That means they did, once. My insults hurt him.Ihurt him.
Of course, I assumed they did, but it feels pretty unbearable to hear him say it.
“You’re crying.”
“What?”
“You’re crying,” repeats Logan. “Why are you crying?”
“I’m not.” I turn my head, sniffing loudly. “I have a cold.”
“Uh huh. Sure.” I’m not looking at him anymore, but I can just hear the smirk in his voice. “It’s fine, Lia. I like seeing you cry. It makes me happy to know you’re suffering.”
Asshole.
“Now pee,” he says, his voice hard again. “I don’t have all fucking night. I’d like to get some sleep. We’re gonna be traveling all day tomorrow.”
We are?
“Where are we going?”
“I told you that already. To your husband. Now, pee.”
That must mean Carmelo is already in Idaho. I’d rather be dead than join him there. But I guess I will be soon, anyway.
I grit my teeth.
“I amnotpeeing in front of you.”
“Then I guess you’re just gonna have to die from a burst bladder. C’mon.”
He crosses the room toward me, his arm lifted to latch onto me again. I take a step back, bumping into the toilet.
“Okay, okay, fine,” I say hastily. “I’ll pee.”
“Fucking finally,” he grunts, then leans back, his temporary annoyance giving way to undisguised pleasure. “Go on. I’ll be enjoying the show.”
Asshole. Asshole. Asshole.
“Pretty sure Carmelo will kill you if he learns you got an eyeful of his wife,” I mutter, as I slowly peel down my jeans.
“Pretty sure I don’t care.”
My face is flaming, and I just know that between the recent crying and the embarrassment, I’m a blotchy mess right now, but I lower myself onto the toilet seat anyway. He doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes drift down to take in my naked lower body as I sit. Moments later, the embarrassingly loud sound of my pee tinkling down has his face splitting into a wide grin.
“You reallydidneed to pee.”
“Jerk.”
I’m not sure how I’ve gone from being terrified of him to insulting him in such a short lapse of time. Maybe it was him telling me hewasn’tgoing to kill me. Or maybe it’s the way his anger has given way, temporarily at least, to that mocking air that reminds me of the class clown from my childhood. Though there’s something harsh about it now. Almost like it’s an act, or something.
“Finished?” he questions.
“Yeah,” I mutter, standing up again and getting ready to pull up my jeans.
“Leave those down,” he orders, his voice suddenly strained. “Leave those down, Lia. Turn around.”
My heartbeat picks up, my stomach clenching again, though I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or… something else.
