“Jacket, Anya,” he stated. “Throw it wherever. I gotta see to the steaks then I’ll get you a glass of wine. Make yourself at home.”
Then he went to his meat.
I shakily shrugged off my jacket while walking out of the kitchen.
Okay, all right.
What the heck was I doing?
Okay, all right.
Oh boy.
Shit!
I wandered down to the sunken living room and tossed my jacket and purse on one of the two identical black leather couches that faced each other. Then I wandered across it and up to the area on the other side that was all windows. Then I stood there looking through the clear day to the uninterrupted vista of the Front Range thinking spring was coming. Soon, I could wear flip-flops.
“Where’s Nick gonna go?”
Yep, that was me asking the window.
“Don’t know, don’t care.” Pause then, “Do you?”
“Not really,” I mumbled and considering I was across the grand expanse of his apartment he probably didn’t hear me.
“Out of my place, out of my business,” Knight muttered to himself and I rethought him not hearing me mumbling since I heard him just fine.
I looked from the Front Range to him.
“He works with you?”
His neck twisted and his eyes came to me. “For me and not anymore.”
Oh brother.
As in, literally.
I turned to face him fully. “Knight, if this is about me –”
“Anya, it isn’t,” he cut me off, I lost him as he bent to shove the meat in the oven but his voice kept sounding. “It is and it isn’t. That party?”
He stopped and I prompted, “Yeah?”
He reappeared and moved around the kitchen. “Not the first time. Not even the f**kin’ second. This is not his place. It’s mine. He was crashin’ here. Then he moved a bunch of shit in here. I don’t care, never around anyway, but he knows I don’t want or like attention. He’s always gettin’ it for me.”
He moved to the counter that delineated the kitchen from the living room and set two, wide-bowled wineglasses on it then shifted back through the kitchen as I watched.
“So he’s out,” I called to his back.
“Yeah. Out. Done comin’ home to him f**kin’ bitches on my couch. My food gone. My booze gone. My wine gone. Blow residue on mirrors my cleaners find because he leaves them out everywhere. Them complainin’ to me about used condoms in the f**kin’ trash bins. Jesus. I don’t need that shit.” He came back to the counter with a bottle of wine and a corkscrew and his eyes came to me. “Last night, he touched your girl. My boys told me it was not a good scene. Then he touched you and made his play the way only Nick can make a f**kin’ play with a woman like you which was also not a good scene. I’m done.”
“Right,” I whispered thinking with all that and all I knew of Nick Sebring, I would be done too.
I turned back to the windows.
I heard the movers reappear but I didn’t look as I heard them speak.
“Done, Mr. Sebring.”