Leaving me to wonder what I said between then and now. What I did.
Why would Jinx take so much offense at my request to share his room?
There's only one thing we spoke about on the driveway that could have such an effect. And to think he, of all people, might be the type to see me as spoiled goods because of what I did fucking hurts.
It's not the first time a man's turned me down. Ghosted me and called whatever fledgling relationship we had quits because of my profession. In theory, why should Jinx be any different?
I guess I'd hoped that his chosen lifestyle would make him more… understanding. Open to the idea.
I suppose I guessed wrong.
My phone shows two missed calls and a message from my mother. I stare down at the notifications and wonder how the hell I'll explain what happened to her. If I ever will. Maybe Dad has already spun a lie to save her the worry. Perhaps he hasn't.
Maybe Jinx is the topic of conversation at the dinner table, my father spitting his hate for the club as he has so many times before.
I reply to Mom's message while Jinx showers in the room next door and tell her I'll be home in the morning. That I'm okay. Switch it to silent for the night and stash my phone face down so I can be fully present when Jinx returns. Vanessa's sweatshirt is cozy, but it's no good for sleeping, and I'd like to keep my clothes relatively clean to wear home tomorrow, so I go hunting. Open the drawers of his bureau and see what I can find.
Like most males, there's little order to his clothes; items are thrown in and shoved into available space in the drawers. I tug out a T-shirt from the bottom, figuring he's less likely to want to wear it himself and change, stripping away everything and leaving only his shirt covering me to just above mid-thigh.
The water shuts off as I climb into his bed and slide my legs under the covers, then wait.
And wait.
Ruminating over how things might be different if I'd just kept my mouth shut and pretended my dirty history didn't exist.
The bathroom door finally clicks open, Jinx's bare feet slapping the timber floor as he makes his way back into his room.
I stare at the dark window, tracking his reflection as he puts his clothes in a wash basket and comes to bed. In only his boxers. Honed muscles flexing as he tugs his side of the blanket back and lifts his leg to slip in beside me.
I don't blink. Don't look away from his reflection in case I miss something. Something I might never see again.
"Comfy enough?" he asks.
"Yeah. Thanks." My gaze drops to the nightstand.
"Let me know if you need anything."
Let me know if you need anything?The fuck? This is not how the one-bed scenario is supposed to play out. We're meant to brush our legs accidentally. He's supposed to sleepily drape his arm over me, press his hard dick into my ass, and pretend nothing is going on.
I don't give a fuck if I saw a man's dead body today. I don't care if eight hours ago I was held hostage. The marks on my wrists and ankles mean shit. I steered our night in this direction for a fucking reason.
And because I reminded him how I made the money that supported my move back here, I'm left lying with a gap between us that may as well be a fucking chasm for how it feels.
"Have I got this all wrong?" I ask, flopping onto my back.
He stares at me in the low light, facing me on his side. "I didn't want to push anything on you after the day you had."
"Cut the chivalry crap." I wriggle to my side to face him, too. "When a woman puts herself in your bed, she knows the implication."
His gaze drops to the pillow.
"You kissed me, Jinx."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Sorry?" I all but shriek. "The hell are you sorry about? Did I not kiss you back? Did I give you any indication I don't want this?"
"Of course not. It's just…" He exhales, rolling to his back and setting an arm over his head.
