9. Ellis
NINE
ELLIS
For the second time tonight, I watch as Scarlet hightails it to the kitchen, this time to prepare James's bottle.
Apparently watching her as she flees is my new hobby, which is fucking ridiculous. If anything, I should be celebrating her retreat. I should find relief and peace in her absence. And yet, somehow, I don’t.
If anything, there’s an annoyingly persistent pinch in my chest. One that shouldn’t be there. One I’m not willing to put a name to it. But if I had to, I’d say it feels a lot like guilt.
Which is bullshit of the highest order. What in the hell do I have to feel guilty over? Have I been in rare form? Sure. But, really, it’s hardly my fault. Not when Scarlet usually gives it back as good as she gets.
Tonight though? She’s a sensitive, weepy mess, and I don’t like it. Not one bit. I much prefer her fire—some sick part of me likes the burn of her sharp tongue.
“God,” I growl, tugging on the ends of my hair. “Gonna drive me up the damn wall.”
“You’re going somewhere?” she asks, her voice cold.
“No?” My reply comes out as a question.
“Hmm. Okay.” She leans down and scoops James out of his jumper, never once looking my way.
“What are you even talking about?”
“You were talking about driving. Leave or don’t, Ellis. I truly don’t care.” The slight tremor in her voice calls her on her bullshit so well that I don’t bother.
She may not like me, but she most definitely feels safer with me here, and that’s got me feeling some kind of way.
The quiet her absence leaves is heavy in a way I don’t want to examine too closely. I’m not sure what’s in the air tonight, but we’re both off. I’m on a mean tear, and she's fucking infuriating, refusing to take my bait.
I don’t know when or where or how she did it, but she's managed to work her way under my skin. Hell, she’s in my veins, racing through me like some kind of… I don’t know… poison.
I need to purge her from my system, but I don't know how. Thanks to Atlas and Nora, our lives are hopelessly intertwined.
“Not going anywhere, Princess,” I mutter, even though she’s long gone.
I fire off a quick text to Atlas letting him know everything’s okay before standing and gathering our trash—the untouched cinnamon pull-aparts included—and bagging it all up.
As soon as I open the back door, the cool night air wraps itself around me, clinging to my skin. Any other time, I’d enjoy the feel of it but tonight, I’m too fucking frustrated thanks to tension lingering in the house.
I’d bail if I could—okay, that’s a damn lie, but I’m going to pretend I mean it. Because admitting that I jumped at the chance to be here tonight, even to myself, is more than I can handle right now.
So yeah, I’m going to keep telling myself that I’m only here because I have to be. Not because I want to be. Certainly not because I’m worried about Little Miss Satan and her stalker situation. And damn sure not because I enjoy bickering with her.
The fact that she’s good with James, that he loves her only adds insult to injury.
Her ease with him honestly surprised the fuck out of me.
Despite knowing she works with expectant mothers, I figured she didn’t have a maternal bone in her body, what with her being a spawn of Satan and all.
But it’s true, my dude loves her, and while I might not get it, I also maybe, kind of, sort of do.
What can I say? It’s complicated. I’m complicated. She’s complicated.
An owl hoots in the distance as I toss the trash into the can. The nighttime quiet out here is one of my favorite things. Aside from the crickets, frogs, and occasional birds, there’s an almost unnatural stillness.
Which is why the sound of a stick snapping in the distance may as well be gunshot.
I freeze in place, my eyes laser focused in the direction the sound came from. Just like the other day in town, I can practically feel someone watching me, their imaginary eyes an unwanted physical caress. It makes me skin crawl.
“Anyone there?” I holler, wishing like hell I was armed. “Make yourself known.”
Aside from the owl in the woods and the rustling of the leaves, there’s nothing. Complete and utter silence.
I scan the backyard thoroughly before making my way around the side of the house, and then to the front. There’s nothing. No footprints, no shadows, not a single thing out of place.
“It was probably a deer,” I mutter, scanning the tree line one last time before heading back inside, determined to put all of these ludicrous thoughts—of someone lurking in the shadows and all of the weirdness with Scarlet—behind me.
Inside, the house is quiet, and the kitchen and living room are both still empty. So, naturally, I lock the doors, front and back, and then creep down the hall toward James’s room.
Why am I creeping? Who the fuck knows, but I’m committed at this point.
The door’s cracked open enough that I can see them while staying out of sight. She’s in the rocking chair with James cradled to her chest as she softly pats his bottom while reading to him. Goodnight Moon, a gift from me, thank you very much.
I don’t know why the sight of her reading a book I purchased chaps my ass, but it does. Everything about her does. She’s like… a fly. Annoying as fuck, always in your face. You know, if a fly had great tits.
“Oh, sweet little love.” Her voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it as she talks to him. “You’re such a perfect little angel. Let’s get you tucked in, yeah?”
That’s my cue…
I take off down the hall, unwilling to be caught lurking like a creep. Fuck that. Scarlet would have a field day with it, and I’d never live it down.
Dishes. I bolt into the kitchen and start rinsing the few plates and cups in the sink, before loading them into the dishwasher.
Rookie move, because with my back to the hall and the sound of the water, I don’t hear her coming. A blessing and a curse, because, good god, nothing could’ve prepared me for the sight of her dressed down in her pajamas, if you can even call them that.
If I thought her black sweats and crop top earlier were tempting, the sad excuse for shorts and a tank top she’s calling clothes right now is downright sinful.
A swimsuit would cover more.
“Why are you staring at me?” she asks, looking at me like I have three heads.
“Why are you damn near naked?” I return, through gritted teeth.
Her brows furrow as she glances down and then back at me. “What in the hell are you talking about? I’m completely covered.”
“Covered?” I toss my wet and soapy hands in the air, sending droplets of water everywhere. “I can practically see your ass.”
She scoffs and crosses her arms, pushing her tits up, which really only proves my point. “Pretty sure you’re projecting, you know, since you’ve been showing your ass all night.”
Fucking hell, it’s like she’s trying to kill me. Is death by lingerie a thing? It has to be.
“Projecting?” I whisper-shout, angry but unwilling to wake James. “You look like you’re about to walk the damn runway at the Victoria’s Secret fashion show!”
“Holy shit,” she whispers, her cheeks taking on a rosy glow as she bites down on her bottom lip. “You’ve lost the plot.”
“What does that even mean?” My eyes stray from her face, from where they’ve been glued to her lush lips, roaming down the contours of her body.
I usually prefer my women on the softer side. Short, curvy, and sweet is what usually does it for me. But here’s Scarlet, slightly taller than the average woman, fit as hell, with just a hint of curves, and a tongue sharper than any blade, and, I can’t look away.
“I’ll tell you what it means.” She drawls, advancing me until we’re toe to toe.
Well, as much as we can be when I’m still in my well-worn boots and she’s in fuzzy slippers.
“I am standing here, fully dressed… fully covered, and you’re acting like I’m walking around in my birthday suit. You. Have. Lost. The. Plot.”
She’s standing close enough I can smell her—hints of orange blossom and amber.
It’s… intoxicating. I can’t stand Scarlet Armstrong on a good day, but right now, in the dimly lit kitchen, I’m thinking things I have no business thinking.
Like if her skin is as soft as it looks… if she tastes as sweet as she smells.
I should take a giant step back, put some much-needed space between us. Unfortunately, what I should do and what I actually do are two very different things.
“We’ll just have to agree to disagree,” I mumble, reaching out to skim my fingers up the side of her thigh. “Because from where I’m standing, you’ve just about got all the goods on display.” Her skin is warm and soft, and I damn sure don’t miss the goosebumps left behind in the wake of my touch.
She swallows—gulps really—and takes a step back. “Then m-maybe you should stand somewhere else.”
She’s gone before I can formulate a reply, once again hauling ass to get away from me. We weren’t even fully touching, but I feel cooler without her in my space.
“Where are you going?” I bark, my tone giving way to every ounce of frustration I’m feeling as I take off after her.
She infuriates me, and if I didn’t think I’d end up with a black eye, I’d like to take her bratty ass over my knee and teach her some manners.
I jerk to a stop, my own traitorous thoughts rooting me in place. What in the hell was in that pizza? I don’t know what’s got us both so wound up. Maybe it’s a full moon. All I know is I’m thinking all kinds of outlandish things.
“Away from you!” she snaps back as she begins pulling the cushions off the couch.
“What… what are you doing?” I sound like an idiot, shouting out questions with obvious answers, but it seems Scarlet’s robbed me of my common sense.
“Going to bed.”
“You’re sleeping out here?” Look at me, three for three now.
“Obviously.” She cocks one hip to the side, all suntanned skin and attitude. “Is that okay with you, Officer Jackass, or are you expecting me to sleep on the floor?”