Page 67 of Manhattan Tormentor

There’s only one thing I can say. “Give me one more.”

“Greedy fucker,” he accuses thickly. I turn to see him smirking as he tosses a third slice of pizza onto my paper plate.

“I brought it.”

I can’t call it a date. Finn gets skittish like a princess if I dare. Now I call it food for after the sex. He accepts that.

Whatever, I got sex and food, I’m golden.

It’s a shock he hasn’t kicked me out yet since we stopped fooling around an hour ago. I’m not complaining, so I fill my mouth with cheese and peppers while he grabs two sodas from his fridge.

We talk little. I bring games over for us to play. He’s getting ready for the fall semester to start, so I help him order his books online and with his class schedule. It’s when his phone rings and he curses that I see an unfamiliar reaction from him. A hand drags through his hair as he paces away to answer. “Jeremy.” He says, coldly.

I listen to the one sided conversation, it’s tense. Lots of “Yeah.” from Maverick, and when his eyes meet mine, they harden further. Whoever’s on the other end is angering him and I’m about to get the fallout. I know my cue to leave. Tossing the paper plate onto the table, I grab my jacket. There’s stuff to do for school. Hooking up with him for the past few weeks means I’m behind, it makes me uneasy to know I haven’t finished what I started. I should have had my college points by now.

All this guy’s fault.

Him and his god-like dick.

I turn in time to see him throw his phone on the counter, both hands rake through his messy hair. He looks lost in thought.

“I’m gonna head out,” I tell him.

He blinks. “Why?”

Why? That’s new.

“You usually can’t wait to get rid of me.”

Maverick makes a grumbling noise without answering.

I might be the unseen Fierro, but I’m also the sickest when all I can think about is offering any part of my body for him to suck on until he’s relaxed.

“Who was on the call?”

“None of your business.”

“They pissed you off.”

“Yeah? And how do you know that?” His lips are tight and his eyes are hard. I don’t need a high I.Q. to figure his moods. He swings like a premenstrual woman and I know what I’m talking about because I live with Bunny.

I go a different route. “Why do you keep hiding what we’re doing? Your friends call and you lie. You can tell them we’re hanging out without them knowing what we do.”

Why am I poking him for a reaction? It never goes well. And I’m this side of addicted to what we do together for me to risk losing it now.

He stalks over. I brace for him to slam into me for a kiss, my body so fucking ready. He swerves around me and hooks a beer from the depleting six pack.

“You’re scared to tell them.”

He pins me so coldly. The chill blasts from his eyes while he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Shut your mouth, Damsel, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I? I know a closet case when I see one. You sneak me out of your apartment like a military operation.”

“So what?” He sneers. He’s no longer the lover from an hour ago, the one tearing into my jeans and rushing his mouth all over my throat. He’s the tormentor who can cut with a stare and wound with a word. “You ever think I’m ashamed to be seen withyou? A fucking nerd. I’m really downgrading.”

I don’t show how much his words slice me open. He’s an asshole, he’s always been an asshole. This isn’t news to me. I went into this with my eyes wide open. More fool me. I pity him because he’s scared and fighting it. He reminds me of a wounded tiger protecting his hurt paw, his instinct is to bite first.

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