Friday Night Bites - By Chloe Neill Page 0,80

my boyfriend. We're still just...dating. Kind of."

"Okay, semantics, whatever, but don't you think you should have called him?"

I'm not sure if it was because I thought she was being nosy or because, on some level, I agreed with her, but the direction of the conversation bothered me. I tried laughing it off.

"Are you lecturing me about my boyfriend choices?"

"I just... He's a great guy, Merit, and you guys seem to have a great time together. I just don't want you to pass that up for..."

"For?" I didn't need to prompt her, didn't need to ask it. I knew exactly what she meant, exactly whom she was referring to. And while I knew she cared about me as much as anyone did, the comment pricked. A lot.

"Merit," she said, my name apparently standing in for the one she didn't want to say aloud.

"Mallory, I'm really not in the mood for this right now."

"Because you have to run off and play with Ethan?"

We were doing this, I thought to myself. My best friend and I were actually going to have this argument.

"I'm doing what I have to do."

"He's manipulating you into spending time with him."

"That's not true, Mallory. He hardly even likes me. We're just trying to deal with this rave problem right now."

"Don't make excuses for him."

Ire rising, vampire rising, I kicked my closet door closed with enough force to rattle a silver-framed picture of Mallory and me that sat on the top of the bureau next to it. "You know I'm not Ethan's biggest fan, but let's face facts. I'd be in the ground if it wasn't for him. And for better or worse, he's my boss. I don't really have a lot of room to maneuver on this."

"Fine. Deal with Ethan on your own terms. But at least be honest about Morgan."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Merit, if you don't like Morgan, then fine, break it off. But don't lead him on. It's not fair.

He's a good guy, and he deserves better than that."

I made a sound that was equal parts shock and hurt. "I'm leading him on? That's a really shitty thing to say."

"You need to make up your mind."

"And you need to mind your own business."

I heard the sharp intake of breath, knew that I'd hurt her. I immediately regretted it, but was too angry, too tired of having no control over my body, my life, my time, to apologize. She'd hurt me, and I slapped back.

"We need to end this conversation before we say something we're going to regret," I quietly said. "I've got enough to deal with, not to mention the fact that I have to be at my father's in a couple of hours."

"You know what, Merit, if your dating life isn't my business, then your daddy issues aren't, either."

I couldn't speak, couldn't fathom how to respond to that. And even if I'd wanted to, emotion tightened my throat.

"Maybe it's the genetics," she continued, apparently unwilling to abandon the argument.

"Maybe it's the person he's asking you to be. We both have different lives now, bigger lives, than we did a few months ago. But the Merit I knew wouldn't push this boy away.

Not this boy. Think about that."

The phone went dead.

The windshield wipers slapped against the glass as I drove, the summer night wet and humid, fast-moving clouds whipping through the sky below a darker, ominous mass that pulsed with branching threads of lightning. I parked directly in front of the architecturally austere building that held the gym where I trained with Catcher, and ran inside to avoid the falling rain.

Catcher was already there. He stood in the middle of the blue gymnastics mat that filled the training room, wearing a T-shirt and warm-up pants. His head was bowed, eyes closed, hands pressed together prayerfully.

"Take a seat," he said, without opening his eyes.

"Good evening to you, too, sensei."

He opened a single eye, and the look he gave me left no doubt about how unfunny he'd found the retort. "Take a seat, Merit." This time his words were biting.

I arched a brow back at him, but stripped off my track jacket and took a seat in one of the orange plastic chairs near the door.

Catcher remained in his pose of quiet concentration for a few minutes, finally rolling his shoulders and opening his eyes.

"Done with meditation?" I lightly asked.

He didn't respond, but strode forcefully toward me, enough malevolence in his gaze to speed my heart.

"Is there a problem?" I asked him.

"Shut it."

"Excuse me?"

"Shut. It." Catcher

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