Page 73 of Wicked Temptations
“I want to know if we’re done or if there’s anything left worth fighting for. Anything that I can fight for.”
There. I fucking said it.
Riley nodded slowly. “Okay. So go tell him that.”
“He won’t answer my messages.”
“Then go to his apartment and tell him to his face.” Her tone made it sound like I was a toddler needing explicit directions. In a way, I guess I did.
She stood, stretching. “Jude’s a stubborn asshole, Ash. He’s not going to make the first move. You know that as well as I do. So if you actually give a shit, you’re going to have to be the one to do something about it.”
She headed for the door, pausing with her hand on the frame. “And for what it’s worth? I’ve known Jude for three years. I’ve never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at you.”
Then she was gone, leaving me alone with the burned coffee smell and Simon still murmuring his ‘good nights’ to Amanda.
***
I knocked twice before the silence really got under my skin.
“I know you’re in there, Jude.”
He had to be there. His car was in the drive, and he couldn’t exactly walk anywhere. Which meant he was avoiding me.
“Go away, Ash.” Jude’s voice came through the door. Rough. Like he’d been asleep, except I knew he hadn’t been. It was three in the morning, but he’d been active on social media twenty minutes ago, and we shift workers didn’t change our sleeping schedules that fast.
“Not happening.” I shifted the takeout bags to my other hand. “Open the damn door.”
“I’m not in the mood for whatever this is.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t give a shit.” I knocked again, harder this time. “And I’m coming in whether you like it or not.”
I’d do it too. Break this fucking door down. Riley had lit a fire in me that had burned all through the last set of the night, andnow that it was raging, there was only one way I’d be able to douse it.
There was a long pause, and I could imagine his face as he weighed my threat. Finally, I heard the sound of crutches hitting hardwood, slow and uneven, before the lock turned over and the door swung inward.
Jude looked like hell.
His hair was a mess, unstyled and falling across his forehead in dark curls. No gel. The shadows under his eyes looked bruised, and he hadn’t shaved in days. Not that he had much facial hair to begin with, but the patchy shadow made him look tired. He wore sweatpants and an old Ridgeway crew shirt that hung loose on his lean frame. The moon boot on his right foot made him list slightly to the left, even with the crutches tucked under his arms for support.
He stared at me with those dark eyes, expression somewhere between exhausted and pissed off. “It’s three in the morning.”
“I know what time it is.”
“I said I’m not in the mood.”
“Heard you the first time.” I stepped forward, forcing him to back up or get run over. He chose to back up, awkward on the crutches, as I pushed my way inside and kicked the door shut behind me. “Brought food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s fine.” I headed for the small kitchen table, set down the bags and started unpacking. “I am.”
“Ash.”
“What?” I arranged the containers and wondered if I’d gotten enough food. I hadn’t known the portion size, but the Thai fusion place stayed open late and smelled amazing. I’d gone with pad Thai, spring rolls, some sort of curry that looked creamy and oddly soothing. And at the bottom of the bag I’d stuffed three pouches of those roasted chickpeas; the ones that tasted likepunishment, but somehow, we kept eating them anyway. “You just gonna stand there or you want to sit down?”
“I want you to leave.”
“Yeah, well.” I dropped into one of the chairs and cracked open the first container. “We can’t always get what we want. And what are you gonna do about it? Physically throw me out?”
