Page 116 of Arrogant Puck

Chapter 40

I wake up to an empty bed and the sound of movement in the kitchen. For a moment, I just lie there, savoring the lingering scent of her on my sheets, the memory of how she fell apart in my arms last night. These past few days have been a fucking revelation like finally coming up for air after drowning for years.

The morning wood is immediate and demanding as I walk to the kitchen, drawn by the sight of her in my shirt. Her bare legs make my mouth water. She’s standing at the counter with her back to me, motionless, but all I can think about is getting my hands on her.

I slide up behind her, pressing my erection against her ass as I wrap my arms around her waist.

“Morning, beautiful,” I murmur against her neck, expecting her to melt into me the way she has every morning for the past week.

Instead, she goes rigid. Pushes against my arms with just enough force to create space between us.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, confusion cutting through the haze of desire.

She doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me. Just stands there staring at the counter, her shoulders tense enough to snap.

I glance at the counter. A small plastic bag sits on the granite surface. My pills. Oxycodone. The sight hits me like a punch to the gut because I have no fucking memory of where it came from.

“Where’d you find that?” The words come out defensive like instincts kicking in before I can stop them. My mind races, trying to remember all the places I stashed pills over the years. Was this one in the kitchen? Behind the coffee maker? In the junk drawer?

“It doesn’t matter where the fuck I found them,” she declares, her voice deadly quiet. “The question is why you have these. I thought you gave me your stash.”

“I don’t know where you found those, but...” I run a hand through my hair, the words feeling like broken glass in my throat. “I have bags hidden throughout the house.”

Those words hang between us like a live grenade. She whirls around, and the look in her eyes of betrayal, rage, disappointment makes me want to put my fist through the wall.

She grabs the bag, holding it up like evidence she’s caught me red-handed. “Are you on them right now?”

“Are you fucking serious right now, Sage? No.”

Fucking hell. She sounds like every other person in my goddamn life, accusing me of being high.

“Are you fucking sure?” She steps closer, close enough that I can see the fury blazing in her dark eyes.

“Yes, I’m fucking sure, Sage,” I grind out.

Those words fly right over her head.

She doesn’t believe me.

“Where else are you hiding your drugs?” she asks.

“What?” I gasp, unable to process that this isn’t a simple conversation. She could have just asked, and I would tell her the truth, and this would be done. But by the look in her eyes, she’s pissed.

Her voice rises, cracking like a whip. “Where the fuck else are your pills, Slater?”

“I don’t fucking know!” The words explode out of me. “That’s why I asked where you found those!”

She storms past me, her face a mask of disgust. “You are such a fucking liar!”

Fuck!

She’s right.

I do know where I’ve hid them, but now that I’m being confronted, my brain won’t fucking remember.

I chase her down the hallway, my heart pounding with a mixture of panic and rage. “Sage, wait—”

But she’s already in my bedroom, yanking open dresser drawers. Unfolding my shorts, checking pockets, dumping out contents like she’s conducting a drug raid.

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