Page 144 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
“You deserve this.” I push up off his chest and stride to the door, slamming my hand on the light switch. The overhead light flickers on with blinding power.
He just lies there, although he pushes himself up on his elbows.
“You were just about to fuck me while I slept.” I flex my grip on the knife. “After what I just went through? Really?”
He rolls his eyes. “You don’t sleep with your mouth shut.”
Oh, what the fuck?
I glare at him. Belatedly, I notice his boxer briefs.
Asshole took off his jeans but not his underwear?
“You’re cute when you pretend, though. And that was a cool move.” His gaze, practically upside down now with where I’m standing, slides to my hand. “And knife.”
“Carter,” I say.
He makes a noncommittal noise. Sometimes he seems cool with the guy, other times, not so much. And Oliver is definitely not okay with Carter.
Nope. It’s too weird of an hour for this. What I need is liquid courage. Tequila or vodka. But as a twenty-year-old with no connections, I’ve got… instant coffee.
I yank on sweatpants, slipping the blade into my pocket. I hit all the lights in the apartment on the way into the kitchen. There’s a modicum of comfort that comes with banishing the shadows.
He stalks after me, but he’s not as up in my business as usual. I put the kitchen counter between us and click on the coffee machine.
He sits.
I stay standing.
“You understand why I’m pissed at you?” I question. “You saw what was happening to me. I had bruises around my fucking neck.”
“We give you bruises,” he reasons.
“I like those,” I hiss. “What I don’t like is thinking I’m about to be raped by some stranger. I know you. On some level, I fucking trusted you. What I don’t trust right now is that you or Oliver have my best interests at heart.”
His gaze drops to the counter.
“What hurts the most is that you knew. You held me right after Bear… Hell, you tried to put me back together. And you still watched Oliver bring it all back up to the surface.” I focus on the coffee, putting things in a clinical order in my head. Mug, coffee pod, water. Press the button.
“Sydney…”
“I can’t do any excuses tonight. I just want you to know that for however long that took, I was living in a very real nightmare. And it didn’t stop when Oliver made it clear it was him behind the mask. I still had to look at it. How fucking confusing to see the mask worn by my attacker and?—”
I cut myself off.
I don’t know what Oliver is. I don’t have a fancy label for him. For once, I don’t even have the right words to describe how I feel about him.
He hurts like a bruise I can’t stop touching.
Penn’s gaze lifts. The coffee is done, and I busy myself with sugar and cream. I mix it and hop up onto the counter. There’s a good distance between us—the kitchen plus the island. Eight feet? But the way he looks at me…
He may as well be right in front of me, his breath on my lips.
“You’re absolutely right,” he says. “You’re right. Of course you are. Now that you say it—” He hops off the stool and paces along the island’s length. “He pulled out the masks, and I fucking went along with it. I stood in front of that door and I thought your panic was all part of the game.”
“It wasn’t a game.” I glance away. “Chasing me is one thing. Capturing me and… cutting off my leggings, whatever, is fine. Making me believe the person who might actually kill me has me pinned down is another.”
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.