“No,” he grunts. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
A chuckle bubbles up in my throat. “Yeah, well, you smell like a garbage can. I wouldn’t want to go in public with you, anyway.”
His perma-scowl deepens. “So, why the fuck are you here, then?”
“For one, I didn’t know you’d look and smell like shit.” I laugh. His eyes narrow into thin slits. “And two, we can smoke on your balcony. Easy peasy.”
I don’t bother waiting for his response, shoving by him, and holding my breath while I do. Seriously, the guy needs a fucking shower.
“Sure, just fucking come on in,” Caspian grumbles from behind me.
His room is a disaster. There’s food everywhere. It doesn’t look like the housekeepers have come in at least two or three days. His bed is a mess. It’s not made, but more than that, the bottom sheet is coming off on two of the corners. Maybe more, but I can’t see the other sides. There’s also a dark stain on the left side near the pillow.
Glancing over my shoulder at him, I bite the inside of my cheek when I see him already watching me with annoyance in his gray eyes. “What happened in here?” I ask.
“Nothing fucking happened,” he snaps, his expression a mix of anger and exasperation that I can’t help but find amusing. “Why are you so fucking nosy?”
I stick the joint between my teeth, raising my hands in mock innocence as I plop down on one of the chairs outside. “Aye yai yai, you’re touchy today.”
Caspian doesn’t sit in the other chair, but he doesn’t go back inside either. I take that as a win. Flicking open the Zippo, I light the end until it burns red, inhaling deeply. Passing it to him, I hold the sweet smoke in until my lungs scream at me, and I can’t anymore. Hefinallysits down while he takes the hit.
Not wanting to chance my luck, I remain quiet as we pass the weed back and forth. He’s peering out at the water in the distance, and I take this time to take him in. Even clearly in need of a shower and a shave, he’s undeniably hot. It’s not fair. His brows, thick and dark, dip as he squints, probably to avoid getting smoke in his eyes. He’s got scruff along his jaw, above his lip, and a smattering across his cheeks, where he’s normally clean shaven. I don’t know which I prefer; both work for him.
Below his dingy t-shirt, he’s wearing a pair of shorter, black athletic shorts, showing off the patchwork on his legs. A creepy—but cool—looking skull sits above his left knee, among other various pieces that seem to be placed randomly with no rhyme or reason.
Not for the first time, I can’t help but wonder about his story. Sure, I know what the media tells us, but what’s the truth? It’s not like I could get him to tell me, anyway. The dude is a locked vault.
The joint is practically finished by the time either of us speaks again and, of course, it’s me. “I haven’t seen you around the last few days.”
Huffing out a laugh through his nose, he mutters, “How very observant of you.”
There’re dark circles under his eyes, like maybe he hasn’t been sleeping. But why?
“Is everything okay?” I ask, hoping he gives me something. Maybe I can help.
This time, he outwardly laughs, but there’s zero humor behind it as his gaze snaps to mine. “No, dude. We’re stuck in this fucking hellhole, away from the rest of the fucking world, unable to do anything. Nobody is okay.” He smashes what’s left of the joint, which is basically nothing, into the side of his soda can before letting it fall inside. “Why are you always so fucking chipper, anyway? You realize we’re inrehab, right?”
I shrug. “Well, yeah. But that doesn’t mean we can’t make the best out of the situation we have.”
“Yeah, well, go be fucking chipper and make the most of our situation elsewhere. I’m tired of seeing your fucking goofy, smiling face all the fucking time.”
His words cut me deep, as does the way he glances away from me with a sneer on his lip, but I don’t know why. It’s nothing I haven’t heard a million times before.
“You’re so fucking upbeat. It’s weird.
“Calm down.”
“You’re so annoying. Go away.”
I hate the way my eyes sting and my throat tightens, to the point I can’t even respond. My brows are pinched as I watch him, seeing if he’ll apologize or take it back. He doesn’t. Of course. In fact, he still doesn’t even look at me.
Fuck this.Raising from the chair, I grab the Zippo, pocketing it before storming past him. In the back of my mind, I hope he’ll stop me.
He doesn’t.
Asshole.
CHAPTERNINE
