I lock up the wayward thought, before it leads me to do something stupid.
Motions jerky, I load my .44 and aim. Boom. Boom, boom, boom. I keep my shots to the torso. After I unload two rounds, I compare my hits to Camilla’s. Well, well. She prefers to hit the head and groin. Should have known. Fighting dirty is her MO.
I’m impressed.
“Working through a few issues?” I ask her as we leave, our headphones off and gear stored in the truck.
“A few?” She laughs without humor. “You have no idea.”
No, I don’t, because I don’t know her.
And I don’t to want to know her.
We head to the post office, where I mail paperwork for one of my classes. Then, it’s to the gym for a very necessary workout. I begrudgingly obtain a guest pass for Camilla. Does she say thank-you? No. She doesn’t say anything at all, just skips off to use the elliptical, run the treadmill and even lift a few of the lighter weights. I pay no attention to her. Nope. Not even a little. I punish the boxing bag for everything I’ve been dealing with, every punch exorcising emotion. By the time I call it quits, my knuckles are black and blue.
After Camilla and I shower in our respective locker rooms, we practically have to crawl to the truck. But we aren’t done for the day.
Next stop—the grocery store.
“Pick whatever you want,” I grumble, grabbing a cart. A few moms are there with their kids, the little boys and girls staring at me with wide eyes, as if I’m a superhero—or a monster. I just wink.
As I mosey down the first aisle, Camilla remains a few paces behind me. I grab a box of cupcakes, Twinkies, cinnamon rolls and powdered donuts. Slayers work out hard, and eat harder. Except, she grabs nothing. “Don’t tell me your sweet tooth has been satisfied. The way you savaged those sugar packets, I’m pretty sure you’re an addict.”
A pink flush colors her cheeks. “I don’t have any money with me.”
“So? I’m paying.”
“No.” She gives a violent shake of her head. “You’re not paying for my food. I owe you, not the other way around.”
“If you owe me, you have to do what I say. And I say pick some food. Now. Hungry girls are bitchy girls.”
She glares at me. “Chauvinist boys are dogs.”
“Camilla—”
“Just drop it, Frosty. Okay?”
Anger sparks. “No, I won’t drop it. You’ll pick some food or you’ll move out. If you’re weak from hunger, you can’t protect yourself and you certainly can’t protect me.”
“This from the boy who stole my granola bar.”
I’m the one who flushes now. “Pick a fucking dessert.”
“Fine.” She throws in a bag of cherry-frosted brownies. “Happy now?”
Not really. But before I can respond, Kat appears before me, jumping up and down with excitement, even clapping her hands. “I tried waiting for you to return to the apartment, but I can’t stand it anymore. How was the date?”
Realization is a cold, hard bitchslap. She isn’t jealous. She isn’t even mildly upset.
“Yeah, uh, I’ll be...somewhere else,” Camilla says, and beats feet to get away from us.
I take out my phone and press it to my ear, pretending to talk to someone. “Didn’t you watch?” Calm. Steady.
“No. Witnesses aren’t allowed to watch romantic or intimate moments.”
“Nothing romantic or intimate happened.”
“Something must have, because the screen went blank after you teased Camilla about her sugar intake.”
Screen? And why the hell isn’t Kat railing at me? Or telling me she made a big mistake?
“What happened after that?” she asks, completely unaware of my increasing turmoil.
Nothing, that’s what. I’d wanted to regret the impulsive gesture but hadn’t quite managed it. “Let me get this straight. You expected me to take one look at Raina and turn my full attention to her. You expected me to fall out of love with you.” My voice hardens, every word like a dagger. “You don’t know me at all, do you?”
The color drains from her face, but she presses on. “You fell in love with me instantly, Frosty. Why can’t you fall out of love just as fast? Why can’t you fall for someone else the same way? Granted, I’m amazing, but—”
“No. You don’t get to praise yourself while you’re breaking my fucking heart.” Breaking...no. It’s already broken. I’m flayed. Shattered. Hell, I’m nothing but jagged pieces of pain.
Tears well in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to make you laugh and—”
Forget the groceries. “Camilla,” I shout, and it isn’t long before she appears at the end of the aisle.
I don’t spare Kat another glance as I leave her crying in the middle of the store. I stomp past Camilla, and as hoped, she follows.
In the truck, my darker emotions bubble over. I growl, “This is your fault. If she was still alive, she’d want me.”
Camilla scowls at me. “I’ll take the blame for a lot of things, but not that. Not another girl’s feelings for you.”
“If she was alive—”