Who the fuck does that?
And Kallie? She sorta just stares at him. She doesn’t look scared anymore. She looks downright pissed.
“Well, Stud Muffin, you’re in my house now. Talk.”
Stud muffin? What the fuck? She gave him a nickname?
Do these two know each other more than I thought?
Something shifts in my chest—an unfamiliar, unwelcome tightening I can’t seem to loosen.
The feeling is ugly.
I shove it down immediately.
If Kallie only knew, she’d never look at me the same way again.
Hell, she’d probably friendzone me for life.
So I exhale through my nostrils and count to ten before I say something stupid—something a best friend shouldn’t.
It mostly works.
Alek pushes by us and walks further into the apartment. He glances around, his eyes pausing on things too quickly for me to track, before they land back on Kallie and me. There’s an amused look on his stupid face.
Does he think this is funny?
He turns his attention to me, shakes his head once, then dismisses me completely to focus on Kallie.
“Remember when I left the coffee shop the other day?” he asks, pausing to let Kallie answer.
“Yes, you left pretty abruptly. You seemed… angry at something. Or someone.”
What the fuck? She lets him visit her at work?
She never lets me come by the hotel or coffee shop, not even to meet her for her breaks.
That same ugly emotion coils in my gut again and I swallow it down, hard. Now’s not the time.
But the feeling sticks in my throat, hot and acidic.
“There was… someone there. Someone who meant you harm. And I needed to catch up to him, to get answers.”
“Okay… so what did you find out?”
I lean forward without meaning to, wanting the answer too. Why are there people interested in Kallie enough to show up at her work?
I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.
“Nothing. The fang—the fucker disappeared before I could get any answers out of him. But he came back tonight. So he has clearly been following you. I’m sorry, Love, I was supposed to keep watch over you.”
He shifts from one foot to the other, dropping his gaze. It could be discomfort, or maybe anger. Whatever it is, it calls to Kallie. She eases out of my hold, a silent dismissal, and steps away from me—leaving my arm hanging uselessly in the air—to close the distance to the asshole calling her pet names in our living room.
She doesn’t even seem phased by the fact he just admitted to following her around. Which makes absolutely no sense.
Kallie hates people in her space.
I’ve watched her cross a parking lot to avoid conversations.
