Chapter 7 #2
Wolf turned back to my car. I wanted to say I’d grown out of the stereotypical bad boy thing, but it would have been a lie.
As he stalked forward, he looked dangerous.
From the black T-shirt and litany of tattoos on his arms to the way he held himself, Wolf seemed at one with the darkness.
Like he belonged there, mingling with the creatures of night.
Before, I’d known his tough exterior was just a front for a kind heart.
Back then, I could reason that I wasn’t being a basic bitch.
Now, though, the fact that I found him so attractive when he was blackmailing me… it was embarrassing.
I was so distracted by my thoughts that I didn’t register him reaching through the lowered window until the lock popped.
“What are?—”
He pulled open the door. “Get out.”
“No.” I grabbed the handle and tried to close it again, but his grip was like steel. “Let go, Wolf.”
Annoyance flashed over his face before he latched on to my arm and physically dragged me from the car.
My bare feet scuffed the warm asphalt while I fought against him. “Seriously?”
He probably just wanted to make sure I didn’t go back to my apartment. Heaven forbid, I sleep in my own bed, safe and comfortable.
I tore my arm from his grip, my temper spiking. If there was one thing I couldn’t handle, it was having my choice taken from me. And that was all he’d done since I had seen him in that gas station last week.
“This is what you do now? Just throw your weight around?”
“Sleeping in your car?” His brows furrowed, streetlights bathing his face in shadows. “Did you learn nothing growing up in Dayton?”
“Yeah, I learned not to fall asleep in a house full of asshole men!”
The furrow to his brows deepened, like that comment had almost offended him. Good.
I shouldered past him to get back inside the car, but before I managed to set one foot on the floorboard, he grabbed my shoulders and rammed me against the rusted paint.
His quick breaths stirred the strands of my hair, and awareness pricked my skin.
I must have been in this exact position with him a thousand times.
Wolf always used to open my door for me, only to pin me against the side of his truck and kiss me like I was his oxygen.
Like he would kiss me forever if he could. But there was no forever.
“Seriously, Wolf.” I planted my palms against his firm chest and attempted to shove him away, but, of course, he didn’t budge an inch.
Anger licked through me, and I punched his abdomen hard enough to send pain shooting through my knuckles.
“Why in the fuck do you give a shit where I sleep, huh? Why do you care about me when I’ve made it clear I don’t give a shit about you?
” I shoved him again, feeling guilty for voicing the lie.
Let him believe it, though. Let him paint me as the villain in our story.
“Because I have a fucking conscience.” Yeah, it sure seemed like it, Blackmail McBlackerson. He shoved away from me, then reached inside the car and grabbed the blanket and my keys from the backseat.
“I’m not your concern, Wolf. Just…” Stop acting like you care.
“Go inside the fucking house.”
He wound up the window, pushed the lock down, then closed the door, locking me out of my car, before heading toward the porch.
I was standing outside in a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top, with no access to my Jeep, and nowhere to go but inside that frat. Honestly, I wanted to sleep on the street just to prove a point, but I wasn’t that stupid. I wasn’t getting raped or kidnapped just to defy Wolf Brookes.
If I asked for my key, I knew he wouldn’t give it to me, which was the only reason I followed him, every step feeling like defeat.
When Wolf held open the screen door, like some kind of gentleman—which he definitely was not—the dog bolted inside. I stood in the entranceway, glaring at him as he bent to unfasten the dog’s leash.
“So, I guess I’m supposed to sleep on the couch?
” I waved a hand toward the offensive furniture.
“You know I have a perfectly good apartment. And bed.” That hadn’t been fucked on God only knew how many times.
“Not like I’m going to bail on cleaning up after your disgusting asses. Seeing as I don’t want to go to jail.”
He hung the leash on the coat rack by the door, then met my gaze with complete indifference. “I think I’d rather be in jail,” he mumbled on his way into the living room.
Like I was the one making his life oh so hard. “Is that an option? Because if so, I choose that.”
He released an exasperated sigh, tossed the blanket onto the couch, then collapsed onto the cushions. “My room has a lock, if that makes it better to sleep in a house full of asshole men.”
I wasn’t sure which was worse, the couch or Wolf’s bed. I also didn’t understand why he’d give up his bed for me, choosing to sleep on a couch that had to be at least a foot too short for his six-four frame.
My chest tightened, more uncomfortable feelings trying to break free.
It was these small moments, the reminders of who he used to be to me, that would kill me.
They would be my death by a thousand cuts.
I had to find my ammunition, get out of that house, and away from Wolf.
And being in his room, alone, was the perfect opportunity for that.
If he wanted to sleep on the disease-riddled couch, so be it.
“Thanks.”
The TV cut on, casting a blue haze over the living room. “First room on the right at the top of the stairs.”
I crossed the room, a small sense of control returning as I climbed the steps. If I were lucky, I’d be out of this place tomorrow.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I turned on the light.
The same bed Wolf had in high school sat between two single-pane windows. Same desk right beside the door, and on it, the same picture of our friendship group from high school.
Monroe, Zepp, Hendrix, Bellamy, Wolf, and I stood around a bonfire at The Lookout. Wolf had me snug against his side, his lips pressed to my temple in a kiss.
That ache I’d tried so hard to ignore any time it came to Wolf surfaced.
He’d kept this. I’d expected him to eliminate any trace of me, the same way I’d had to hide all traces of him.
I’d boxed up every reminder of him, just as I’d tried to box up my emotions.
Maybe that picture was telling. He wasn’t as bothered about losing me as I was him.
But I already knew that. Exhibit A: Nora Locke.
I glanced at the image again, remembering how happy we once were, how much I’d loved him.
None of that mattered now, though. What did matter was getting off this trip down memory lane and the hell out of that house. Who knew if he’d feel so chivalrous as to give up his bed for a second night?
I glanced back at the door, the hum of the TV drifting through it, before I scanned the room. Where would I hide drugs? Carefully, I rummaged through his desk.
Nothing but papers and pencils, and another of those stupid penguins.
I moved to the dresser and yanked open the top drawer, searching through his clothes.
When I closed it, something wobbled on top, and my hand shot out to steady the picture of him and his dad.
My heart clenched at Wolf in his State football uniform, his dad beaming with pride beside him.
He’d lost so much, more than anyone his age should have.
I swiped at the tear that dropped onto my cheek and put down the picture.
Then I forced myself to keep searching, but with a whole lot more guilt.
He was blackmailing me! Why was that so easy to forget?