“Fun to fucking assault me,” he booms, the tendons in his neck straining.
My eyes grow, and my eyebrows fly to my forehead. “What? No? I just thought—”
“So you think it’s okay to fucking touch someone when they’re unconscious?”
“Jagger, no! What are you talking about?”
“You know, what’s fucking hilarious is if I’d done that to you, the world would fucking scream rape, but because I’m a guy, it’s just okay.”
“Are you serious? I wouldn’t have said that or even thought it. People do that kind of shit all the time when they’re with someone. It’s not like I drugged you or snuck into your room.”
“You may as well have. Consent works both goddamn ways. I might be rough and push you beyond what you’re comfortable with, but it’s all consensual. When the fuck did you get my consent?”
His jaw ticks, and he turns away from me, walking into the bathroom without another word.
Stunned confusion keeps me frozen in place as a tear falls. The bathroom door slams, causing a picture on the wall to fall and me to jump. It’s the shock I need to get moving.
Climbing off the bed, I swipe his shirt I was wearing last night off the floor, pulling it over my head. I grab my leggings, tugging them on, not worrying about my panties, then search for my shoes. Once I find them, I march with my head up from his bedroom, determined to make my escape as quickly as possible.
I can’t stay here. Not after that. Between the utter humiliation I feel and the way those green eyes looked at me like he hated me—the absolute disgust and fury he directed right at me—there’s no way I can be here.
My name is called from the bedroom as I make my way down the hallway toward the front door, but I don’t stop or reply. It’s not like me to run from confrontation or problems. If anything, I dive headfirst into trouble. But I can’t do this. Not with him.
“Poppy, what are you doing?” I hear again, this time closer, so I speed up my steps.
I have the door opened a fraction when his hand reaches over me, shutting it. He doesn’t touch me, but I feel his body heat as he stands behind me. Even without looking, I can sense his posture is tense but slumped with defeat and regret. “Don’t go.”
“Yeah, I think it’s best if I do.” I hate how my voice cracks with emotion, but I’m still raw from the verbal lashing I just took. And I hate that I took it too.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping his forehead until it’s resting against mine. “I know you weren’t trying to hurt me. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”
The words burn my tongue. The need to know why he did squeezes my chest so tight it’s hard to breathe. It doesn’t take a genius to know something happened to him, and a myriad of questions swirl in my mind. Was he abused as a kid and never told anyone? Was it someone who worked for his dad? He was surrounded by musicians and rock stars all the time, after all. A family member? Is that why I see so much darkness in his eyes? I want to ask, but it’s not my business. So I choke the words down. “It’s fine. I made you uncomfortable, but I really should go.”
He grips my shoulder, spinning me so we’re facing each other, but I keep my eyes focused beyond him. My already thundering heart rams against my chest painfully when he cups my cheeks. “Please.” The plea in his voice almost breaks me.
But somehow I remain steadfast. “No, Jagger. I should just go home.”
He lifts my face until I have no choice but to look at him. Remorse and regret shine in his pale gaze. “I can’t let you go, Halfpint. You owe me the weekend, remember?” He tries to smirk, but it’s weak.
It takes a strength I didn’t know I had, but I shake my head. “This was always a bad idea, and it’s not like it’s going anywhere. So let’s just cut our losses now, okay? I’ll see you around. I’ll be at your brother’s party on Sunday. We’ll see each other then.”
His jaw flexes, his fingers rake through his hair, something I’ve noticed he does when he’s stressed or upset. For a heartbeat, I see the darkness return.
I want to know him, his secrets and desires, and everything between. I have from the beginning. From the moment I saw him let his demons win as he slammed one fist after another into his opponent. The need to dig into his past, discover his truths, is so strong I can taste it.
I’ve never pushed because if he wanted to tell me, he would, but now I see clearly. No one will tear those secrets from him.
He never talks about himself. The subject matter always stays firmly on me and my life. His walls are fortified, and his secrets are locked tightly away. He wears shame like armor and wields anger like a weapon. Emotional and mental battles are fought with his fists and hidden behind alcohol and drugs.
I always knew he was complicated, but the harder I look, the more I know that was an understatement.
This? Whatever we are? It’s too complicated and fragile to mix with sex. That was a mistake, and I’m not sure it’s worth complicating further for a weekend of satisfaction.
“I’ve got to go, Jagger.”
“What do I have to do to make you stay? Name it. I’ll do anything.”
“That’s a lot for a weekend of sex, don’t you think?” I tease, trying desperately to change the subject and make my escape.
