Page 69 of Dirty Player
“Yeah.” I wanted to know. I had to know before anything could move forward, if that was the direction we were heading.
Plus, I’d been killing time in my determination to avoid him.
My phone buzzed in my hand and I glanced down. It was Beaux.
You don’t fucking tell me you’re not battered and beaten behind the alley in two minutes and I’m calling the cops or kicking your ass.
I’m alive.
I quickly texted back.
Oliver is here. Stand down, cowboy.
Don’t do that to me again. Was worried sick about you, Sis.
I glanced up at Oliver. His eyes still on mine. “Sorry. That was Beaux. You made him worried.”
“Glad someone else was.”
It was sick and twisted. I liked knowing he cared enough to worry. When I went out with girlfriends, I would always text Patrick to let him know when I was coming home. He’d go out with friends and I’d never hear from him.
Some nights he wouldn’t come home at all. But had he been alone those nights?
I shook the errant thought away and sighed.
“Sorry. Again. It was immature and not me—I was just angry. And confused that I didn’t have the right to be.”
“Of course you do.” His voice tightened and his words clipped staccato sounds. “Fucking hell, Shannon. I’ve been fucking you for weeks. Don’t you think that entitles you to at least some honesty?”
I would figure. I was also new to the fuck-buddy, dating-rebound stage.
“Fine. Serena then.”
He glanced around the building and cringed. “You might need to sit for this.”
“Fine. We can go upstairs.”
“To your place? I haven’t seen it yet.”
“Don’t be impressed. I’ve got a bed and a couch.”
“Two of my favorite things.” He walked straight to me and pressed his hand to my check. “I’m sorry I pissed you off and hurt you.”
Only honesty shone in his eyes.
I nodded. “Let me lock up and we’ll talk.”
***
“Don’t say a thing about the place,” I warned him as I unlocked the upstairs door. It was beautiful—had the potential to be beautiful, anyway. But at that time, I hadn’t bought anything new for it and I was waiting to get everything from the movers the following week. The only thing I’d stocked was the fridge with snacks while I was working, paper plates, and bottles of water. “I haven’t done a thing with it yet.”
I was planning on painting walls the next week, before the furniture showed up, so there were paint samples taped all over the walls.
Oliver’s eyes went to those first, and he pressed his lips together at the empty space.
“You weren’t kidding,” he said, walking into the open area, shock in his features. “You didn’t mention the kitchen table, but there really is only a couch.”
“Bed’s in one of the rooms.”
