Page 31 of The Bad Brother
Dropping my hands away from my hips on a quiet huff, I shake my head. “The hot water.”
Another asshole smirk. Another quick combination of punches and jabs. “What about it?”
Frustration and instinct have me reaching into the pocket of my robe for one of my sour candies but I come up empty-handed.
Shit.
That’s quite alright, Sloane. You don’t need to use your grounding techniques to deal with this man. You got this.
“I was in the shower and someone turned it off,” I say in a pointed tone. “I’d like you to turn it back on.Please.” The last word is forced out through clenched teeth.
“Someone, meaning me.” It’s not a question but when I don’t answer him, he finally drops his fists and looks at me. “I’m not sure I like what you’re implying.”
Jaw still clenched, I shake my head. “I’m not?—”
“Yes, you are…” Insolence pushes at the corner of his mouth. “You’re accusing me of spying on you.”
“What?” Panic claws at my chest while I shake my head a mile a minute. “I never?—”
“How else would I know to turn the hot water off unless I was watching you in the shower while you…” His mismatched gaze drifts over me, lingering on the damp silk of my robe clinging to my breasts before moving lower. Lifting his gaze to meet mine, he tilts his head, ever so slightly. “Whatwereyou doing in the shower, Peach?”
The hinge on my jaw softens on a barely audible gasp.
Did he just admit to?—
“This building is over a hundred years old,” he says, moving past me to snag a worn towel off the back of a folding chair. Scrubbing it across his chest before hooking itaround his neck, he gives me a flat smile. “The furnace is finicky, so it’s bound to happen, more often than not.”
“I’ve showered more than once and the water temperature was just fine,” I tell him, my tone barely above a whisper because none of this has gone the way I expected it to.
“Like I said—” Lifting the tail end of his towel to rub it against his temple, he gives me a shrug. “old building. Finicky furnace. If you can’t handle it, you should move out.”
Before I can argue or maybe call him a liar, my new landlord mounts the set of cement stairs I nearly broke my neck on and disappears.
SLOANE STOPPED SHOWERING.
At least she stopped showering at the loft. Every morning since the morning she stormed into the basement, half-naked and accused me of fucking with her hot water, she’s left with a small duffle and doesn’t come back until well after midnight. If River’s on shift, she’ll drop her duffle next to an empty stool at the bar and order a club soda, nursing it while she chats with River about anything and everything for about a half hour or so before she gives Riv a tired smile and asee you tomorrowbefore heading upstairs. If it’s just me and Cade, she bypasses the bar completely without even bothering to look in its direction.
Either way, she completely ignores me.
Hasn’t so much as looked at me since Tuesday morning.
It’s Saturday night.
Four days of treating me like I’m invisible.
So, I did what any sane, rational asshole would do—I upped the ante.
When I left my apartment on Wednesday morning and I heard her television across the hall, I cut her power.
Nothing.
She didn’t even flip me the bird on her way out the door when I saidhavea good day, Peach.
Thursday morning, I woke up for my early morning run and let the air out of her tires on my way through the parking lot. When I got back, all four were completely flat. Watching her leave for work, I was sure she’d come back in to ask someone for a ride to wherever she goes, or at the very least storm back in to tell me what a miserable prick I am.
All she did was eat a piece of candy before calling an Uber and AAA.
By Friday, I’d officially lost my mind because all I can think about is the way she looked, staring up at me with her wide, dark eyes, cheeks flushed with temper. Damp silk clinging to her full breasts. The way her nipples stiffened against it when I asked her what she’d been doing in the shower which was the wrong fucking move because as soon as I asked, Iknew.
