23. Chapter 23
Our pleasant exchange is interrupted by Reaper. “X,” he says in a grumpy voice. “Where’ve you been?”
Conversations halt, the click of pool balls stop, the video game explosions disappear. In other words, silence reigns.
I swivel my barstool towards my man. His hair is mussed and he’s shirtless. His jeans are unbuttoned and half-zipped. His feet are bare. I know I’m staring, maybe my mouth is gaping, maybe I’m drooling. The dark hair on his chest trails past his perfect belly button then disappears. His arms are crossed, the biceps bulging, tattoos rippling over muscles. His eyes are full of fire, his control barely leashed.
I know I’ve already seen him wearing only a towel, but it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. The man is a God. No offence, God, but I don’t mean you. I suspect you knew that already.
I imagine Reaper and me in our house, in our kitchen in the morning, me drinking coffee, him coming in looking just like he does right now. No shoes, no shirt, and clearly no underwear. He’s mad because I’ve spilt milk on the counter and didn’t wipe it up. Or maybe I left the towel on the floor after I showered. Or maybe he rolled over and I wasn’t there and he wanted me to help him out with his morning erection.
Having said all that, as greetings go, it’s a bit lukewarm after the magic that happened early this morning. “Depends on when. This morning? Yesterday? The week before?”
I get even more annoyed as I notice that Verity and Haley’s attention is a little too fixed on him.
“Never seen him without a shirt on,” Haley murmurs.
“Why aren’t you dressed?” I demand like a pissed off Italian wife.
“I woke up. You were gone,” he explains then his eyes slant at me. “And I am dressed.”
Earkid and his friends snicker and the big guy with the red hair says, “What the fuck is wrong with him?”
Me, I don’t have time to explain to Big Red what the problem is. Instead, I reply to Reaper. “Are you dressed? Are you really? Maybe I should give you back your T-shirt.” I climb slowly off the bar stool and grab the hem of the shirt. I’m not really going to take it off, but I need to make a point.
It seems I have as he stomps up to me, grabs my hands and yanks me against him. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Oomph,” I groan as my legs protest. Playtime is over.
He softens his grip. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m a little stiff,” I tell him.
“Like Reaper is,” Verity snorts.
We both glare at her. I open my mouth to retort, but Reaper says, “Leave it.” I don’t know whether he means me or Verity, but it’s irrelevant, because the commanding tone of his voice makes me want to worship him.
“Come back upstairs,” he orders as he steers me towards the stairs.
“But she hasn’t finished her breakfast!” Haley protests.
She’s right. I grab the plate. “I’ll take it with me.”
Reaper grabs the plate and thumps it on the bar top. “Later.”
“Not really a morning person, are you?” He probably doesn’t think anyone should eat in bed.
He grips my arm. “Upstairs!” He’s already in motion.
“Hey!” I say as I dig my feet in. I mean, I like the whole manhandling thing but only to a point.
He rounds on me, his hold on my arm slackening but he doesn’t fully let go. “You don’t fuckin’ walk around this place half-dressed.”
His high-handedness fails to move me. “And which part of you is fully dressed? Seems like we’ve split the wardrobe, only I know you have another shirt because you were wearing it last night!”
Earkid lets out a whoop of laughter.
“Shut it,” Reaper and I say at the same time. Despite my annoyance, I can’t help feeling elated at how Reaper and I are already sharing thoughts.
“Shutting it,” Earkid says with a smirk.
Reaper takes my chin. In a careful, controlled voice he says, “We will take this upstairs and discuss it there.”
“I have no problem with that,” I reply in similar voice, albeit between clenched teeth. It’s not like I’m really angry. Annoyed maybe, but not a towering inferno of rage because inside I’m elated that he’s insecure about me strutting my stuff. It bodes well for the future.
We walk back to the bedroom in grim silence, then once inside, he slams and locks the door before he twists around and glares at me.
I cross my arms over my chest and glare back. We seem to be at a stalemate.
Finally, he rakes his hand through his hair and says, “I don’t know what the fuck to do with you.”
“Why don’t you just keep me. We can get married. Have sex. Babies.” I shrug. “You know all that stuff couples do.”
“No,” he says bluntly. “None of that.”
“Really?” I reply with heat in my voice. “So last night, this morning, whatever, was just meaningless sex.” My eyes fill with hot tears, but I will them away.
He closes his eyes as grief flickers across his face. “That shouldn’t have happened. I’m sorry.”
“Wow! Wonderful! A one-night stand! Had I realized, I wouldn’t have stayed over.” I stomp up to him. “Forgive me for messing this up, but I don’t really know the protocol, since I’ve never had one.”
He rubs his hand across his mouth, then takes a few steps back. “It wasn’t like that. It was a moment of weakness. We can’t do this, X. I can’t do this. And I like you too much to lie to you.”
I blow a breath out as I look up at the ceiling, then to the bed, then back to him. “You come downstairs mad at me because I’m not wearing enough clothes for your delicate sensibilities, then you drag me back up here and tell me we’re not a thing. Mixed messages, Reaper. Mixed messages.”
He walks past me and leans his hands against a wall, then thumps his forehead a few times. “That’s why I can’t do this. You’re chaos.” He turns back to me. “And if not now, I’d hurt you eventually.”
My face must register surprise and disbelief because he quickly adds, “Not physically. But I couldn’t live with myself if I did something that caused you grief.”
Good grief, Mama pipes up. As if he isn’t already.
Shhh. Not now Mom.
I take an impatient breath as he faces me again. “I don’t get you. How can you even say that. Hell’s Jury is utter chaos. You have a torture chamber, a loud-mouthed president that’s throws chairs around, cops on your doorstep.”
“The cops. They don’t come out here. That one’s on you.”
Low blow. “That one’s on Miguel. I’m an innocent bystander.”
His laugh is bitter, his words slaying me. “That’s not how it works. You’re a vortex and the more I’m near you, the more I’m getting sucked in.”
Nope. I don’t give up that easy. “Well, you can’t not be near me. You owe me protection.”
A flicker of surprise mars his face. “Protection! Is that what this is about?”
“Good God, you sound like my former best friend, Lavender. First she wants one thing, then when you agree, she gets offended. I’m not the begging type, Reaper. I mean, generally. For you I’d make an exception, but I have a heart to protect. I’ve been here before, where I’m letting my guard down. Look where that got me.”
He stares at me, his face conflicted. “I can’t do this half-way, not with you. We get involved there’s no turning back.” He paces the length of the bedroom, turns, then strides over to me. “I can protect you, see this through. Then it stops, because if it doesn’t, I’ll be out-of-control.” He points at his chest. “I was arrested yesterday and shoved in a holding cell. Because of you. Because of the chaos.”
“No. Not because of me!” I’m shouting now, forgetting where we’re at.
“Yes, because of you!” he shouts back. “I was in prison, X. Nine years. Those were the worst days of my life. Do you get it? I can’t go back. I can’t do it.”
“You’re telling me you haven’t done things that would’ve landed you back there if you got caught?”
“No. What I’m saying is that I don’t get caught because I keep a cool head, no reaction. I do what I need to do and move on!”
I want to punch him and hug him at the same time. “So do it that way! I can live with it.”
“You don’t get it! This right here. Us yelling at each other. That’s not me, not anymore. I don’t raise my voice, I don’t get heated. I don’t panic or get afraid or furious. You do all that to me.”
“At least I make you feel something. The crisis will pass and then it’ll just be you and me. What’s wrong with passion, Reaper?”
He lets out a breath and his eyes soften. “I killed someone. You get it, X? I killed someone and paid the price. It wasn’t an accident despite the manslaughter charge. The guy was a prick and a bully and he pissed me off. He’s dead and I’ll carry the ex-con label for the rest of my life.”
“You’re still in prison,” I reply, but the fight’s gone out of me. “You never left it. Maybe you aren’t in a cell anymore, but you aren’t free either.”
“Yeah. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know.” He sits on the bed, his shoulder’s slumping, his eyes weary.
I sit down next to him, taking his hand, turning it over and placing my palm against his. Small against big. “Don’t you want to be free? Really free?”
“I can’t. That guy that went to prison was out of control. I can’t be that guy again. The only way I can keep him buried is by keeping my cool. Not letting anyone or anything fuck with me.”
I blink my tears away. “And I fuck with you.”
“Yeah.”
We sit in silence for a few minutes longer. “Okay. I get it.” My voice cracks. How can I want someone so bad my chest hurts? I’ve known him for days. “We’re different. Too different.”
“We should get dressed,” he mutters as he stands. “We’ve gotta talk to Hangman, sort this shit out.”
Right. Moment lost. I’m pissed again.