Page 51 of Double Apex

He rubs a hand over his face. “I hope you’ll understand I would prefer not to talk now.” His nostrils flare a little as he levels a cool gaze at me. “As you’re so fond of pointing out, we are not dating. No discussion is necessary.”

My embarrassment is acute, and I scramble to my feet off the other side of the bed. “Fine—suits me. Enjoy your evening.”

“Wait…”

I fold my arms, and after a long silence where he doesn’t continue, I look back.

“Give me a moment.” He lifts his hands and hovers them near his head. “I have many things in my mind. Please stay.”

I woodenly lie down. He has all the pillows, and the way my hands are clasped over my chest as I lie flat and rigid makes me look like I’m preparing to be sacrificed.

He grabs a pillow from behind himself. “Here. Lift.”

I comply, and he inserts the pillow beneath my head. Another tense minute goes by, punctuated by the thin sound of traffic horns below and faint chuckle of a distant helicopter.

“You’re apparently not going to apologize for making me look like a twat this morning,” I say. “Sorry you got your nose out of joint over not getting laid last night, but calling me ‘bloodless’ fornot servicing youwas selfish and rude. And I was joking about the ‘product’ thing. Christ, Cos—my dad has inoperable cancer. Maybe give me a break if I don’t express everything perfectly all the time?”

He scoots down and turns on his side, mashing a pillow beneath his neck. “My comment wasn’t about the lack of sex. I was hurt. What I truly wished for last night was someone totalk to. My trip to Bucharest was difficult. A bit of compassion from you would not have been unwelcome.”

A ripple of shame goes through me.

“But at my door,” he continues, “you felt compelled to point out—onceagain—that I’m essentially a business asset whose cock you like when you’re bored.”

He’s absolutely right, so of course I go on the offensive, because I am—as my mother once said—borderline feral and don’t know how to play nicely with others.

“We’re notfriends, Cosmin.”

His jaw clenches hard enough that I see the muscle twitch. He rolls onto his back, jamming his hands behind his head. “Yes. Thank you for clarifying.”

“And when I’m ‘bored’? That’s not accurate.”

He scoffs. “My mistake—the term you used was ‘a distraction.’ Iarta-ma, te rog.”

My eyes narrow. “I’m gonna assume that was something insulting.”

He lifts his head and pins me with a look of disbelief. “You’re a very suspicious woman. You’reclosed. Like a fist.” He lifts a hand and squeezes to illustrate his point. “It means ‘forgive me, please.’ Though it was meant with sarcasm.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“You once thought the same thing about ‘draga,’ asking me ‘Does this mean bitch?’ You are maddening! You expect the worst of everyone, and fool that I am, I align to your expectations because you make me fucking crazy. Why am I so—?”

He shuts his mouth in a firm line and retreats into silence.

I roll onto my stomach and prop on my elbows. “Why are you so…?” I prompt.

His critical gaze touches on me before cutting away. “I refuse to give you compliments while the sting of your insult lingers.”

“What aboutyourinsult?” I retort, sitting up straighter. Suddenly the rest of what he said catches up with me. “Wait, what?Compliments?”

“Never mind.”

I rest my chin on my folded arms, watching his chest rise and fall.Aaauuuggghhh, this is so goddamned stupid. It’s easier if we just fuck.

I do want to ask him what happened in Bucharest. But if we start doing that “talking about feelings” shit, it’s like a relationship, and that’s not our agreement.

Hoping to switch gears and entice him into a nice, straightforward “let’s not get all angsty” fuck, I say, “You know what we should do right now?”

I allow the question to hang, arranging my expression into something provocative.

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