Page 34 of Knot Mine

A quick search on my phone confirmed my theory that it was just a pre-heat haze, likely made worse by my long-term use of suppressants. Zion was definitely going to lecture me about this when I told him.

It doesn’t stop me from hiding in my room watching a film about a fish who wants to be a girl until after lunch, my grumbling stomach finally forcing me to leave in search of food. As I enter the kitchen, Zale sits at the island counter with a cup of coffee. He perks up when he sees me and it’s like a current of electricity being zapped through my exhausted body.

He’s wearing a white T-shirt and a pair of light-faded jeans with holes in both knees. They look plain and pretty nondescript, but I can tell by the fit they are from an expensive brand.

Glancing over, I spot that he’s searching for quick and easy recipes on his phone. I bet he can’t cook. Great. Not only did I deliver the jock to my sister for her birthday, but I also have to feed him and provide his entertainment too. Lucky me.

He straightens, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “Shiloh. I shouldn’t have?—”

I hold my hand up to silence him and I pull a pack of chicken breast out of the fridge, along with some salad. “Shut up, Zale. We aren’t going to talk about it.”

Shutting it down was the best thing to do. He was my sister’s boyfriend and I’m not sure I had the strength to close Pandora's box once it was opened.

“But…”

“No buts. Not talking about shit is the only option right now.” I click my tongue, ignoring his pink cheeks as we both think about the blowjob incident and this morning’s little performance. What was it about Zale Blackwood that meant mydecorum and sanity evaporated like the last dregs of water in a desert?

Placing the food on the counter, I grab a big pot, shoving it against his chest. “So, put the potatoes in the pan and keep your mouth shut. It’s not hard.”

I realize my mistake as soon as the word ‘hard’ leaves my mouth. After a minute, he does as I ask.

Another minute later, when we’re standing almost shoulder to shoulder as I prep the chicken, cutting it into strips, he turns to me.

I can feel it but I refuse to look at him.

Instead, I growl. “No, don’t you dare.”

“Fine.” He chuckles, and I can feel his broad shoulders moving as we don’t talk about the unintentional dick pun.

Zale sits down opposite me, so I have no choice but to glance at him as he rests his chin in his huge hands. “Is that what you meant when you said you’d be ‘enjoying your space’?”

I see red. With a sigh, I slam my knife down on the chopping board. “I swear to all things holy, I will rip your tongue out of your head Zale Blackwood and boil it in a stew.”

I’m barely keeping my sanity hanging on by a thread. No doubt he’ll tell the others when they arrive, and they’ll all have a big laugh about it—especially Sadie. That bitch loved to try to bring me down to her level on the regular.

Add it to the rumors about me fucking anything that moves, and I’m sure I’ll be the topic of many discussions when we go back to college in January. I didn’t need to give the other students at Oakley more ammunition to use against me, but here we are.

“Fine, fine!” He holds his hands up in surrender, laughing as I pick up the knife and point it at him with a glare.

He just grins, his smile wide as his blue eyes twinkle with mischief. I don’t care what he’s planning, I want no part of it.I’d learned the hard way that there weren't many people in this world you could trust.

And while Zale may be showing me his best side, there’s no doubt in my mind that it was all for my sister. He’s only playing nice to make an effort with his girlfriend’s brother, his potential future brother-in-law. I doubt that any of it is genuine, despite the weird things that keep happening between us so I refuse to trust his easy smiles no matter how attractive they make him look.

I don’t think I’d actually seen him smile as much as he has been since he walked through the front door of the cabin. It was almost like he was a different person.

Luckily, we’re interrupted by a cheesy pop song blasting through the kitchen. “Shit, that’s my phone.”

He glances across to where it’s vibrating against the countertop.

“Answer it then,” I reply as I finish cutting the chicken, throwing it into a bowl with some seasoning and natural yogurt. My skin still feels tight and warm, but I don’t want to talk, think or even refer to what happened this morning, so instead I pour all my focus into getting us both fed. Once the chicken is coated, I wash my hands and turn the oven on.

Tapping his fingers against the kitchen worktop, Zale chews on his bottom lip. “It’s probably Millie.”

“Mmmm. Probably.” I nod, looking for a baking tray, nudging him out of my way with a casual bump of my shoulder.

His hesitation is strange, almost like he’s debating whether or not to answer. Why wouldn’t he pick up? There’s an odd tugging at the back of my brain. Am I imagining his reluctance because I’m desperately searching for a flaw in his relationship or is it actually there? My thoughts drift off to his alibi for yesterday, the one that didn’t make sense.

Just who was Zale Blackwood really? And what skeletons was he keeping in his closet?

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