“Is there any particular reason you’re on the floor tonight?” I question.
Her head slowly rolls so she can see me, and the black eyeliner that usually turns into wings at the edges of her eyes is smeared. I wonder if she’s been crying.
“Is there any particular reason why you have blood on you again?” she asks back.
I look down at myself, noticing the blood splattered on my collar. Fuck, I was messy again. Despite being completely blazed, she’s still ridiculously perceptive.
Neither of us answers the other.
Her head rolls back to stare at nothing once again.
Borris licks at my chin, and I walk over to the kitchen to put my helmet on the counter.
There are mugs and cups stacked in the sink, and more than a few empty beer bottles in the trash. Another bender today. She’s a soldier in her determination for self-destruction.
I open the top drawer and find the dog treats. “Don’t tell your mother,” I whisper as I hand Borris a treat and let him run away with it triumphantly. I don’t like many things in this world, but this dog I like.
“I heard that.” Romi groans, rolling onto her stomach to watch me as I busily find something to feed her. I doubt she’s eaten today. And it’s because she’s caught my interest that I have to at least make sure she’s fed. I can’t use her against my brother if she’s not eating and barely surviving. I never thought taking this opportunity would turn me into a domesticated version of myself I’ve never known. Yet, strangely, I find it rather refreshing instead of irritating.
“I’m assuming the conversation didn’t go well with your mother, then?” I ask, curious if something triggered her or if I can expect to find her on the floor like this often.
“As fine as it always is. I certainly wouldn’t have had to answer unnecessary questions if you didn’t walk out of your room with your dick swinging.”
“Please, my dick wasn’t swinging. It always wakes up proud and tall.”
Her gaze narrows as I go about slathering two pieces of bread with a hazelnut spread and then put them together. Once I’m done, I sit beside her and offer her the sandwich. She looks between the sandwich and me.
“I don’t need to poison you, sweetheart. You’re already doing a perfect job of that yourself,” I say pointedly as I take a bite of the sandwich and then hand it to her.
“Stay out of my business,” she grumbles. However, she accepts the sandwich and looks at it as if it were some strange object. “I didn’t even know we had bread.”
“You didn’t. If you actually looked for something other than beer and dog food, you would’ve noticed by now that I’ve filled the fridge and cupboards with human food.”
She picks at the crust, peeling it off and placing it on my knee. The little shit. “Sounding a bit judgy there,doc.”
We both have our secrets, and her message is loud and clear. I still don’t know exactly what I’m going to do with Romi or how I’ll use our association to irritate my brother, but the more time I spend with her, the more curious I become.
“I was going to go out tonight, but then I couldn’t be bothered,” she says nonchalantly.
“More like couldn’t get off the floor.”
“Fuck off,” she bites as she sits up. That’s the part I like about her most—that scathing tongue. She’s the only woman I’ve met who's ever had the balls to speak to me like that, and I find itamusing. “Everyone needs to stop riding my ass all the time. You don’t even fucking know me.”
“I may not know you, but I know a beautiful disaster when I see one.”
She’s pissed. I can tell by the way her gaze narrows, and she defiantly takes a bite of the sandwich. As she slowly chews, her hand raises to the collar of my shirt, and her fingers rub over the blood smear, as if a subtle reminder, yet again, that neither of us should get too close to the truth.
My gaze meets hers, and there’s that sensual little beast that comes to the forefront, the version of her that uses and abuses people's bodies to make her forget whatever it is she’s running from.
My cock twitches with anticipation, the tension wrapping around us. The thoughts of the many ways I could fuck her on this carpet.
“I don’t trust you for shit,” she says as she throws a leg over my hips to straddle me. I don't protest the move. Her body so naturally fits with mine, and I almost purr as her hand sifts through my hair, thoughtfully, as she bites down on the sandwich again.
“Something tells me you don’t even trust yourself, sweetheart.”
I enjoy the momentary shock on her face. I’ll always be the person who says what people aren’t willing to face because I enjoy provoking their most damning and ugly version.
She leans back slightly, dropping the remaining sandwich onto my lap.
