Page 85 of Playing With Danger

There was a thread of humor in his voice but still I treaded cautiously.

“Um, no.”

“Fear not, my love-sick friend. I am not in the market to settle down. Khloe knows what she’s getting and what she’s not getting from me.”

Well, that was the best news I’d heard since I met the bitch.

“Your objections are noted. I won’t bring her to the apartment anymore.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She’s not the first one who I’m not particularly fond of.” Understatement. “It’s your apartment, too. Bring home who you want. You know the rule; as long as they don’t use my shampoo and conditioner it’s all good. And if they steal my clothes it’s immediate expulsion. Though we need another rule, seeing as this one’s a coffee hog. I get right of first refusal for the last cup of coffee when I’m home.”

“What are you talking about? I’ve never seen Khloe drink coffee.”

“She drank almost a whole pot the other morning.”

God, I did not want to think about that day or the medical bills that would soon be coming in for an ER visit and the useless tests the doctor ran.

“I know you said that, and I thought it was strange. Like I said, I’ve never seen her with a coffee.”

“Just a warning, pal. Women like it when you pay attention to their preferences. That goes double for a coffee lover.”

“Guess that’s why I don’t pay attention. Don’t wanna send the wrong message.”

I rolled my eyes to the ceiling.

“You good?” he gently prodded.

“No. I won’t be good until Valentine comes home and we have this out.”

“Rephrase. Are you better than when you called me?”

“Absolutely.”

Thank God for Hayden. I don’t know what I’d do without him.

“Right. Then I’m gonna let you go. Call me if you need anything. I’m always here.”

“I know you are and I love you for it, Winslow.”

There was a stretch of silence before he ended the call with, “There will never come a time when I won’t be at your back.”

With that, he disconnected.

I tossed my phone on the couch and rested my head on the cushion and waited for Valentine to come home.

Then I waited longer.

Night fell and he still hadn’t returned.

So I sat there and readied myself for the battle I knew would come.

A battle I had to win or I’d lose everything.

21

Feeling like more of an asshole than I’ve ever felt in my whole life, I walked into my house.

My guilt and shame were no longer at war. After hours of sitting on my father’s ratty-assed couch watching my father stare at a portrait of his dead wife and daughter, I snapped. The results of that were not pretty.

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