He glanced around. “You want me to open them?”
“Better than sitting in the dark while you glower.”
“I don’t glower.”
Right. And his eyebrow didn’t need healthcare. He’d probably be devastated if it went bald.
Kieran reached into the nightstand, pulled out a small black remote, and aimed it toward the glass. The blinds lifted immediately.
“Why didn’t I think of a remote?” I wondered. “That’s a nice view,” I said, distracted by the cityscape.
“I told you to eat,” Kieran said.
“I can’t.”
“Why the hell not?”
I said nothing. My silence seemed to bother him. Odd because, usually, my talking bothered him too.
“Are you sick?” he asked, concern hardening his features. He thrust his hand to my forehead, checking to see if I had a fever. “Is your stomach hurting?” he asked, then, “I’m calling the doctor.”
“Kieran, I’m not sick.”
He didn’t glance up from his phone.
“Kieran.”
The line rang as he lifted it to his ear.
“How can I eat when you hated the sex?” I cried.
Kieran stared at me in shock, lips slightly parted.
Through the line still pressed to his ear, I heard someone cough. “Ah, hello?”
“I’ll call you back,” Kieran said, immediately ending the call and stuffing the phone in his pocket.
Why’d he always have to look so good? Some guys got all the luck.
“Hazard.”
My shoulders slumped.
“Explain what you just said.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Hazier.”
I flinched. I’d always thought my name was a little strange, but when he used it… it felt like some sort of punishment. It also made me feel like a stranger, like he was somehow saying he was looking at someone he didn’t know. Because, to him, I wasn’t Hazier but Hazard.
I didn’t want to be a stranger to Kieran. No more than I wanted him to hate having sex with me.
Beneath the blankets, I began picking at my nails and tearing the skin around my cuticles. “I’m s-sorry,” I said, refusing to look up.
“Sorry?” he echoed.
I bobbed my head. “I told you I’d be good for you. But I wasn’t.”
