Chapter Fifteen #2
My head drops a few inches and I run my palm across my face.
"Xander? Whatever this is, I'm not interested.
And do not"—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 door behind 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 exactly hear him 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.
"Oh, fuck me," followed by a "Ha!" coming from somewhere behind me has my heart stopping momentarily as I straighten up at once, take a sharp step back, and catch Xander's puzzled expression from the corner of my eye as my body snaps around only to find Sawyer and Blake's faces, poking from around the corner, one above the other like they're cartoon characters.
"Oh fuck off," I mutter and put one hand on the left side of my chest, my heart pumping overtime against my palm. "Trying to kill me, or what?"
I move to my left, stopping by Xander's side as Blake and Sawyer emerge from around the corner, finally becoming full humans again.
Sawyer grins like they announced Super Bowl is now a monthly event while Blake rolls his eyes and, sighing, pulls out his wallet from his back pocket, fishes out a twenty and slams it on Sawyer's outstretched palm.
"No," Xander says before my brain can compute. "You didn't. You bet on us?"
I can feel my eyes grow large.
Blake has the decency to look at the floor, his shoes suddenly fascinating.
Sawyer's still grinning. "Come on, man. Easiest money I've ever made."
I'm just about to tell him where to shove it when Xander's hand shoots forward, and he points an accusatory finger at Blake. "You!"
Blake looks down, but the corner of his mouth twitches, Xander's antics apparently worth every last buck of the twenty. Xander doesn't fail to notice. "You. You motherfucking—"
They're gone before he can come up with a noun, and the second the last heel disappears around the corner, Xander turns to face me, his expression changing from murderous to a whole different type of intense almost instantly, and it's the first time tonight, hell, first time in days when I see him, really see him without the ugly mask of anger he's been hiding behind.
"So, I was thinking." His voice drops an octave and is now smooth and heavy as he steps closer, as close as he can get without physically touching me. "Would you like to continue hating me at my place?"