Page 109 of Riot Act
“Sorry,” she whispers.
I arch an eyebrow at her, very, very confused. “Sorry?”
“Yeah.”
“Hah!” Wren kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, throwing his arm around Elodie; she nestles into his side, resting her head on his chest, and seeing them like this, so easy and natural and perfect together, makes my throat ache. I ignore them, looking back at Chase, lasering in on her startled, doe-eyed expression.
“I didn’t even need to guess where you were staying,” Wren says. “You’ve stayed here one too many times by now. I barely had to bribe the front desk for the room key, either.”
“I’ll make sure to pick somewhere else next time,” I mutter.
“Seriously, man. Go and get changed. I’m gonna be pissed if we miss our spot at Le Bernardin. Unlike obtaining your room key, scoring that tablewashard. I had to jump through hoops.Hoops. Your mom hooked us up in the end. She called them and had a window res—”
My head snaps around so quick, I pinch a fucking nerve. “You toldMeredithwe were here?”
“Don’t get weird, dude. I spoke to her for, like, thirty seconds.” Wren makes a show of rolling his eyes. “She was more than happy to help. She said to tell you to stop by The Excelsior tomorrow evening for dinner. She said we should all go.”
Holy…fucking…
I’ve gotta…get…
I charge for the bedroom and slam the door closed behind me before I can do anything rash.
Dum, dum, dum.
My heart surges, my blood rushing in my ears. I can’t breathe.
It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. Just…breathe, man. Breathe.
My temper has a mind of its own. It doesn’t listen to reason at the best of times. I want to fly back out of the door and launch myself at that bastard Jacobi. I can already feel his bones breaking beneath my fists. His throat collapsing, crushed beneath my iron grip. I can’t kill the fucker right now, though. There are too many witnesses. And besides, I’m gonna calm down any second now, I’m sure of it.
Aaaaannnnyyyyyy second now.
This is fixable.
I can manage this.
I don’t know how, considering what I have planned for later on tonight, but…
I close my eyes and breathe.
Chase shouldn’t have been wearing that hoody.
Why didn’t I…couldn’tI…just tell her to take it off?
Cross didn’t have his PA slather me in baby oil all like most photographers do, so showering is a quick, efficient affair. I get dressed, my nerves jangling at the slightest sound from out in the living room. Wren laughs. Elodie squeals. She shouts, pleading with my roommate to put her down, and my chest gets tighter and tighter. There isn’t a single sound out of Chase. She’s silent, not a peep, which makes me unspeakably anxious. Has she left? Is she still out there? Why the fuck would she come here with Elodie and Wren, for fuck’s sake? It doesn’t make a lick of sense.
My mood is blacker than the deepest pits of hell when I throw open the door and emerge from the bedroom, ready to bitch slap the first person to make any kind of comment on the clothes I’ve chosen to wear. They match my mood. Torn black jeans. Black long-sleeved t-shirt. Black Yankees ball cap, flipped backwards. I caught myself in the mirror just now and I looked positively demonic, but that had more to do with the grim expression on my face than the clothes I’m wearing. Wren, dressed very similarly now, only without the hat, smiles and gives me a curt, “I approve.”
Elodie’s wearing a tight black dress.
Chase…
I sweep the room, looking for her.
“She’s still in the bathroom,” Elodie supplies. “She didn’t bring any going out clothes, so I loaned her a dress and some heels.”
“Did I somehow give you the impression that I give a fuck?” I rumble.
