He looks good, but truthfully I think his look is a little forced. I honestly think he'd be more comfortable in a pair of jeans and a hoodie.
“Just go. Both of you,” I say, exasperated. I turn to get my coffee cup, needing more coffee if I’m going to have this conversation with Ace.
Not that I know what the conversation will entail.
Were you driving the car the night my sister went into a coma? Were you the one who fled the scene?
And what if he denies it? What am I supposed to say or do then?
Claire and Tess throw their clothes in a tote bag and pull on sweats and tee-shirts.
“Can we borrow some flip-flops?” Tess asks.
“Of course,” I say, knowing sweats, tee-shirts, and the high heels they wore last night would look ridiculous together. Thankfully for them I stocked up on cheap flip-flops when I moved to the desert.
Ace stands in the center of the apartment, and I have literally no clue what he is thinking. Do I want to know?
“The car's here, Tess,” Claire says, checking her phone.
“Okay,” Tess says, then walks over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You text me in an hour or I'm gonna start stalking you like Ace here, ’kay?”
“Got it,” I say, smiling tightly.
“You swear you're good?” Claire asks me, as she wraps an arm around my neck. “Because we can stay.”
“She's fine,” Ace says coolly.
I nod in agreement, and watch as my friends leave the apartment.
I walk over to the door and bolt it closed.
14
EMMY
Ace has his arms crossed over his chest, so I mimic him. Unfortunately, I also lick my lips, which I assume is the cause for the small smile spreading across his face.
Once I set my mouth in a firm line, his smiles fades.
“I'm a monster now? What happened to last night, when you said you wanted me inside you? Didn't seem like I was much of a monster then.”
“Have you been here before, you sick fuck?” I ask. “To this apartment?” I want to know if he came to this apartment to pick up my sister the night the car she was riding in crashed. The night someone left her to die.
“What the hell?” Ace says, his face flaring in anger. “You come at me with this crazy shit? I pegged you as a wild one—but a girl off her goddamn rocker?” He runs his hands through his hair. “I seriously missed that when I was pounding you.”
“I'm not crazy.” My words are sharp and directed at him. His words remind me of the way I used him last night. “You're the crazy one, Bullet.” I throw the word across the room, seeing if he’ll dodge it. He doesn’t even flinch.
“What's this really about?” he asks, stepping toward me.
“You know.” I press my hands against his chest, pushing him away. His chest is hard and solid, and I need that sort of surety in my life. But not from him. I want to feel safe, with someone actually able to protect me. I need to get the hell away from Ace.
Being around him makes me remember all the things I want to forget.
“You fucking know,” I yell at him. “I know who my sister was talking to the night she went into a coma. She was texting with someone named Bullet. Now explain that to me. Because Grotto sure as hell knew you as one man, and I thought I knew you as another.”
His eyes reveal nothing. I hoped calling him Bullet would dislodge his confidence, but it didn’t.
“You know nothing about me, Emmy Rose.”
“That's for damn straight. And I don't want to.”
“Prove it. Prove you don't want to know me. Because I see you face right now and I saw your pussy last night and neither of those things wanted to push me away. They both wanted to be devoured.”
Ace takes me by the waist, lifts me up in one fell swoop. He shoves me against the wall as my legs wrap around him.
My brain screams that I should claw myself away, but I can't. I know I won't. I know the ugly parts of myself don't want him to ever let go.
My veins flood with shame for what I desire.
I knew the moment Ace showed up here I wouldn't get a straight answer from him.
And do I really want to? What if he told me he was the Bullet my sister spoke with? The Bullet my sister sexted, maybe even the Bullet my sister fucked? What if Ace told me he had been in this very apartment a dozen times with her?
What then?
Would it make me walk away?
I'd like to believe it would.
But he didn't admit anything.
And it's better this way, isn't it? This way I can straddle between the good intentions and my bad desire.
I can fucking straddle him.
“What do you want with me?” I ask him, plead with him. I press my hands on his cheeks, hold his fucking gorgeous, chiseled face in my hands.
“I want everything.” His voice is soft again. And I’m done with questions.