Page 29 of Dark Knight
“You can't possibly imagine how humiliating and insulting it is to hear you say that. I am not a child.”
“You made a pretty good impression of it tonight. Did you think I didn't know something was up? Do you not realize how creaky that bedroom floor is to somebody downstairs?” She wouldn’t, of course, since I don’t go in that room. On the other hand, I can’t count how many times my stomach went icy at the first creak of those floorboards while I crouched down here.
“You sat down here in the dark, waiting for me? That's weird. Don't you know how weird that is?”
“Don't change the subject. You thought you were being slick, and you found out you weren't, and now you're pissed.”
“I'm pissed because I had to sneak around in the first place.”
“You absolutely did not have to sneak around. You could have approached this like an adult and said ‘hey, I want to go out’.”
“Right.” She lifts her chin, defiant as always. “Because you have been so accepting and willing to go along with things up until now. It's, like, your nature. You're just an easygoing sort of guy.”
I'm not going to pretend she's wrong. I would have shot down the idea before it finished tumbling from those pouty lips. Lips that keep catching my eye, thanks to the glossy red color she painted them—ripe, juicy cherries begging to be tasted.
Finally, I find my voice. “I compromised on the job search, didn't I?” Her mouth opens like she's ready to fight, but she soon realizes she doesn't have a leg to stand on because I'm right. “Why do you default to being sneaky?”
“Why do you default to being weird and secretive and telling me I'm not allowed to talk to the neighbors? Can you blame me for assuming you'd have a problem with this?”
“Can you blame me for assuming you'll have a problem with it? Or have you already forgotten what happened at the gas station?”
If her shoulders don’t stop lifting defensively, they’ll cover her ears. “You know I haven't. But you're the one who keeps telling me to heal, right?”
“There's a big difference between healing and throwing yourself into a situation that's bound to hurt you.”
“Do me a favor and let me decide what will hurt me, okay?”
Everything about her challenges me, but never as much as it does now. I haven't seen her dressed up like this in a long time—not since dinner with the now-dead Moronis. That might as well have been a lifetime ago. Even then, she was dressed for an evening at dinner with her father and his associate, not for a night out at a club. She wasn't showing so much skin, like the creamy expanse of cleavage revealed by a low-cut tank top. The smooth, lean legs encased in supple leather boots. A leather skirt so tight it's like a second skin.
The dark makeup around her eyes makes them appear emerald green as they flash and burn. Damn it, she wouldn't be such a smart ass with my cock shoved down her throat, would she?
The force of the desire behind that thought is staggering. What in the fuck am I thinking? Even if she wasn't as fragile as she is now—and she is, she can't hide it—I would never make a move like that. Not if I wanted to live to see tomorrow. Anybody but Callum Torrio's daughter.
I need to get laid, and soon. This train of thought is dangerous for both of us.
“How about we frame it this way?” I suggest. “I'll come along with you and stick around, but I'll give you space. I'll be there if shit goes south or you can't handle it. Otherwise, I'll leave you to yourself.”
Her lips twitch and damn it, I want a taste. “You mean it, don't you?”
“I do.”
“So you're going to go to a club? Romero Pierce, hanging out with a bunch of people, dealing with the music, bodies, and sloppy drunks?”
“You should be a writer. You know how to paint a picture with words.”
She giggles before she can help herself, and now there's no holding back a knowing grin that lights up her face. “You are going to hate it.”
“That's my problem to deal with, isn't it?” The more I think about it, the more I have to agree with her. The thought of being surrounded by a bunch of drunk, sweaty strangers sends bile rushing to my throat, but I'm not backing down now. Not when we've already gone back and forth like this. It would be too much like letting her win, which she cannot do. If I give her an inch, she’ll want a mile.
“Okay. This might actually be more fun than I originally thought.” She stands up straighter, brushing back her blonde curls. “Let's roll.”
I hope we don't both end up regretting this.
* * *
“So, how are we doing this?”
“What do you mean? Doing what?” I wouldn't say I like the looks of this place. The façade’s painted black, there's no sign, there's not even a light over the front door. Someone thought they were being particularly edgy when they came up with this idea. It comes off lazy, not to mention that somebody has an overinflated sense of how cool they are.