Page 148 of Unorthodox
She might hate me, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t attracted to me. Still, with my shirt off, only low-slung shorts on, I know she can see most of the scars along my body. I don’t like it.
I’m not ashamed of them, but I don’t want her pity, and women often tend to feel just that when they see where I’ve been hurt. What they don’t seem to think about is that for every scar I have, I gave dozens more.
Looking back down at the glass, she brings it to her lips and drinks.
Watching her wince is amusing, her nose wrinkled up, eyes half-closed. But then she takes another drink, brings her free hand to her throat, where it must be burning.
I see Evora’s throat in my mind.
What was left of it.
Don’t think about it. Nothing personal, just business.
Addison makes to set the drink back against her thigh, but I shake my head.
“Finish it.”
She glares at me, the glass halfway between her mouth and her lap. “I don’t want to, Max.”
As if I fucking asked. I cock my head as I stare into her defiant eyes, her jaw set, brows furrowed. After everything she saw me do last night, after everything that happened to her, she thinks this is a good time to defy me? My eyes trail down past hers, to the thin cuts along her throat.
I force the photo from my mind, once again.
I focus on Addison. Real. Whole. Alive.
She’s paler than she was when she first came here, considering going outside hasn’t been high on her priority list, or something I’ve let her do much of. But she’s beautiful, all the same.
And she’s alive.
“Come on, Addison.”
I watch her swallow.
“Get drunk with me.”
She stares at me for several seconds, as if she’s looking for the trick in my words.
I smile at her. “Just take it all at one time.”
Her cheeks flush pink.
“Hurts less that way.”
I see a reluctant smile form on her lips, then, surprising me, she does just that. She downs the entire thing.
Immediately, she covers her mouth with the back of her hand, wincing and thrusting the empty glass toward me.
I take it, my hand over hers.
She coughs, sticking her tongue out and shaking her head, but when I take the glass with my free hand, and thread my fingers through hers, she grows quiet.
Keeping my eyes on her, I lean over and set the glass down.
“Come here.” I pull gently on her hand, nodding toward my lap.
She frowns, unmoving. “Max, I don’t think—”
“Don’t think.” I tug her hand again. Evora flashes in my head again.“Listen.”
