Nice to see he’s bringing girls to his place; probably cooks them breakfast too. Well, the ponytail holder is stupid and boring. Probably just like the woman who owns it—
“It’s yours, Ax.” I dart my eyes to him, but he’s focused on his food, chewing. “You left it here a few weeks ago.”
My cheeks flame and my shoulders cave in. “Oh, right. Well, thanks for holding on to it for me.”
He makes a sound like he heard me but leaves me in silence with my humility while I shovel food into my mouth. What the hell was that all about anyway? He’s free to date whoever he wants. The eggs are fluffy and buttery and the bacon just the salty relief required after a night of drinking.
Killian has been cooking for him and his mom since he was a kid. She never took very good care of him, or so he tells me. To this day I’ve only been around her once, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. He never talks about her, but explains away things like his exceptional cooking skills, stain-removing techniques, and organization by saying he was forced to grow up fast.
“How’s the”—he motions to my mouth with his fork—“tongue?”
I swish with some cold water and hold back a groan at how good it feels against my heated mouth. “Sore.”
“I have mouthwash. After you eat, you should go clean it.”
He’s always taking care of me. “Thanks. I will.”
He forks a bite into his mouth and swallows; then his jaw clenches hard. “And Clifford, how’d he like it?”
Humiliation burns my cheeks, and I keep my eyes to my plate, even though I can feel him staring at me intently. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Guess him leaving you alone to pass out in his bed tells me all I need to know.”
I open my mouth to defend myself, but slam it closed because I have no defense. He’s absolutely right.
He scoops up his plate and tosses it into the sink with so much force I’m surprised the thing doesn’t break. “I’m gonna hop in the shower, and then we should get you home.” The slam of the bathroom door is the last thing I hear.
I’m left alone to finish my breakfast but have lost my appetite.
The water in the shower kicks on, and I take my plate to the sink. It doesn’t take long to do the dishes. Killian is a clean-as-you-go guy, so outside of our plates and glasses, there’s nothing more to do. Once that’s done I make the full-sized bed and plop into a chair, waiting for him to come out so I can brush my teeth, clean my piercing, and change back into my clothes.
The shower seems to go on forever, and the thought of what he might be doing in there makes my skin flush. I rip the rubber band from my hair and pull a higher ponytail on my head to try to get some cool air on my neck. It doesn’t help. Eventually the shower shuts off, and minutes later, he strolls out wearing a pair of jeans, bare feet, and no shirt. He’s not wearing his glasses, and his brown hair looks black, wet and combed away from his face, as he rifles through his drawers and throws on a tee. The second he pulls it on, I roll my eyes. It’s one of his favs, blue, and reads, “That’s what I’m Tolkien about.”
His gaze lands on the bed. “Thank you.”
I think he means for making the bed, but something heavy in his tone has me second-guessing. “You’re welcome.” I hop up to head for the bathroom.
“Ax.”
I stop and turn to him, his eyes heavy with something, regret maybe?
“Never mind.”
“Okay.” I head into the bathroom to get ready to go home and can’t help but wonder if he’s holding back as much as I am.
*
Killian
My stomach’s growling again by the time I pull up to Axelle’s to drop her off. Her place is much nicer than mine—a two-bedroom apartment in a gated complex with assigned parking spots. There’s plenty of lighting in the lot as well as surveillance cameras. Blake insisted after she lived her first year in the dorms that she move somewhere safe, and he made it his mission to find the safest complex near the university.
It worked out that Axelle ended up meeting Mindy her first year. They weren’t roommates but lived on the same floor, and both were itching for off-campus living. Money wasn’t a factor seeing as Mindy’s family are heirs to some heating blanket fortune or some shit. So yeah, my girl is living in luxury, albeit college style, but still her place is sick AF.
I throw the Jeep into visitor parking and walk her to her door. Things have been quiet between us since our talk over breakfast. Fuck, seeing her wake up in my bed, her bare leg thrown over the comforter and all that hair tossed around her face, made me imagine things that are far from innocent. At one point in the night, she curled up to me and slid her palm up my stomach to my chest. I’ve never felt anything like it. I tried to convince myself she knew exactly where she was and who she was touching, but the truth is she probably had no fucking clue. Most likely she thought she was sleeping with that dick Clifford, which makes me want to slam the asshole’s face into a brick wall.