“When you stop liking it,” he says.
“I don’t like it.”
“Yes, you do. I can smell it.”
“Ugh.” I cross my legs, pouting. “That’s not fair.”
“Don’t hate the player,” he says. “Sit up.”
I do as he tells me, turning over and propping myself up on my elbows, and a warm cup of tea finds its way into my hands as he mutters, “Drink that.”
I don’t ask what it is. It smells nice, and I want my stomach to stop swirling. So I sip it while Elliot sits crouched in front of me, muttering quiet encouragement until it’s gone.
“Little more,” he says, tipping the cup back so the last bit slides into my mouth. “That’s a good girl.”
My face feels flushed as he takes the cup and sets it aside, but I ignore the little twinge of need in my chest, collapsing back onto the bed and shutting my eyes as he pulls my shoes from my feet.
“So if you don’t feel anything, why are you always nice to me?” I ask.
Elliot groans.
He’s tired of me asking these questions. But it’s the only thing that’s been on my mind since yesterday. If he truly holds no affection for me, why does he flirt with me? Why does he keep my secrets? Why did he cover up my heinous murder?
Why? Why? Why? Why? Why?
It seems the only question I can ask. And I’ve asked them all over the last thirty minutes, but his answer never changes.
“I don’t know why,” he says for the fifteenth time. “I know that’s not the answer you want, but unfortunately, it’s the only one I have, okay? So, can you please stop asking now?”
His voice is tense as he rubs the bottom of my feet, and I concede, letting out a soft sigh as he peels me out of my tights.
“Gods, you’re all so awful,” I say.
“Who?”
“Men. You all stink. And you’re so stupid. And you never know what to do with your hands. Well, not you. You always know what to do with your hands. But you know what I mean…”
He taps my knee as I ramble, and I lift my hips, making it easier for him to slip my skirt down my butt.
“Yeah, baby. I know.”
I lift my head, peeking at him over the crest of my breasts.
“You do?”
He is lingering between my knees, pretending not to enjoy the fragrance that permeates from my pussy, and because he’s an idiot, just like the rest of them, he plants a kiss along my thigh before he stands.
“Yes,” he says, neatly folding my skirt. “You’re way too smart for us.”
“Right!” I roll my eyes and bite my lip to hide the small smile on my face. “Wait, you think I’m smart?”
Elliot frowns.
“Compared to us? You’re a genius.”
“Hey!”
I kick at him, aiming for his chin, but he catches my leg, hanging it on his shoulder as he leers at me.
