Page 37 of Wilde's End
“I got this scar,” I say, pointing to the gashes across my chest, “when I fell off my dirt bike.”
Wilde throws me a disgusted look. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“This is called getting to know each other.”
“I don’t want to know you. I’d be happy if I woke up tomorrow and never saw your face again.”
My resentment only grows, so I do what I usually do when someone is pissing me off. I use my body against them. I flex my pecs, drawing Wilde’s attention, and the reluctant interest in his eyes is exactly what I’m after. “My face, maybe. But the way you’re looking at my body tells me you want to see a whole lot more of it.”
His bullish snort is music to my ears. “Says the man who couldn’t keep his eyes off my cock earlier.”
His … “What?”
“Don’t get all shy about it now.”
“What do you mean I saw yourcock?”
When he glances over, it’s less angry and more guarded. “You don’t remember?”
I moan and cover my face with my good arm. “No. Bring it back … bring it back …”
“Don’t worry,” he says dryly. “You were very impressed.”
And now, I’m verypissedthat I don’t remember it. Considering my fuck buddy is hours away and the fingers on my jerking-off hand are broken, it’s probably a good thing though. “I wouldn’t feel too smug about it. I find any dick impressive. Especially when they’re attached to an asshole.”
He does that no-answer thing again, and it makes me want to scream at him. I don’t like the stoic and silent type. I need him to meet me on my level. To give me attention. Be petty.
The truck crosses onto the gravel road, where the trees are spread further apart, making it easier to drive.
“Where’s my bike?”
“I’ll drop it off later.”
“When?”
No answer.
“Your doctor thinks this is your town. Might want to correct him on that.”
Still no answer.
I rack my messy, injured brain for something, anything I can use to draw him into conversation. Asking to see his cock again will probably get me punched in the face. I’m tempted to ask about his past since Booker said that was off-limits, but something else the doctor said flits in and out of my memory too fast for me to catch. “He said something about Peril. What did he mean? Peril what? Something about that and hooking up. Is it a kink thing?”
He’s way too good at ignoring me, but I can tell I’m getting to him.
“You might as well answer because I’m not going to stop asking.”
“You might as well stop asking because my answer hasn’t changed. It’s not your business, it will never be your business, so stop worrying about it and fucking leave already.”
I exaggerate a yawn. “New topic, please.”
“Lynx is going to kill you, and I’m not going to do a thing to stop him.”
“Mhmm. ’Kay. Who or what is Lynx?”
Still nothing.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re fun to talk to?”
