Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
HIM
Iwatched her face for a lot longer than I cared to admit, the little expressions she made as she came to and then went somewhere else entirely.
Didn’t know where. Just that it wasn’t here.
With me. And I didn’t like feeling like I was sharing her with someone or something. Even if that something was in her head.
My feet hit the floor with a loud thud as I twisted off the bed, pulled open the bedroom door, and stomped downstairs. It didn’t take long before I could sense her following me. Slowly. She was still shaky on her legs, holding on to the banister for dear life as I kept my back to her.
A little voice in my head was telling me I should reach over and help steady her before she missed a step and went tumbling down in front of me. A much louder one was reminding me that the last thing I should be doing was touching her when my bruised ego was itching to bruise her too.
I’d made it to the kitchen, throwing a pan on the stovetop while clanking around in the drawers by the time she caught up with me again.
“You’re mad at me,” she said it like it was some sort of declaration. It sure as shit wasn’t a question so I didn’t see a need to answer her.
The chair scraped against the linoleum flooring as Jules pulled it from the table and sat down.
Watching me as I brought the water in the pan to a boil.
We both needed the carbs for one reason or another so spaghetti and red sauce was what she was getting.
Whether or not she cared for it, I didn’t care.
There was only so much I could do in the kitchen. Wasn’t like Briarwood offered home economics. Most of this shit I learned how to do by watching YouTube videos on a stolen phone.
“Why are you mad?” she tried again.
“You asking me or telling me this time?” I grunted as I broke the pasta in half and forced it past the bubbling surface with the tip of the spatula. I was half-tempted to use my hand, just to relieve some of the tension in my shoulders.
Getting a nut off was supposed to help relax ya, not wind ya up worse. Right now, I was one of those racecars you pulled back over and over, and I was just waiting to shoot across the ground as soon as my wheels touched dirt.
When she didn’t answer me, I turned around to find Jules staring out into the living room. Her focus hooked on the fucker sprawled out on the floor.
“If ya wanna be with him so bad, you’re more than welcome to go over there, sweetheart,” I told her and waited for her reaction. I meant it too. If she wanted to go where that guy was going instead of being here with me, I had no qualms about sending her there.
She shook her head before meeting my glare. Her eyes watering like she’d changed her mind and wasn’t feeling so appreciative anymore.
I slammed a palm down on the counter to get her attention, and she curled her arms around herself. Pulling her feet up onto the chair and hugging her knees. “I keep expecting to look over and find him… I don’t know… just gone…” she whispered.
I peered over at the living room with a smirk. Fucker wasn’t popping up like some jump scare. That shit only happened on the big screen. In real life, dead guys stayed dead.
“I promise you he ain’t going anywhere.” I twirled the spatula around before withdrawing it from the pot and gesturing the fat end towards the blood that was making its way into the hall, a large dark puddle already seeping into the carpet.
“Feel free to check for a pulse if ya don’t believe me, though. ”
She shook her head again.
“Good, then go on and set the table. Dinner’ll be ready in thirty.”
She opened her mouth to argue, and I was quick to cut her off.
“Don’t wanna hear that you’re not hungry. You’re fucking eating.”
Thirty minutes later, Jules was sitting across from me with a bowl full of pasta in front of her, just like I said she would be.
Never saw myself as a feeder before this but it seemed the more reluctant this woman was to eat, the more I was inclined to pile up her plate.
Besides, she was too skinny. I wasn’t into chicks who counted calories.
I wasn’t really into chicks I wasn’t tying up either—until now, I guess.
She set her fork down after taking a handful of bites, and I mimicked her movements. Though mine was more of a slam than a clank. “What are we gonna do with him?”
She was peering into the living room again, and I was fucking tired of being passed over for another guy. Especially a guy who wasn’t nearly as good-looking. Dead or alive.
“What do ya think we’re gonna do with him, Jules?” I threw back at her, snatching up my fork and stuffing my face with as much pasta as I could fit without choking. I wiped the excess sauce off my chin and licked my fingers clean.
Fuck her manners. My dinner. My rules.
Nothing I did seemed to bother her though. Not even the slurping sounds I made as I sucked another strand of spaghetti into my mouth and finished it off with a burp.
That finally caught her attention, her eyes wide as she looked at me. But it wasn’t with the judgement I was expecting to find. It was desperation. “Can you do it now? I want him gone.”
I reached an arm across the table and pushed her plate closer to her chest. “I’ll clear my schedule as soon as you clear your plate.”