Jhene’s still got her nose buried in her puzzle book, but the other thoughts in my head won’t stop circling back to her.
As I throw more jabs at my sparring partner, I’m thinking about her pretty face. The dark eyes she hides behind her glasses.
…fuck, the way she looked in that tiny green dress at the party. It really was too damn short, yet it fit her like a glove, highlighting the knockout figure I always knew she had. That’s always been hidden under her baggy, ill-fitted T-shirts and jeans.
Every man at the party knew how good she looked.
Could I really blame Cian for making a move? I might’ve too if I were him.
Yet I’ve got her under my roof—often sleeping in my fucking bed—and I don’t. I’ve forced myself to fight the feelings that grow stronger by the day…
By the time I’m done, I’m soaked with sweat and the gym’s nearly empty. Malone gives me a nod of approval as I unwrap my hands, then disappears into his office to handle whatever paperwork gym owners deal with.
Jhene closes her puzzle book and stands, stretching her arms above her head in a way that makes her shirt ride up and show her navel.
I grit my teeth and snap my head in the opposite direction to avoid looking.
We walk home in more uncomfortable silence.
The problem with two introverts is neither one wants to be the first to talk. Especially when the last real conversation we had was an argument about whatever the hell’s going on between us.
I still don’t know the answer to that question.
All I know is I’m basically addicted to Jhene Prince. She’s a constant on my mind. I worry as soon as she’s not in my sight. I’m willing to fight the entire Russian mob for her.
When I saw her in that green dress, my heart started racing so fast it was startling. My pulse was jumping inside my veins. Then when I saw Cian touching her, brushing a curl away from her face… there’re no words for the level of rage and jealousy I felt.
It should be me doing that.
But I’ve always been slow when it comes to women. I don’t know how to do serious relationships. Never been the type to be vulnerable or let somebody in on how I’m feeling.
That’s why I’ve always figured I’m better off alone.
So what the hell does it mean that I can’t get a woman out of my head?Doesit mean anything or am I driving myself mad for no reason?
We reach my building and climb the stairs in the same heavy silence. Neither of us are willing to break it.
The first thing I do when we walk through the door is yank my soaked wifebeater over my head and toss it on the floor.
I’ll pick it up later. Probably.
Jhene’s got other ideas.
She snatches the shirt off the ground before I’ve even taken two steps. “Would it kill you to stop treating the floor like a hamper?”
I clench my teeth. “I always pick up after myself. Eventually.”
“Eventually being the operative word.”
“What the fuck is your problem?” I snap.
We’re both irritable as we exchange stubborn glares. She’s obviously picking a fight over a goddamn shirt.
She drops the tank, dark eyes blazing behind her oversized glasses. “Do you even have to ask? You’ve made me your shadow when we can’t even stand each other! How would you like to follow someone around like you have no life of your own?”
“It’s for your safety,” I grunt. “And who says we can’t stand each other?”
“Stop kidding yourself, Killer.” She laughs, no humor to be found. “You can’t wait to get rid of me.”
