Page 29 of Twisted Ties
Hooking out two cups, she places them on the counter. “Coffee?” she asks.
“Sure.”
Her pig snuffles from the corner, all curled up and sleeping, and I see she’s made herself at home.
“When are you coming back to school?” I ask, like a jerk.
She hesitates. “I don’t know.” She places the first cup under Azlan’s ancient-looking coffee machine and presses a button. Black liquid chugs out into the cup and she passes it to me, her fingers grazing mine as she does. I swallow a third time, ignoring the tingles on my skin, the buzz in my gut. “But this situation is pretty damn confusing.” She stares at her fingers.
“Yeah, yeah it is.”
She turns her back on me to fill the second cup.
“Especially when your fated mate’s best friend is an asshole.”
Seems to me like that’s the least of the complications here, but whatever.
“An asshole who saved your life.”
“I thought that was Azlan.”
“It was both of us,” I say firmly.
“Doesn’t erase the fact you tried to infiltrate my mind without my permission.” She glares at me, blowing across the surface of her cup. An expression she manages to make damn hot.
I shrug. “You’re keeping secrets.”
“I’m entitled to.”
“Not secrets about that, sweetheart.” She bristles at that name and I can’t tell if it pisses her off or turns her on. I need to get out of this damn house. “If Azlan knew–”
“If he knew what you tried to do.”
I place my cup on the counter. “Let’s get somethingstraight. I’ve known him far longer than you. Just because you’ve opened your legs for him doesn’t mean you have some special insight into the man. Trust me, sweetheart, he has as many secrets as you do.”
“Like what?” she says, unable to help herself, her mind buzzing with curiosity.
“Ask him, not me.”
“You really are an asshole,” she says, sending a barrage of revolting images my way.
“And you appear to have an unhealthy obsession with my asshole. Why is that I wonder?” I peer into her mind. What does she know about the bond? What does she feel?
But she slams down her defenses and I’ve no desire to break through them today. Because, no matter how many times I tell myself it was for her good, our good, the greater good – if she’s wielding that kind of magic I need to know – the guilt has been eating away at me ever since. It’s an unfamiliar feeling. I haven’t cared enough about anyone to feel guilt for my actions in a long, long time.
For all my bravado, I regret what I did that night. No, it’s more than that. I’m fucking ashamed of it.
I should apologize. That would be the non-asshole thing to do. But the girl irritates me, the fact she’s fucking my friend irritates me, and I can’t bring myself to do it.
“Your ass is of no interest to me,” she spits and I stalk towards her, unable to help myself, the hook pulling me her way.
The pupils of her eyes swallow up that caramel color and she holds her ground, looking up into my face with determination written all over hers.
“You sure about that?” I ask, bending low.
“Never been more certain,” she says, her shoulders rising and falling, her pulse jumping in her throat. Shesmells like him and fuck I’ve never been jealous of my friend before. He has a family, a family with wealth and name. He has unmatched powers and abilities. A position of respect. More money that I could dream of. I’ve never envied him for it. He’s had his struggles, just like I have. But in this moment, peering down into her darkening eyes, the hook in my gut dragging me closer and closer, I feel jealousy and envy race through my veins.
The door slams open and heavy boots thunder down the hallway.
