7. Ellis
SEVEN
ELLIS
There’s something about holding James when I know how badly Scarlet wants him that feels a lot like winning.
Actually, it's better than winning, because uncle life is the best, and my little dude is cool as hell.
So really, pissing her off is more like the cherry on top of an already delicious sundae.
“So...” she drags out the word as I round the back of the couch and plop back down beside her—this time with a whole cushion between us.
“So what?” I bounce James lightly on my knees, and he squeals, the sound a straight-up shot of dopamine.
Before James, kids were not remotely on my radar. Now, though, I can see myself doing the dad thing—maybe, one day. You know, assuming I can find someone to settle down with.
Until then, I’m happy being the world’s best uncle. And I am the fucking best, because this kid and I have a special bond. Hell, my voice is the first thing he ever smiled at. Not his mama or daddy—me!
“Are we just going to sit in silence all night, or...” She’s tense, and I can’t help but wonder why? Sure, we don’t get along but she’s never seemed so… uncomfortable in my presence. Hell, before now, I’d have thought she enjoyed going toe-to-toe with me.
Maybe she’s on edge because of her little stalker situation. God knows, I’ve given the whole thing more thought than I’d ever admit to out loud. Because while I don’t understand why anyone would go to such fantastically creepy lengths for anyone, much less her, someone is, and I don’t like it.
I glance her way and back down to James, who’s babbling away. “Yes, please sit in silence all night. Tomorrow, too. In fact, any time I'm around, zip those pretty little lips right the fuck up.”
Her dark eyes cloud with hurt, but before I can process it, they clear, and she's back to looking completely unaffected. “You're just full of compliments tonight, aren't you?”
“Did you hit your head?” I ask, turning to fully look at her.
She paints a tempting picture, dressed in a pair of baggy black sweatpants and a cropped hot pink tank top, with her rich brown hair piled on the top of her head.
At least until she talks, anyway. As stunning as she may be, Scarlet Armstrong’s nothing more than the cause of my next headache.
“What?” She draws her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knee.
“Just trying to figure out which part of me asking you not to talk was a compliment.”
Her plump, somehow always-glossy lips curl into what can only be described as a menacing grin. “You said I had pretty lips, Ellis.” She bats her long, sooty lashes at me. “Tell me, do memory issues run in your family?”
Fucking hell. She's got me there, but I'm not going down without a fight. “I’ve got eyes, Scarlet. You’re obviously attractive. But it's just skin deep, because on the inside, where it counts, you're nothing but fucking poison.”
I regret the words as soon as I say them, but when it comes to Scarlet, I can’t help myself—when she goes low, I go lower.
“Oh. Okay, then.” She swallows roughly and then sucks in a ragged breath before popping up to her feet. “I-I’m gonna order some dinner. Pizza sound good? Okay, great.”
She hoofs it into the kitchen before I can even begin to formulate a reply. Here’s to hoping she doesn’t order something gross like pineapple.
“You think she’s mad?” I whisper conspiratorially to James, trying to fight against the sliver of guilt attempting to bludgeon its way past my defenses.
He grunts and forcibly turns his body away from mine, twisting around like a human pretzel. I’d chalk it up to normal baby wiggles, except the kid’s staring directly into the kitchen, almost as if he’s looking for someone… for her.
“It wasn’t even that mean, right?” I don’t know who I’m trying to convince, but James’s entire body tenses up as he mercilessly fills his diaper.
Symbolic, because somehow, at only eleven months old, he knows I’m full of more shit than his Pamper.
“Okay, my dude. Let’s get you changed.”
It’s a short walk down the hall to his nursery—otherwise known as my old bedroom.
Gotta say, it’s a lot cuter with his stuff in it than it ever was with mine.
Honestly, Nora transformed the space in a way that goes beyond the paint on the walls.
I swear that woman has magic running through her veins.
Every single thing she pours her time into ends up better off than it was before.
She took this house and made it into a home.
James gurgles happily as I zip his onesie. “You feel better now that you’re all fresh?” I ask, tossing his diaper into the pail that Atlas insisted on, despite it damn near requiring a PhD to use.
“Wanna watch some tv? Maybe a little Enemies & Escrow?” I plop us back down onto the couch. “I’m sure your mama won’t mind. Maybe you’ll be Lake Fortune’s next real estate mogul, huh? You never know.”
I glance down at my watch as the opening credits roll. It’s been at least fifteen minutes since Scarlet ran off to hide in the kitchen.
Idly, I wonder if she somehow got lost. I mean, damn, how long does it fucking take to order a pizza?
As the seconds tick by, that small sliver of concern somehow manages to morph into a full-blown splinter—the deep kind, the kind you need a numbing shot and scalpel to dig out. Which I guess is deserved, since I went beyond low. I fucking went subterranean.
On screen, the office manager and her former best friend are having a shouting match at an open house, but I’m hardly paying attention. Nope, I’m too busy worrying about Scarlet Armstrong.
After another five minutes, and I’ve had it. “Guess we should check on her.” At this rate, any food she ordered should’ve already been delivered. For all I know, maybe she decided to head home.
“Here’s to hoping,” I mutter as I haul myself up from the couch, cradling James against my chest. He fists my shirt and tugs on the soft cotton, making me smile down at him. How is it even possible for someone so small to have me so wrapped around his little finger?
I’m halfway expecting the kitchen to be empty, except when I cross the threshold, she’s still there.
“What?” she asks, furiously swiping beneath her eyes. Too bad wiping away her tears does nothing to hide her red, splotchy cheeks.
“Are you… crying?” I ask, dumbfounded, because honestly, I didn’t think demons were capable of human emotion, much less literal tears.
“No,” she sniffles.
“Okay.” Pick your fucking battles. “Did you order pizza?”
“No.”
Not really loving this one-word answer bullshit, but seeing her cry right in front of me has me keeping my thoughts to myself.
“Well, are you gonna?” Maybe if I pretend everything’s fine—or as fine as it can be between us—it magically will be?
“Gonna what?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose and pray for patience. “I don’t know, Scarlet. Do any of the above?”
“Working on it, Jackass.”
“Been working on it for the better part of an hour, Scar.” I slip my phone from my pocket. “You know what, I’ll do it.” I pull up the contact for the only pizza place that’ll deliver out here. “What do you want?”
“I said I’ve got it,” she argues, glaring. She’s always so combative, but I’ll damn sure take a sour look over tears. There’s something about a woman crying that just… makes me want to hug her, which freaks me right the fuck out.
Pretty sure she’d claw my eyes out if I tried.
“It’s already ringing, Princess.” I’m lying. I haven’t even hit dial, but she’ll stand here and argue with me until tomorrow. We’re both just stubborn enough to not back down. “So, stop being difficult and tell me what you like on your pizza.”
“You're so damn overbearing.” She crosses her arms over her chest. The move pushes her breasts slightly higher. I’d like to say I don’t look, but I’d be a damn liar.
“I'm only placing the order because you didn't call when you said you were going to.” I force my eyes away from her. “One of us has to be good to their word.”
Embarrassment blooms across her cheeks, and some sick part of me loves knowing how easily I'm able to get to her.
“Whatever.” She huffs as I pretend to rattle off my order—Philly, sub chicken for steak, extra cheese, add bacon thank you very much. “Ham, jalapeno, and pineapple with a side of ranch.”
My eyes damn near bulge out of my head. “Did you just say pineapple?” I spit the word out in disgust, the same way I would if pineapple ever made its way onto my pizza. A foul topping for a foul woman.
“Sure did. Now, be a good boy and order it.” She stalks forward and plucks James out of my arms. “Oh, and since you called, it's your treat.” Her lips curl into a conniving grin. “Thanks.”
Once she’s cleared the room, I actually dial Geno’s and place our order, along with some lava bread and cinnamon pull-aparts. Then I grab each of us a bottle of water from the fridge and join Scarlet and James in the living room.
“Here.” I hold the chilled bottle her way, but she just stares at it. “It's a peace offering, not poison. Damn.”
“Thanks.” She crinkles her nose, but takes the water anyway. “Should probably work on your “peace-offering” game in case you ever trick someone into dating your sorry ass. God knows, you’ll probably spend half the time groveling for forgiveness.”
I’m not sure what pisses me off more—her use of finger quotes when she said peace offering or assuming I’d ever mess up so epically and so often that I’d need to grovel.
“You know, maybe you should focus on yourself,” I murmur, reclaiming my couch cushion as I crack open my water, gulping down half the bottle in one go.
“Meaning?” she asks, but we both know exactly what I’m referring to.
“Your little loverboy.” I cross my arms over my chest, sobering. “Seriously, have you gotten any more notes?”
“Um.” She flexes her fingers before tucking her hands beneath her. “Nothing major.”
“Meaning…”
“Just a note on my car at the grocery store the other day.” She shrugs, trying to act unaffected, but she’s full of shit. She’s terrified, and I can’t say I blame her.
“Thought I told you to tell me if anything else happened.”
“It wasn’t anything major.”
“Scarlet.” I level her with a withering glare. “Someone is stalking you. Do you hear me? Stalking you. And while I don’t personally see the appeal, it’s not okay. It’s not normal or cute or any other bullshit excuse you’ve fed yourself to soften it. The reality is, it’s dangerous.”
Her big, doe eyes widen as she regards me. “I… I’m sure it’s fine. He’ll probably fizzle out.”
“Or escalate.”
She huffs and collapses back against the couch. “Why can’t I attract a normal man?”
“Um.” I swallow roughly. “Well…”
“Oh, can it,” she sasses. “I know exactly the kind of man I attract. It’s either Mr. Fun-for-a-night or Mr. I-still-live-at-home-and-call-my-mom-mommy.”
“Try working on that sparkling personality of yours.” I shrug. “Maybe if you’re fucking nicer, you’ll find a guy who can tolerate your particular brand of fuckery.”
“I…I’ll take that under advisement, Ellis.” Her easy surrender leaves me wanting more. In the past she’d never walk away from a fight, but for some reason, she really is on her best behavior tonight.
I fucking hate it.
“So,” she drawls after a few minutes.
“So?” I parrot, flexing my hand around the now empty bottle, loving how the crinkle of the label makes her eye twitch. “More Enemies & Escrow?”
“Sure, but I’m going to heat up James’s dinner. It’s almost time for him to eat.”
“Make it snappy,” I call after her. “I’ll rewind back to where we were before you stormed out.”
She glances back at me over her shoulder with murder written in her stare. “Don’t bother.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something else combative, but I swallow down the urge and grab the remote, resuming my episode of Enemies & Escrow.