His Plaything(23)

“Fox!”

Everyone startled, even Logan. Nixon stood in the doorway with a handful of plates and a face like thunder.

“You wanna buy a one-way ticket off this balcony, man? 'Cause I can hook you right the fuck up.” Nixon's voice was almost a snarl.

Fox's grin had vanished. He raised his hands in half-serious surrender, although the effect was spoiled by him still holding his beer can. “Okay, dude. Shit. Take a chill pill.”

But it was too late. The damage had already been done.

Last night, when Nixon had whispered such sweet, filthy things in my ear, I had thought I was special. I had thought he wanted me. Now I knew better. He was just a player who chased anything with two tits and an ass. He would have said whatever I wanted to hear. And I had bought it hook, line, and sinker. How could I have been so stupid? Was I really that desperate?

Blinking back tears, I swallowed, trying to steady my voice. “Sorry. I, uh … feel a migraine coming on. I'm gonna go lie down.” Without waiting for a response, I hurried back inside to my bedroom and shut the door.





Chapter 11

Nixon



When Avery disappeared inside, it was all I could do not to kill Fox. But a homicide charge would look terrible on my service record. So I just piled my plate high and took a seat at the patio table; I didn't want either Avery or the guys to think I was chasing after her. Maybe enough protein and carbs would smother the rage boiling in my stomach.

Fox snickered as he sat down next to me with his full plate. “You mad, bro?”

Then again, murder might not be such a bad plan after all. I thought I'd just put the fear of God into this kid, but apparently, my lesson had already leaked out of his empty head. I narrowed my eyes at Fox. “Didn't you ever learn when to shut the hell up?”

“Jeez, dude, you get up on the wrong side of bed or what? I was just messing around.” Fox touched his tongue to a steaming potato chunk, then blew on it. “Why do you care so much? Not like Avery's some piece of ass you're trying to impress.”

I stabbed viciously at my steak. Rare and bloody, just like I liked it.

“He doesn't want to look bad in front of his new stepsister,” Logan mumbled around his mouthful of food. I silently thanked him for swooping in with a convenient excuse. Then I took it all back when he continued, “But you gotta admit, it was kind of funny.”

I turned to glare at Logan. “No, it really fucking wasn't.”

Logan gave me a weird look. “Uh … sorry?”

Dammit. Maybe I did need to slow my roll a little. From their perspective, I was flipping out over a few stupid stories. They had no idea how badly Fox had just cockblocked me. How many days of coaxing and sexual frustration he'd flushed straight down the crapper…

“Avery's family now,” Fox said. “Knowing embarrassing shit about you is par for the course, man. I'm just getting her up to speed.”

But when Fox talked like that, it was impossible to keep my mouth shut. “I don't care what you think you're doing,” I snapped. “Just back off.”

Thankfully, before I could dig myself any deeper, the timer buzzed from the kitchen. The green beans were done cooking. Which meant that…

“Shit, we're missing the game,” I said. “You guys go ahead. I'll get this stuff.”

They grunted in affirmation and went inside. I moved the rest of the food from the grill onto the plate I'd brought for Avery, then followed them. I served myself some vegetables and left her plate next to the kitchen sink. As I sat down on the couch, I noticed that her bedroom door was closed.

All through the basketball game, Fox and Logan cussed or cheered at the appropriate spots, but I could barely focus. I had no idea how the score ended up. Even my food tasted bland. All I could think about was Avery, hidden away in her bedroom. Was she pissed off or just grossed out? Did she hate me? Why did she hate me? Jesus, what if she was crying? The idea sat like a hot lead slug in my gut. What the hell was I going to do?

When Fox and Logan finally left, I put our plates in the dishwasher and reheated the food I'd saved for Avery: a perfectly cooked sirloin steak, tender green beans, and potatoes that were only slightly burnt. Then I knocked on her door.

After an uncomfortable minute, she opened up. It might have been my imagination, but I thought her eyes looked a little red. She stared at the plate in my hand like it was full of slugs. Finally she took it—with an almost inaudible “thanks”—and started to close the door.

“Avery, wait. Can we talk?” I asked.

Now she was staring at me like I was a slug. “There's nothing to talk about.”

Fucking hell. I was stranded in unknown territory without so much as a compass. “Are you mad or something?” Hopefully she wouldn't get offended at my confusion. Or if she did, at least she might drop a hint about what I should do.