Page 50 of Quietly Falling
“What the hell, Bodhi?” I yell as I slam the door behind me and turn on the lamp, wrestling my jacket off and leaving it in a heap on the ground as he blinks up at me.
“You were having fun; nothing wrong with that.”
The alcohol in my veins—not that there’s much—is making it difficult to pick out the things heisn’tsaying.
“And you weren’t.”
“Not used to that kind of crowd.”
“And what else?”
“Nothing else,” he sighs, swinging his legs over the side so he’s sitting up with his feet on the floor.
Growling, I snag a pillow off the closest chair and throw it at him, his eyes flashing as he blocks it.
“Don’t lie to me. You promised me you wouldn’t.”
“I’m not lying.”
An aggravated huff leaves my lips as I stomp my foot and grab another pillow, hurling it at him like the first.
This one goes wide but I didn’t need to hit him—I needed him to react.
“Fine,” he fumes, standing and spreading his arms out wide. “I don’t want to be your friend.”
He doesn’t…
“Excuse me?” I blink at him, my mouth gaping. “I’m sorry. Did you just say you don’t want to be my friend? Because you can fuck right off if you think I’m just out there letting random men put their hands down my pants.”
“But they can be all over you at the bar?”
“No one was all over meand,”—I glare for emphasis as my hands land on my hips—“if you had such a problem with it, why didn’t youdosomething about it instead of running back here?”
“It wasn’t my place.”
“Bullshit,” I snap, pointing toward the cabin door. “I’m serious, Bodhi. Dancing is one thing but what happened at the hotel?—”
His eyes darken as his jaw clenches. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I’m out there fucking doing it either.” He also points toward the door like that explains everything.
But it doesn’t.
I’m missing something.
A big something.
I can see it in the way he’s posturing, his body rigid and tense, but he’s not looking for a fight—he’s trying to protect himself.
From me?
The conversation I’d had with Roman flitters back into my head. Had Bodhi heard me tell Roman that we’re friends when I didn’t know what else to call it? Call us?
“Say it.”
“What are you talking about?”
“That you like me,” I murmur, watching as his cheeks heat, the tension pouring off him in waves.
“Doesn’t matter.”
