Page 14 of Hero: Claimed

“What?” And he acts like he honestly doesn’t understand. If I weren’t so pissed, I’d clap for his awesome Oscar-winning performance.

“What don’t you understand? I’m fat. Inmy worldeither you’re fat or you’re loved, butnever—neverfucking ever both. Hairy, no-necked assholes like Crush who only want to abuse me are the only men who have time for me.”

“That’s not true, Brin.”

“It’s not,Hero? Hmm…” To prove his words as lies, I start unbuttoning my blouse. The V between my breasts, a section of lacy black bra and tummy ripples are all visible before he puts his hand up to stop me.

“Don’t do that,” he says. Yeah… just like I thought.

“Exactly,” I reply.

“Notexactly. Now, I told you to call me ‘Levi,’ not Hero. The brothers call me that, the women call me that—but not you.”

“What the hell does it matter what I call you?” I begin buttoning the shirt back up.

“It matters because you’re my old lady and as my old lady, you call me by my name. Levi. Period.”

I roll my eyes at him. “Oh, would you stop it? I’m no more your old lady thanDestiniis. Only at least she gets to get laid. I bet you know what you’re doing in that department. But again, fat doesn’t get laid. Fat doesn’t get loved. Fat doesn’t—”

“Seriously, quit fucking saying that,” he says. I take a step back, flinching because he sounds angry. “Brin, shit, woman, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve never raised my hand to a woman in my life.”

“At this point, it wouldn’t matter if you did. Just one more thing to add to the list to get me out of here faster,” I tell him honestly. His face falls. “There’s a party going on out there. Where do you want me to go?”

“You can come to the party, meet more of the brothers or you can stay in here.”

“That’s right. I saw the other night… Brothers don’t mind getting it on in public. Go for it, stud. Go get Destini and remind her of everything you’re capable of. I’ll stay in here. No one will even know I exist.”

“I’m not gonna get through to you tonight, I see that now. Whatever. I’ll see you later.”Herobegins to storm away but turns back, stomps over to the dresser where my key is sitting on top, plucks the key up and shoves it in his pocket, then turns to storm away again.

“Just in case,” he says and slams the door behind him for good measure.

Aaahhh. I scream inside my head, though I don’t make a peep of sound. That’s my way out and I don’t like not having control over the situation. No, I wasn’t planning on leaving tonight, but when I decide to take off, I need to be able to go. Why do men have to be such assholes all the time?

Whatever, fine. I’ll wait until tomorrow to get them back. With nothing else to do, I change into my pajamas—long, cotton pants and a fitted, stretchy T-shirt—climb into bed, plug in my earbuds and open the Netflix app on the tablet my sister loaned me. The sleepwear is totally different from the shorts and tank I left Houston in. Since she has Netflix, she lets me log onto her account. And I binge watch two seasons of a sci-fi drama before I drift off.

The next thing I know, it feels like there’s a bug landing on my nose. I swat it off and it keeps coming back. Relentless.

When I can’t take anymore, I open my eyes, intent on finding something to crush that sucker. I don’t relish killing anything, even bugs, but dammit, I just want to sleep. Maybe once I’m sufficiently rested, I’ll plan out how to get my keys back from Hero. With his bed being so comfy, admittedly, getting my keys back might not happen until I’m close to calcifying to the sheets.

But no. Those pesky insects live for waylaying the best of plans. I open my unfocused eyes. “You’re dead now, bu—” The rest of the word dies on my tongue. Because it’s not an insect. No, it’s Hero. Hero with his finger pointed out like he’s preparing to tickle my nose.

“I’m dead?” he asks, chuckling.

“I thought you were a bug,” I explain dryly, pushing to sit up and moving my hair out of my face. “What did you do with my keys?”

The jackass smirks.Smirks. “In my pocket. Why?”

“Because I’d like them back.”

“I bet,” he says, now full-on smiling and I want to fist-punch his gorgeous face. “Since that’s not happening, new topic.”

“What do you want then?”

“Get dressed. We’re going to breakfast, then I thought we could hang out, get to know each other.”

Is this guy serious? He can’t stand the sight of me? He proved my point when I unbuttoned my blouse last night, to, well, prove my point. Like he’s going to want anyone to see us together. “Since that’s not going to happen,” I reply, snidely, “new topic.”

“Come on, up. Get dressed. I know this fantastic pancake house.”

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