I moved to toss my tote in the trunk, but he yanked it out of my hands. "I've got it," he said quietly. He took care to stow our things, perhaps more care than two clothing-filled bags necessitated. "My sister Shannon," he continued, his attention still fixed on securing the luggage, "asked me to bring her some bread from one of the local bakeries. I'd forgotten about it until now, but if it's anissue—"
"It's fine," Isnapped.
Riley emerged from the depths of the trunk and turned to face me. But instead of the quick glimpses and avoidance he'd treated me to earlier, he was studying my jeans and sweater, my face, my still-damp hair. He was looking at me the way he had last night, and I didn't know what to dowiththat.
"Shannon's pregnant," he started, "and I don't want to be the person who doesn't deliver the bread she's requested. That's an invitation to my funeral. She'd put my head on a spike in the middle of the office, and leave it there as a warning to all those who dare deprive her." He rubbed the back of his neck and nodded to himself. "I could also go for some coffee. This bakery has great coffee. And I'm sure you'll need a snack fortheroad."
He seemed like Riley again. Sweet. Funny. Grumpy without his daily ration of coffee. Preternaturally concerned with food. Where'd the shifty-eyed brush-off guy gone? Not that I wanted him back but I damned well wanted to know what wasgoingon.
He drove through the city with ease, and led the way to a low-slung building with blue awnings, where the aroma of bread and yeast hung heavy in the air. It was busy inside the bakery, and the line was moving too quickly for me to get a good look at theofferings.
"You'd like the almond croissant," Riley said frombesideme.
He was staring straight ahead again, his eyes averted.Boys.Women always got a bad rap for being clingy and emotional after sex, but it was boys whocouldn'thang.
Did I want last night to mean something? Yes. Would I survive if it didn't? Ofcourse.
When we reached the counter, I started to order but he silenced me with an abrupt wave. "Two almond croissants, an iced coffee with room for milk, an iced nonfat latte, and three durumsticks."
As the cashier read back Riley's order to him, I pulled some bills from my wallet and moved to set them on thecounter.
"Oh my fucking god, would you stop?" he hissed, slapping my hand away. "I've gotit,okay?"
What the fuck isgoingon?
ChapterSixteen
Riley
What the fuckisgoingon?
That was the only question in my head. Over and over, an endless loop of those words until I started doubting everything and wanting to sneak another glance at the bruise.On my thigh.Just to confirm I wasn't losing myfuckingmind.
It certainly seemed like I was. I mean, was there a different explanation? I'd woken up naked and alone, our room trashed and a giant fucking hickey sucked into my leg. Because I was a goddamn fucking idiot, I couldn't remember much after kissing her in a dark booth at The Magdalenae Room in the Dean Hotel. The broken condom that I'd found under a pillow certainly corroborated…something.
And Alex had been no help. Instead of recapping the events between last call and waking up with the burn of well-used muscles, Little Miss Thigh Sucker had no use for me. She'd gone about breakfast as if nothing hadchanged.
I was never drinking again. I said that every time I woke up from a night of whiskey but I was serious this time. I couldn't handle that shit. It didn't matter whether it was a lot or a little. It fucked me over and hung me out to dry. Or more precisely, it left me choking back vomit in the middle of a busy bakery, all while staring at a woman I'd slept with and wondering how to ask her for the keydetails.
That right there wasshambles.
I'd kissed her—hell, I'd fucked her, more than once, if the sated state of my balls was a worthy barometer—and now she was trying to buy her own coffee. Even if whiskey had pissed all over my brain and this relationship was a work of artifice, I'd beeninsideher just a fewhoursago.
I was buying her fucking coffee. Thecroissant,too.
"Oh my fucking god, would you stop?" I snapped, batting away her hand. "I've gotit,okay?"
"Sorry," Alex muttered, though there was no apology in her tone. "I must've misunderstood.Again."
She grabbed her coffee and pushed past me, and I had no idea how to make this right. How could I? If I'd had my way, she'd still be underneath me right now. We wouldn't have left that roomallday.
But I didn't know what had sent her scrambling out of our room or why she wanted nothing to do with me today. I'd done something or said something, or maybe I'd been bad in bed, and what intimacy we'd had was nowhostility.
I didn't say anything as we walked back to the car. Nothing was going to come out right. I couldn't grab her by the neck and kiss her until she turned molten in my hands. I couldn't tell her I wanted her lips stretched around my cock. I couldn't even drag my fingers through her hair. I couldn't have any of it until I figured out where I'd gonewrong.
The drive to Boston was quiet. We shared little more than basic conversation about the weather, radio stations, traffic. We'd never experienced an awkward silence like this before, and it made me fucking crazy. I was torn between putting it all on the table and talking about last night and pulling over to vomit on the side oftheroad.
I rolled up to Alex's street, a narrow cobblestone lane just off Cambridge. I needed more time to get myself in order but I couldn't let her go yet. I wrapped my hand around her wrist, ready to slather her in the apologies I'd been mentally rehearsing since hitting the Massachusetts border, but she shook me off. "Alex, Ihaveto—"
