Page 81 of No Pucks

“I’m glad you’re here,” Anthony says making my chest tight.

“I told you I would be.” I can’t figure out if he’s just drunk or if there’s something he’s not telling me. Is he going to break up with me? That can’t be it. I see the way he looks at me.

He unlocks his door and lets me walk in first, but I don’t get far. He grabs me, crushing his mouth to mine, pinning me against the wall.

I groan into his mouth. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“Enthusiastic, I like, but this is more.” I slip my hand around the back of his neck, keeping him close.

He kisses me deeper than he has ever kissed me. This is different, and I want to know why.

“Let’s go to bed,” I say when he lets me get a breath in.

Reluctantly, Anthony backs off, leaning on the cane. “I guess.”

He watches as I strip and lift my brows questioningly, but he doesn’t give me an answer. When I slip into bed, he pulls me close but doesn’t kiss me. He holds me into his chest.

“You have a brush with death in that cab ride home?” I say into his pec.

“No. Just a long night. How was yours?”

“It was good. Wolfe threw a rager. He wanted to make sure all his adoptees got laid.”

Anthony pulls back abruptly, his features darkening. “Did you have fun?” He doesn’t mean fun.

“Are you jealous?”

“Why aren’t you answering?” He puts more space between us, and I feel him closing off.

“You’re fucking jealous.” And my cock is not mad. I’m hard as fuck.

“I’m nothing. I want an answer,” he says through a growl.

I grab his wrist, pulling it to my dick. “Not how I thought I’d react to jealousy, but I’ll go with it.”

He locks eyes like he can pull an answer out of me with his will alone. “Do I have something to be jealous over?”

“If you want to call a girl trying to climb in my lap but me rejecting her a reason to be jealous.”

He growls, and my cock throbs. “Why would she think she can climb into your lap?”

“I think she did it as a last ditch effort to get my attention. But I got up and dumped her off. I’m not a fan of blondes.” I pull his dark hair playfully.

He doesn’t relent, but he doesn’t speak, either.

“What do you want to say?” I take his hand off my dick, since he doesn’t seem to be into it.

He stays quiet for a long time.

I roll on my back. “You’ve got to use your damn words. I didn’t hook up with anyone at that party. I didn’t touch anyone except for that girl shooting her shot.”

“I know I don’t get to care.” His voice carries hesitation.

“Why do you think you don’t get to care?” I ask.

“It doesn’t matter.” Has this man seriously never had a frank conversation?

---