Page 55 of Roma King
He smiles, and my breath catches in my throat. “If you were, I’d understand. I’ve been wondering about you, myself.”
“What?”
“Constantly. That question’s been keeping me up the past four nights. Plaguing me. Robbing me of sleep. Truth be told…I’ve been wondering for much longer than that.”
He’s only had one mouthful of whiskey.One. There’s no way he’s drunk already. Which means he legitimately doesn’t have a problem with saying things like this, just because he fucking feels like it. While it must be nice to be that free, I don’t necessarily appreciate him being that free withme. I’m unused to such frank flirting; I don’t even have a clue how to respond.
Pasha gives me a slow, knowing smile. “A hunter chases his quarry into a forest. The rabbit darts this way. She darts that way. There are many places to hide in the forest, but the fear running through her veins demands that she keep on running. The hunter doesn’t run after her, though. He simply follows her chaotic tracks through the leaf litter until he finds her. She’s exhausted, lying there, vulnerable and panting, and all he has to do is reach down…and scoop her up.”
I take a sip from my drink, refusing to be cowed by the tumultuous energy that’s flashing in the bottomless sea of green in his eyes. “Do you think I’m helpless, Pasha? Is that what you’re saying?” My voice is even and calm, though my heart’s thundering like a runaway train. I’ve been hit on by plenty of men before. Very attractive, handsome men, a lot less full of themselves than the one in the distractingly tight black t-shirt sitting opposite me. I’ve never felt the way I do right now, though. Wound tight, at odds with myself, so enveloped in the sight, the smell and the sound of them. It’s been a point of pride, in fact, that I’ve never turned into a simpering mess of nerves and hormones before, but with Pasha…
“No. I just think you’re wasting your time, looking for somewhere to hide,” he says.
I lean across the table and I raise my hand, slapping him so hard across the face that my skin burns with the contact. At least, that’s what I do in my head. In reality, I remain seated, straining to keep my reactions in check. “I’m not a meek little rabbit, Pasha. I’m stronger than I look.”
“Rabbits have been known to break their own bones when they’re caught in a trap. Sometimes, they even tear their hind legs right off trying to free themselves. I’d say that takes a shitload of strength, wouldn’t you?”
“I’m not running from you. And I’m not going to allow myself to get hurt, just so I don’t get stuck in one of your traps.”
He grins, teeth glowing in the UV light, and for a second he looks terrifying. “Who said I was trying to trap you? Are you fucking the guy you brought to the fair with you? The quiet one?” He asks the question like it’s nothing. Like he’s asking me what my plans are for the holidays.
I bite the inside of my cheek, feeling a wave of heat prickle down my spine. “Garrett? Not that it’s any of your business, but Garrett’s my friend. I would never sleep with him.”
“Why? Because he can’t whisper filthy, dangerous, delectable things in your ear while he’s burying his dick inside you?”
“No! God!” I push my drink away, grabbing my purse. “This was a bad idea. I’m not sitting here, being spoken to like…”
He doesn’t try and stop me from going. Doesn’t make a single move to apologize for his behavior. “Like?” he asks.
“Like I’m some cheap date you can impress by acting like this. Over the top. Offensive. Rude.”
This has him leaning forward, forearms resting on the table. “How have I offended you?”
“You implied that you were wearing me down, stalking me like some kind of predator.”
He smirks. “I told you a story about a rabbit.”
“Andyou told me you’ve been losing sleep, imagining what I would taste like.”
“The truth. I’m betting you’re like cotton candy and chocolate, with a little cayenne for good measure. A little heat to keep things interesting.”
“See. None of that is appropriate! And strangers don’t ask strangers who they’re sharing a bed with, either.”
“Jesus. Are you really so uptight that you can’t say, ‘who they’re fucking’?”
“I’m about as far from uptight as humanly possible. Maybe your background means you just don’t know how to deal with normal people.”
“Mybackground?” He pouts, pressing his lips together, and I see the shadow play out across his features. He didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit. “I’m aware of what people think about us,” he says lightly. “Some of the stereotypes are probably true. But the Rivinvitsais different. We’ve embraced many aspects of contemporary living. We educate our children. I went to a private school in Maine. I had a three-point-eight GPA. And I’ve had regular jobs before. I know plenty aboutgadjesociety, and let me tell you…none of you are ‘normal.’ Most of you are just so good at lying to yourselves and to everyone else around you that you actually believe you conform to society’s expectations. That you’re not walking around, thinking about eating, drinking, and fucking like the base animals you are. Like we all are.” He downs his whiskey, slamming the glass down onto the polished wood.
Wow. Apparently, I’m a massive asshole. Ifeellike one, anyway. I’ve judged him, and he didn’ttechnicallydeserve it. I set my purse back down and cross my arms over my chest. “All right. I made assumptions. I’m sorry for that. I’m just trying to figure out what you think this game you’re playing will accomplish.”
Pasha’s eyes rove around the bar, skimming over one person, and then another. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking. “I’m not playing any games. I’m attracted to you. Very attracted to you. And I don’t believe in hiding behind stupid, outdated courting niceties when you want to make a connection with someone. But I do see your point. It’s never going to happen.” He holds two fingers up to the waitress, requesting another round, and a heaviness settles over me. The weight of relief, I tell myself, but there’s something else within that weight, too. I’m too afraid to acknowledge the seed of disappointment and call it what it is, so I push it away, dismissing my own stupidity. Still, it irks me that he would make such a flippant, off-hand remark.
“And why would that be? I’m not good enough for His Royal Highness, Pasha Rivin?”
His eyes dart back to me, and I see something inside them. Looks a lot like anger. “I can’t get involved with agadje. Not now. It would bemarime.”
Mah-ree-may.
