Page 38 of I Knead You Tonight

“What the fuck are you looking at?” she snaps, curling her arm around her waist.

I want to march over there and peel it away.

How fucking dare she cover her perfect body up. How dare she act like she’s anything less than gorgeous.

But it’s not my place to say anything to her.

So I gnash my teeth together, yank the tee I’m wearing over my head, and toss it her way. “Here. A clean shirt.”

She catches it, staring at the object like it’s foreign for a moment before, much to my surprise, she slides the material over her head without any argument.

It’s way too big on her and she looks ridiculous in it, but I can tell she’s relieved to be covered up.

“Thanks.” She lets out a groan. “Sorry, that was an intense few minutes there.”

“It’s not a problem.”

“Really? All my…what was it?” She taps her finger to her chin. “Ah yes, I remember.” She crosses her arms over her chest, her signatureI’m fucking pissedstance. “Baby baggage, right? My baby baggage isn’t an issue for you?”

I wince, loathing having my words thrown back at me. “Fuck, Drew. I didn’t mean it. I was—”

She holds her hand up. “You know what, Winston? Save it. I’m tired of hearing your excuses. Besides”—she lifts a shoulder—“I’m used to you talking to me like I’m trash. Nothing new.”

I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.

And it must be exactly how Drew felt the other night when I spouted off the most bullshit thing ever.

“Drew—”

“No, really, Winston. It’s fine.I’mfine. Like I said, totally used to it. You always say mean things to me. It’s how our relationship works.”

“You say mean things to me too.”

“But I don’t ever mean them. I don’t ever say things to cut at you. I say things in jest.”

“Ididn’tmean it,” I insist, crossing the room and standing before her, trying to make herseehow sorry I am. “I was just high and I always say stupid shit when I’m high. I can’t handle my emotions all that well when the pot kicks in.”

She laughs sardonically. “Right. Blame the weed, Win. That’s really grown up of you. It’s the same shit my mom used to do when she’d shoot up. She didn’t pay the bills on time because she was too high. She didn’t buy groceries because the ‘good stuff’ made her forget. She didn’t pick me up from school because the dope made her too tired. It’s just an excuse like she used to make.” She steps closer to me and her eyes darken so much they almost look black even from this close. “Face it, Winston—you didn’t say it because you were high. You said it because you’re a prick.”

I grab her wrist when she spins on her heel, not letting her get far.

She peers up into my eyes, still looking hurt and angry, and I try to convey with my own that I never meant to hurt her.

“I’m sorry, Drew. I’m sorry, okay?”

“Like I said, Winston, I’m used to it.”

She yanks her arm back, and I let her walk away.

* * *

“You haveto be fucking kidding me.”

I roll over on the couch, blindly reaching for my phone on the coffee table.

12:13AM.

Riker’s crying.

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