I knew he was behind me, and I was certain he was watching—all patient and amused, like I was a puppy lost under a blanket—while I attempted to navigate the North End’s uneven cobblestone streets, wrestle my arms into my coat, and dig through my purse for keys, all at once. The alarm chirped when my fingers landed on the car’s remote start button, and the vehicle roared to life.
Will slipped into the passenger seat without a word, and kept his eyes glued on the windshield even when I slammed my door with enough force to rock the car. I was a slammer and a stomper, and though I knew those reactions had drama queen written all over them, that was how I rolled.
He closed his hand into a fist and then splayed his fingers out, exhaling heavily as he repeated the motion, and asked, “What did you say to the Douchelord back there?”
“I’m not answering your questions until you answer mine,” I said.
“You let him down easy,” Will said. “How’d he take it?”
“Allow me to repeat myself: come clean or choke on my dick.”
“Those are interesting choices,” he murmured.
The short journey back to my apartment building seemed infinite, filled with slow pedestrians and quick-changing stoplights, and I could only assume it was the universe’s way of getting back at me for letting things linger this long with Gerard.
I knew why I ignored his obnoxious tendencies, and why I overlooked our complete lack of chemistry. He was Will’s opposite in so many ways, but most importantly, he never made me feel much of anything. And I wanted it that way. I couldn’t function with all of this emotion rippling right at the surface. I could manage anything when it came to my family and my work, but I couldn’t handle feeling fucking ravenous for one man.
After stomping from the garage to the elevator to my apartment, I glanced at Will while unlocking the door. “I’m finished with these games. No more stalking.”
I headed straight for the dining room, away from the cozy sectional in the den where I wanted to curl up with some wine andThe X-Files. The den was too centrally located and I’d been avoiding it since Will arrived; it begged for him to come in and join me. I knew the distance between us would evaporate, and I didn’t trust myself to be strong when his open arms beckoned.
My coat was hanging haphazardly from a chair back while I rummaged in my bag. It served as the catchall for my necessities: laptop, small notebook, makeup bag, hairbrush, phone charger, long-forgotten Kind bars, keys to everywhere, and a deck of business cards. I didn’t know what I was looking for but it didn’t matter. I took it all out, slammed it on the gorgeous antique Chippendale table that Patrick salvaged from a property we restored nine years ago. It was before I bought this apartment, and there was no way the twelve-seat set was fitting in my tiny walk-up rental, but I couldn’t bear to see it go. Instead, it moved between our investment properties, serving as an odd—yet completely fitting—mascot for our fledgling business.
“Drop the act, Ally McBeal. Dinner with the Douchelord was about as pleasant as an aesthesia-free wisdom tooth extraction, and you were thrilled that I saved you from hate-glaring at him any longer. He annoyed the ever-loving fuck out of you, and I give you credit for sticking it out this long. You’d be an outstanding hostage.” He laughed. “Now give it up: you told him you craved my cock and couldn’t live without it, right?”
“You are such an obnoxious bastard.” I started shoving things back in my bag, and though I was trying to organize that mess, it was much, much worse than before. “Why are you here? Why are you inmyapartment when your sister is across town and would happily take you in? What do you want from me, Will?”
He released a humorless laugh. “Me staying with Lo is an invitation to kill your brother in his sleep. If you’re good with that, say the word and I’ll pack up.”
I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
“Pissing you off is amusing as fuck.”
“Original. Really original.” I threw my hands up but didn’t turn to face him. “After all this time, you’re at my door, and you just presume I’m going to rip my clothes off and jump into your arms. Please. I expect more from you than this.”
“Get over here and sit on my face and you’ll get plenty more,” he said.
I dropped my back-up phone charger into my bag and stared at the table’s wood grain, fuming. Then I did the first thing that came to mind. I grabbed a lime from the decorative bowl in the center of the table, pivoted, and winged it at Will’s head. The element of surprise worked in my favor, and it pinged right off his skull.
“Holy mother of fucking Christ, Shannon! What the hell was that?” he cried, his fingers pressed against his forehead.
“Enough,” I yelled, reaching for another lime. It shot out from my hand, and then another, and they landed square on his chest. “I’ve had enough of your quippy comments and your grocery shopping and your entire existence as I know it.”
Will tumbled over the backside of the sofa, ducking when another lime flew in his direction. He popped up, two limes caught in his palm, and he pointed at me. “You’ve got a cannon for an arm, peanut,” he said, laughing. “But don’t think I won’t throw these right back at you.”
The bowl was far from empty. There were probably another twenty limes, and right now, I wasn’t above chucking the Waterford crystal dish at his head either. “You don’t have the balls,” I said. “And I would know because the last time I went looking for them, all I could find was a big, sloppy vagina.”
“You are so asking for it,” he said.
The fruit flew across the room and struck my outer thigh, and fuck me sideways, those thingshurt. I yelped, and fired another at Will, catching him on the shoulder. He dropped back behind the protective wall of the sofa and mumbled a long, imaginative string of curses. He was only down a moment, and when he reappeared, two more limes pelted my legs.
And then it was all-out war.
Fruit whizzed back and forth between the rooms while we swore and insulted each other like never before. We were sweaty and breathless, and my apartment was thoroughly ransacked. The one upside: everything smelled like fresh citrus.
“You’re getting spanked tonight, peanut,” he called as a lime whizzed toward me and connected with my boob. My freaking boob.
“What kind of pussy aims for my tits?” I screamed, rubbing the offended breast. I pointed to my chest. “These are off-limits to you in every possible way, you dirty hooker.”
