Page 195 of Hide and Keep

“And you acted like a—”

“Dog?”

Although Evercanbe a bitch, she’s no dog. I shouldn’t have made the collar and leash comment. That was out of line. But once again, she lied to me. All she fucking does is lie. She lied about those bruises on her hips. She lied about that test this morning.

I wanted her stripped down, at her most vulnerable with me, and I thought she was. She was completely bared to me, standing over my face, fucking my tongue, and still, motherfuckingstill,she put up a front. She could’ve told me. She could’ve said itwasn’t doing it for her. I would’ve stopped. Instantly. I would’ve done anything she fucking wanted me to. All she had to do was be honest. But she can’t. She’d rather keep up the tough exterior that she uses with everyone else.

I hate that she doesn’t see me differently. I hate that I don’t know how to be different. How the fuck am I supposed to break down her walls when I’m still scaling my own? I tried last night. I tried really fucking hard. I’ve never been good with girls. I’ve neverbeenwith girls, not like that.

Regardless, I know how I behaved was wrong. I’m not a total dumbfuck. Just irrational…when it comes to Ever Munreaux.

“You know you’re not a dog, Ever. You could never be a dog.” She doesn’t budge, so I try a joke, saying, “Dogs don’t even fly.”

Not even that does the trick, her face hard as she glares at me.

The door swings open, cracking Ever’s façade as she redirects her attention to whoever just came through it. Only after she sits down do I follow her lead, giving Edwin the floor.

“Mr. Munreaux sends his apologies that he won’t be joining you two for dinner tonight.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I tell the valet.

Chef Ryan strolls in behind him with his hands full of our plates. He makes it a point to regard us as he sets each one down, questioning, “Was there something wrong with the previous seating arrangement?”

“Yeah, Mr. Brantley—”

“Miss Munreaux,” I speak over Ever, practically booming, “had an issue with her food this afternoon when a piece of chicken got stuck in her throat.”

That’s a real thing. Apparently, people choke on chicken a crazy amount. My mom’s hairdresser does. Once, when she went to the emergency room for it, the doctor called her a “chicken choker.”

Both men’s eyes widen, their jaws dropping.

“Momentarily,” I add. “Thankfully, I was able to perform the Heimlich maneuver right away and dislodge it. She’s been a little shaken up ever since though, so I thought it best to sit next to her in case it happens again.”

“You’re a hero,” Edwin praises, his worn gaze on mine.

Used to the opposite sentiment being hurled at me, all I can do is give him a tight smile.

Ryan’s eyes, however, are all for Ever as he looks her over. “Are you all right, miss?”

“Ahem.” I clear my throat, readjusting in my chair. “She’s fine.”

The chef doesn’t so much as blink, as if I didn’t even speak.

“Would you like me to cut your steak into smaller bites for you?” he offers her, like I didn’t think of that. If she was a real chicken choker, I would’ve.

“I can—”

“That issosweet of you,” Ever croons.

I cut my glare over to her. She can’t possibly mean that. She didn’t even say that when I did her hair for her.

So quick I almost miss it, she glances my way, then she’s sitting up and propping her chin on her interlocked fingers, focusing on her chef again.Thechef. Ryan’s her dad’s chef. He’s nothing to her.

He better be nothing to her.

“But I don’t think that’ll be necessary. If you wouldn’t mind cutting up Mr. Brantley’s food though…” Her hand covering her mouth from my view, she mock-whispers, “He’s not a very strong eater either.”

Oh, hell fucking no. Did she just imply I can’t eat pussy? I’m averystrong eater, ineveryregard. I was off my game this morning…or something. I don’t know what went wrong. I let her lead. Lesson learned. Won’t happen again—the letting-Ever-lead part. The other part…it will happen again. Soon.

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