I check my phone and see a reply from thedetective. I had let him know we’d checked in, but I didn’t mention the one-room or one-bed situation.
Anthony:Let me know how tomorrow goes. How is Jones behaving?
Katie:Like a choirboy.
Anthony:I can do some digging on him.
Katie:Your digging would involve asking me. I’ve known him the longest aside from his parents.
Anthony:Can we talk when you get back? I’ll bring pizza and beer and you can actually eat some this time.
Katie:How about when the case wraps up?
There’s a pause between responses, and my gut tells me he’s not happy with my reply. Anthony is perfect, but I’m not sure he’s perfect for me.
Anthony:Sure. Sweet dreams, gorgeous.
My breath catches in my lungs. Shitbags. I don’t want him to ruin this. He hasn’t put any pressure on me at all, and then Jacob goddamn Jones comes barrelling into my day-to-day, and suddenly Anthony feels the need to lay claim? Nope. No. Not happening. Both of these men need to chill the hell out.
I turn my phone upside down on the bedside table, looking at the creepy doll sitting in the corner of the room. The decor, fine, it’s weird and oldand not from this century, but why the hell are they leaving creepy ass dolls in here? So unnecessary.
The door swings open, and I lift my head to check it’s Jonesy. He pulls off his sweater, his T-shirt lifting as he does, giving me an unwelcome view of his abs. He’s fit, I mean super-fit. But he’s got that layer that just tells you he eats, you know? He can throw you around no problem, but he’s fun and drinks beer with the guys on a Saturday night. He’ll flip you over into positions you never even dreamed of, and then sit and eat pizza with you afterward. He’s not precious about his body, but he looks good anyway. So annoying. God, I hate him.
He’s smiling. Never a good sign. But this is different. He’s not smiling like he’s won; he’s smiling like he’s happy for me. And I quickly realize why. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he pulls out aMusketeerscandy bar. My absolute favorite. And frustration begins to boil because now I can’t be annoyed with him. Unless he starts chowing down on the candy in front of me, but somehow I don’t think so.
He makes his way over to my side of the bed, tentatively perching on the edge, playing with the candy bar, rolling it in his hand.
“I know we’re not close. And...I know we’re awful to each other on purpose,” he says softly.
On purpose, ha.
“But I don’t want you to be sad. I took thingstoo far today, and I am genuinely sorry.”
“I sense abut . . .”
“Well...we both do have a butt. So that might be what you’re sensing. But you were always the smart one, so correct me if I’m wrong.”
I smack him on the shoulder.
“No buts. I’m just sorry. And this is for you. I figured you may be having a shit day that may or may not have been all to do with me being an asshole. Totally warranted if it was. But if it wasn’t, I’d love to hear about it.”
“There was one ‘but,’” I say, evading his question.
He must pick up on me ignoring his offer because he gives me a small nod before standing and making his way back to his side of the bed silently, accepting that I’m not going to open up to him like I would if it were Lottie, Alfie, or Caleb sitting here instead.
What could I say anyway? He’d be the last person to understand.
???
The one flickering streetlamp is the only light that guides me. The others seem to be broken. I can hear footsteps behind, quiet at first, but the heavy tread of rubber soles quickens, getting louder and louder with each step.
I spin around and see nothing, just the empty street I had walked down. Not a soul in sight.
I continue, the burn in my calves building as I all but start running.
Despite the cool air nipping at my skin, I’m hot; a bead of sweat tracks down my back like an ominous warning. The footsteps are louder now. My breathing matches the quickening of my pulse.
He’s found me. I don’t know how, but he has, and I feel a fleeting sense of dread as I break out into a sprint. My lungs burn, the smell of male cologne fills my nostrils, and I know he’s close. I start to arch my back, just so he can't grab my clothes with his outstretched fingers. But he’s too fast. Instead of my clothes, he yanks me back by my hair. My back slams against his solid chest, covering my mouth with his gloved hand as his free hand roams. My stomach, my breasts, a finger trails just an inch under my jeans. His hot breath warms my ear, and all I can do is close my eyes so tight it hurts. I can’t stop him now.
