“Then stop throwing shit at me. And stop pretending like you didn’t enjoy every second of it!”
“I—” My cheeks flood with heat. He’s right. He’s so right I want to cry, but I can’t let him see that. I need to get the hell out of here. “Where’s my underwear, Zeth?”
He’s three feet away now, slowly closing the distance between us. In a complete about turn from last night, he’s wearing some low-slung jeans and a plain white t-shirt. Somehow I just assumed he would always wear black no matter what—black in keeping with the color of his soul.
“I’ll be keeping those,” he informs me.
“Uhhh…I don’t think so. They were Provocateur.” I shift to the left as he inches closer, putting a narrow ornament stand in between us. A cold smile unfurls across his face—a calculating, assessing one.
“Are you denying that you wore them for me?”
He has me there. I shrug my shoulders, trying to remember how nonchalant people act. “So?”
“So when a girl wears something for me, it becomes mine, Sloane.”
“Wow. You must have wardrobes full of hooker’s underwear, then.”
“Multiple wardrobes,” he says, “Many. Full to bursting.”
I feel sick. “Forget it, you know what? Keep them. I’m too tired, and sore, and freaked out to be doing this with you right now. I need to go home.” I suddenly remember I’m on the nightshift tonight and my spirits plummet even further. I’m going to have to spend twelve hours walking around the hospital, reliving every second of last night while Zeth brags to…whomever about bagging me again. I’m such an idiot.
“Fucking typical,” Zeth breathes.
“What is?”
“You. You’re deflecting your shit onto me. All I did last night was show you who you really are. You can’t be mad at me for that.”
I can be, and I am mad at him. “I think you’re seeing what you want to see. I’m not looking for some sexual awakening. I’m just looking for my sister. I’m done wasting my breath asking you what you know, and I’m done playing these little games with you. Maybe one day, if you suddenly develop a conscience, you’ll come and tell me because it’s the right thing to do.”
I take a deep breath and walk toward the apartment door, betting that he won’t follow. He doesn’t, but he does manage to get the last word in. “A conscience will get you killed in my line of work, Sloane. And doing the right thing often has the same effect.”
Twenty minutes. I last twenty fucking minutes before I'm ready to smash up the apartment. It's already fucked from last night though, and Ganya’s been shooting me the shittiest looks since he arrived to start the clean up. Looks like my guests had a blast, not that I would know. I’d hidden in that dark room for hours waiting for her, not even faintly interested in joining in with them. Ever since Sloane appeared back on the scene, everything's been completely fucked up.
It's all her fucking fault.
And the woman had the gall to be throwing shit at me? I should have tossed her ass out first thing when I'd kicked everyone else out. Nah, scratch that… I shouldn't have let her stay in the first place.
"Is anything you need me to do this morning, boss?" Michael, stealthy assassin that he is, has let himself into the apartment without making a sound. I bury my hands into my hair, scowling out the window over the city. Why do I do this to myself? I've been just fine. More than that, I’ve been completely fucking happy. I ran as fast as I could two years ago after I slept with Sloane because I knew. I fucking knew this would happen, and now look at where we are.
"Yeah," I sigh. "Send out an email to the group. Let them know all future gatherings have been cancelled until further notice."
This is such bullshit. She's ruined the whole thing. Because now, when I think about screwing someone that isn't Sloane, it just feels flat. Pointless. I'm not in love with the girl. I'm not. There’s just something about her that I need.
I forget about the skyline and focus my foul temper on Michael. He's not big on words; I like that about him. Today he doesn't need to say anything, though. His thoughts are right there on his face, plain as day. Bastard thinks this is hilarious.
"And you can wipe the smirk off your face too,” I snap.
"I'm not smirking, Zee. Just merely observing something I never thought I'd witness."
"What are you running your mouth about?" I could happily go for a fight right now—smashing my fist into something would go down just great, but Michael is just being Michael. Besides, we’re two evenly matched for a quick brawl; it would take a lot to ground him. He grins at me like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.
"Just this girl. And you. And cancelling your monthly parties. Says a lot, is all."
"It doesn't say anything. Just quit…just quit smirking. Have you heard from Rufus?"