Challenge accepted. “As if,” I scoff. “DC is way better. Hello? Batman?”
He shakes his head solemnly. “I don’t think I can let you stay here. You’re clearly crazier than I thought.”
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it. He’s kind of funny when he’s not being an asshole. My stomach suddenly growls loudly, reminding me I haven’t eaten in... I can’t even remember when, honestly.
“Hungry?” Bane asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Starving,” I admit.
He pulls out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. “Noble’s on it.”
I want to ask who Noble is and why he’s bringing us food in the middle of the night, but I don’t. Instead, I take the opportunity to look around Bane’s living space.
It’s an open concept loft with high ceilings and exposed beams. A small kitchenette with a fridge and stove sits in one corner. There’s a dresser against one wall, and a big bed in the opposite corner. No sofa, no table, no chairs. Nothing but the bed to sit on.
Bane moves to the fridge and pulls out a beer. He holds it up, giving it a little shake in the universal ‘want one’ gesture.
I cock my head to the side. “I’m only nineteen, ya know. I’m not old enough to drink.”
He stares at me for a long moment, then bursts out laughing. “You’ve stolen hundreds of thousands of dollars from me. You broke who knows how many laws doing that,” he adds more to himself before hitting me with an accusing stare, “but you’re worried about underage drinking?”
My cheeks are on fire. When he puts it that way, he makes me sound like the bad guy.
“I’ll pass,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “I have standards.”
“Sure you do, Troublemaker.” He takes a long pull from the bottle.
My eyes drift around the room again, and a sudden realization hits me. “Where exactly am I supposed to sleep?”
Bane cocks his head to the side, like the question doesn’t make any sense. “What do you mean?” He thumbs at the bed. “In the bed.”
My brows snap together. “If I’m sleeping in the bed, where are you sleeping?”
He shakes his head, his lips twitching. “You’re cute.” He sets down his beer and pulls his shirt over his head in that sexy way men do, grabbing the back of the collar and tugging it forward.
“You didn’t answer my—oh holy shit.”
My mouth waters at the sight of his bare chest. He’s got washboard abs. The kind that I was sure only happened in magazines because someone photoshopped them to look like that. His tan skin is covered in dark tattoos that my fingers itch to trace. Dragging my eyes across the canvas that is him, my brows snap together, and I squint. Does that say… Oh, good lord, it does.
In dark script, the wordsPromised Landare inked low on his stomach with an arrow pointing towards his...
I feel the heat rush to my cheeks.
“Did you lose a bet or something?” I blurt.
He laughs, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. “Or something.”
Wow. Poor guy. I shake my head. He doesn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, but he sure is pretty.
To stop myself from staring at his too-perfect body, I glance around the room again and spot a door I hadn’t noticed before. Has to be the bathroom.
“Can I take a shower?” I ask, desperately wanting to wash away the last twenty-four hours.
“Sure.” He jerks his chin toward the bathroom. “Towels under the sink.”
“Thanks.” I shuffle toward the door, eager to escape his presence and have a moment alone to process everything.
Once inside, I lock the door and lean against it, letting out a shaky breath. I catch my reflection in the mirror and wince.
