Page 48 of Flame
Chapter Eleven
Heart pounding, I look down and realize that the sender’s name is already programmed into the phone.
Sexy motherfucker.
Confusion robs my body of tension as another message appears on the screen from that same sender.
Stay at my place tonight,he warns. Don’t be a dumbass. Your “brother” isn’t the only asshole looking for you. Gino’s been running his mouth. You’ll be safe at the shop.
I swallow hard as a million different emotions hit me all at once. Somehow, I manage to compile a reply, fighting against my shaking fingers.Where will you stay?
Wherever the fuck I want,he responds within seconds.With whoever the fuck I want.
I clench my jaw, knowing that I’m reacting just how he wants me to. Hurt.
All I can think of to type back is a pathetic plea. Bonnie would make a fitting rebound, but…
Don’t use Mara to punish me.
Don’t play the victim,he counters.She’s a big girl and can handle herself. But can you? Gino’s men won’t fall for those bunny eyes. Don’t. Be. A. Dumbass.
He’s right—and knowing that stings more than any insult. Sighing, I look up and try to guess my location in relation to his shop. I head there slowly, not out of guilt or a sense of duty. Mainly pure self-preservation and a niggling, selfish impulse that won’t let my thumbs leave the cell phone’s screen.
Liam is a friend,I find myself typing. The excuses keep coming one after the other, written without any pretty prose—just stark honesty.I used him to make you jealous. I won’t deny that.
Holy fuck,Rafe snipes, his hostility palpable even through the screen.Is that the truth? Give the woman a goddamn medal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I aim to be balls deep in some pussy. Preferably one belonging to a bitch without a “Liam.”
Again, I flinch as his barb hits its target.
Beyond the cruelty, I have to admit that I’m impressed by the extent of his vocabulary. In fact, I think he’s deliberately trying to provoke me on that front, proving once more that he’s not the punk he pretends to be.
So in the spur of the moment, I drop my own guard and copy his tactic.
I express the one thing I don’t think he expects from me—the truth.
You scare me,I confess, hitting send before I can rethink the message.
His next reply—if he’s preparing one at all—doesn’t come right away this time. Tearing my gaze from my phone, I spot a familiar street sign and feel some shred of relief. I’m near his shop already, and I slip into the alley, approaching it from the back instead of the front. It takes me a few seconds of fumbling with his keys before I get the door open and enter his apartment.
When I sink onto the couch, he still hasn’t replied. I exchange my clothes for a nightshirt and enter his room, crawling onto the bed.
Still no answer.
Because I do trust you,I add, letting my fingers linger over every letter until I finally hit send.
Judging from how quickly his next reply comes, he’s been anticipating as much.
Lying. Fucking around. Treating me like a dirty little secret. Some definition of trust,he says.
While being “balls deep in pussy”? I can’t tell. It startles me just how much the prospect stings. Him with someone else. Another woman tracing the swirls of his tattoo with avid interest. Someone else moaning into his ear. Clawing at his back. Someone else in his arms, relishing his heat.
Mara?
Bonnie?
An entirely different woman?
It doesn’t matter. In this arena, he’s resorting to his preferred weapon of choice—sex.
