Hostile Territory - Marie James Page 0,24
he stands back up, a half of a turkey club making its way to his mouth.
“Still wanna complain about the food?” I tease when he takes a bite big enough to engulf half the sandwich.
He glares at me as he chews, swallowing before speaking again. He points his half-eaten sandwich past me to indicate the living room area. “There’s no reason you need all of that shit out there. There has to be a dozen bags filled with shit.”
I clench my teeth, trying to calm down before speaking again. Yelling will get us nowhere. Besides, he still hasn’t seen the bags in the bedroom, and I’d like to diffuse this situation before he does.
“Deacon,” I begin, channeling my most cajoling tone, “I didn’t have anything other than the clothes I was wearing yesterday and those awful sneakers.”
“Normal people would grab sweats or something.”
“I’m not normal, and Walmart doesn’t deliver.” I shudder at the thought. I don’t think I’ve worn a pair of cotton panties a day in my life, and I’m sure as hell not going to start now when I’m in a crisis.
He grunts his agreement, stuffing the rest of the sandwich in his mouth, but I don’t know which part of what I said he was agreeing with.
“Don’t give me attitude about liking nice things. Those Diesel jeans hugging that tight ass of yours didn’t come from Target, buddy.”
His lips lift, and it would be sexy as hell on him if it weren’t for the glob of mustard sticking to his top lip. Okay maybe even now, he’s sexy.
I clear my throat, but I refuse to turn away even when I feel my cheeks begin to heat.
“Looking at my ass, Anna?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. It wasn’t by choice. You were bent over when I walked in here.” Seems plausible, but the grin that grows on his face says he doesn’t believe a word of it.
His eyes sweep me from top to bottom, and I hate that I changed into soft lounge pants and a tank top after my shower an hour ago. I’d be better prepared to fight this battle if I were in heels and a dress.
There’s just something wrong about arguing over his nice ass when I’m looking homeless. The lounge clothes may be Olivia Von Halle, but even the finest cashmere isn’t doing my plump ass any favors. I’m not exactly dressing to accentuate my shape right now.
I close my eyes and take a long-suffering breath. “What were we talking about?”
“You were complimenting my ass.” Is that humor in his tone? I look down the hall toward the bedroom, if only to avoid the trip down memory lane when his laugh and jokes were an everyday occurrence. I hated him for it then, but they sure would be a nice change from the surly man he’s become.
“Before that.”
“I was letting you know that you’re responsible for paying me back for all of that junk you had delivered from Neiman’s.” I roll my eyes and blow out the puff of air I was holding. “Add that to what you owe me for working on finding your friend, and it’s looking to be a hefty damn fee.”
“You’re charging me to find Dani?” I snap my head back, but honestly, I’m not all that surprised. “No love lost there, huh?”
His eyes dart away, and almost like a tangible thing, the fun we were having and whatever wall that was beginning to crumble is fortified once again.
“There are eleven men working on this shit, and we don’t work for free.”
My lips form a flat line. I would’ve paid him even if he didn’t insist because the last thing Dani or I need is owing this man. Knowing that doesn’t keep me from wanting to argue with him about it.
It’s the look on his face, the challenging raise of his eyebrow that tells me that doing so would be a mistake. He takes pride in his work and even joking about him doing it for free is an insult I’m not willing to play with.
“So, what happens next?”
He turns back around and begins digging in the fridge again.
“We can order pizza,” I offer.
I won’t eat it, but he seems like a guy that would enjoy something like that.
“There’s a ton of food here,” he argues without pulling his face from the fridge.
“Make yourself at home,” I grumble.
He chuckles but there’s no humor in his snippy laugh. “Women. You fucking told me about the food, don’t get pissed when I take you