes out as a question.
“Hmm. Okay.” She leans down and scoops James out of his jumper, never once looking my way.
“What are you even talking about?”
“You were talking about driving. Leave or don’t, Ellis. I truly don’t care.” The slight tremor in her voice calls her on her bullshit so well that I don’t bother.
She may not like me, but she most definitely feels safer with me here, and that’s got me feeling some kind of way.
The quiet her absence leaves is heavy in a way I don’t want to examine too closely. I’m not sure what’s in the air tonight, but we’re both off. I’m on a mean tear, and she's fucking infuriating, refusing to take my bait.
I don’t know when or where or how she did it, but she's managed to work her way under my skin. Hell, she’s in my veins, racing through me like some kind of… I don’t know… poison.
I need to purge her from my system, but I don't know how. Thanks to Atlas and Nora, our lives are hopelessly intertwined.
“Not going anywhere, Princess,” I mutter, even though she’s long gone.
I fire off a quick text to Atlas letting him know everything’s okay before standing and gathering our trash—the untouched cinnamon pull-aparts included—and bagging it all up.
As soon as I open the back door, the cool night air wraps itself around me, clinging to my skin. Any other time, I’d enjoy the feel of it but tonight, I’m too fucking frustrated thanks to tension lingering in the house.
I’d bail if I could—okay, that’s a damn lie, but I’m going to pretend I mean it. Because admitting that I jumped at the chance to be here tonight, even to myself, is more than I can handle right now.
So yeah, I’m going to keep telling myself that I’m only here because I have to be. Not because I want to be. Certainly not because I’m worried about Little Miss Satan and her stalker situation. And damn sure not because I enjoy bickering with her.
The fact that she’s good with James, that he loves her only adds insult to injury. Her ease with him honestly surprised the fuck out of me. Despite knowing she works with expectant mothers, I figured she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, what with her being a spawn of Satan and all. But it’s true, my dude loves her, and while I might not get it, I also maybe, kind of, sort of do.