Page 107 of Arrogant Puck

“Why?” His eyes narrow, immediately suspicious.

I let a small smile play at my lips. “I want some.”

“No.” The word explodes out of him as he pushes himself off the couch, towering over me. “No fucking way. Are you fucking serious?”

I was joking, but his reaction is telling me everything I need to know about how he truly feels about them. If he doesn’t approve of me taking them, then why the hell does he take them? He’s not the party boy I thought he was.

“So, you can take them, but I can’t?” I challenge, sitting up on the couch.

“I’m not giving you drugs, Sage,” he seethes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

I stare into his eyes, seeing past the anger to the fear underneath. The pain that is so overwhelming that he’d rather be numb than feel it.

“I was kidding,” I whisper finally, my voice gentle. “But give them to me, please.”

His jaw tightens. “What are you doing with them?”

“I’m going to get rid of them for you.” I stand up, moving closer to him.

He glares at me for a long moment, and I can see the war happening behind his eyes. Then, without a word, he turns and walks down the hallway.

I follow, watching the way his shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, how it hangs loose over his perfect ass. God, he’s so tall and muscular and so fucking difficult. Everything about him is a red flag, but instead I find myself drawn to every dark part of him. I would do just about anything to help him out of the darkness.

I hover in his doorway, watching as he goes to his dresser and pulls open the top drawer. He reaches toward the back, behind a stack of boxer briefs, and pulls out a small plastic bag.

“All my good stuff is in my underwear drawer too,” I say with a smirk.

That earns me a reluctant smile as he walks back over and hands me the bag. The pills rattle softly as I take them, little white tablets that seem so innocent but hold so much power over him.

“Who’s your drug dealer?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He shakes his head. “None of your business.”

I study the bag in my hands, biting my cheek to keep from pressing further. Instead, I focus on the more important battle.

“But you don’t have to worry,” he says suddenly, his voice quiet. “If you don’t want me on them, if you’ll leave because I’m on them, I swear I won’t take them again.”

“How can I trust that?”

“They’re almost a year old,” he admits. “Even when I bought them, I didn’t take them.”

“So, why do you have them then?”

“Power. Every day I see them and have the choice to take them and don’t.”

I glare at the drugs, trying to make sense of that. He holds all the power, but that doesn’t excuse why he’s high right now.

I question, “But today?”

His eyebrow raises, and something vulnerable flickers across his face. “I lost the battle. You hit me where it hurts, Sage. Nobody talks to me like that, and I told you before—I’m fucked up. The alcohol didn’t help my choices.”

He walks over and sits on the edge of his bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, his head hanging down. The posture makes him look younger, less intimidating, more broken.

“I have issues,” he says to the floor. “Bad abandonment issues.”

My heart clenches at the defeat in his voice. I walk over and sit beside him on the bed, reaching out to cup his cheek and turn his face toward mine.

“Slater.”

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