Page 42 of Dangerous Pursuit
Xander's eyes become even narrower, if that's possible. "Do you realize I don't care?"
My head drops a few inches and I run my palm across my face. "Xander? Whatever this is, I'm not interested. And donot"—I put one palm between us, interrupting the sharp inhale he's already taking—"come up with any fresh bullshit, because you and I both know this isn't about your friends, your foes or your grandma's pet hamster, so quit fucking around."
The words shoot out of me harder than I intend, but Xander's tanking them like a champ.
With his eyes still zeroed in on mine, he snarls through clenched teeth, "No, that's you. You're the only one fucking around."
I tilt my head left and right, the burning tendons in my neck providing much needed distraction from the man in front of me, because goddamnit, the guy's a piece of work.
But at least he finally said what was on his mind, so that's progress.
"I didn't—" I start and immediately stop when a truck of a man clad in almost full-leather enters the alcove. I step aside and hug the wall to let him through. Xander doesn't flinch, forcing the man to suck in his belly, raise his hands and squeeze his way past Xander, who seems blind to the world around him. Anything other than me. And although I already had a long-winded tirade prepared, all of his ridiculous reactions cataloged neatly in the forefront of my brain, ready to use, ready to fire at him, the second the leather man closes the restroom doorbehind him, all that comes out of me is, "I didn't fuck around. You believe whatever you want."
The silence that follows seems eternal. And for a silence, it's pretty deafening too.
The small portions of Xander's eyes visible from behind nearly closed lids sparkle as he stares at my face intently, as if he’s reading a book. Amidst the distant chatter, clipped laugher and tone-deaf music, I can't exactlyhearhim breathe, but I can sense it, the air he breathes out grazing my skin, somehow reaching it from six feet away. God, I'd give a lot to read him right now, to know what he thinks as he sizes me up, his biceps bulging underneath the fabric of his suit jacket, the vein on the back of his neck pulsing in rhythm with his nostrils flaring, hair messy, as if ruffled by some nonexistent surge of wind.
"And your way of communicating that," he finally snarls after what feels like forever, "is to ghost me?"
"Gho—" My voice cracks and I have to use up my weekly supply of willpower to stop myself from surging forward and strangling him. "Ghost you?" I spit out, no longer giving a fuck about staying reasonably quiet. "And how did I ghost you exactly? I don't remember you fucking calling."
He rolls his hands into fists at his sides and takes a step forward, taunting me. It would be safer for me to back away. I don't.
"Oh, I'm sorry," he says with the fakest smile he can produce, and this time he's close enough for his breath to find me for real. “I wasn't aware your phone got disconnected. Need some cash for the bill? Or maybe—"
"Xander," I warn, inching closer.
"—you'll be fine with a fixed connection to Twinks R' Us and—"
"Enough!"
I'm not sure who's more surprised by the volume with which the word shoots out of me, Xander or myself. "You don't even know what you're mad about, do you? Do you, Xander?" I also don't know which of us moves, which of us takes the last two steps, but the outcome is all the same, both of us standing straight, within arm’s reach, within punching distance of one another and for a few seconds I'm sure Xander's about to do just that.
I'm vaguely aware of the leather man now leaving the restroom, orbiting somewhere around us, walking past too slowly not to eavesdrop.
He doesn't matter, my brain compartmentalizing him as belonging to the background, an inconsequential lump of people, sounds and sights, my attention zeroed-in on the animalistic look on Xander's face. Frame by frame, my mind takes him in, observes and calculates as Xander's face becomes larger in my view and I brace myself for the punch I'm sure is coming.
I'm not worried. I can take a punch. I can take ten without ever dreaming of hitting back, without the need to retaliate. I've been trained for that, and I've been trained well.
But no amount of training could have ever prepared me for the kind of assault Xander decides to unleash as his body slams into mine full-force and his lips, still tightly pressed together push against mine, softening and parting only when fully connected with mine.
The one type of attack I'm defenseless against. Either that, or I'm just defenseless against the one attacking.
Anger and want war within me, pulling my body in opposite directions.
My head tilts to the side and my tongue slips from my mouth and into Xander's. My entire body pushes forward, seeking every possible point of contact, but my arms are stubborn, positioned firmly by my side, refusing to embrace him, to touch him. It is as though a part of me decides I can somehow do both—have my cake and eat it too.
Have him. Own him. Possess him.
And punish him at the same time for being unimaginably stupid.
"I hate you," he mumbles into my mouth, his fingers digging into my hips, arms seemingly cooperating with the rest of him, unlike my own.
The words are empty. He knows I know that. He's not trying to convince me. I don't even think he's trying to convince himself. He just needs to speak them for reasons I don't understand. Maybe I don't need to understand.
"I hate you, too." Words I don't mean die down somewhere between our connected lips.
Xander answers me with a moan, and my arms forget their agenda, shooting up, one to his waist, the other to his back, pulling him in, the part of me that was ready to snap him in half just minutes ago losing the internal battle as I melt against Xander.
