credit, he doesn’t grimace at the bland taste. I mimic him, and within the space of a minute, we wind up on opposite sides of the room watching each other.
He eats slowly, almost robotically. I can’t seem to take more than a single bite of my sandwich, though, and its remains rest limply in my hand. Rafe is on his last chunk of bread and cheese when I finally find my voice again.
“Who was that guy? G-Gino—”
“A dick,” he says before taking another bite.
“You could have killed him.”
He chuckles. “Could have. But I didn’t, now did I?”
“It seems as though it was personal,” I say softly.
“He’s personally a dick, but that’s not what you meant, is it? He hates me because I’ve fucked his bitch.” He chews casually, almost as if daring me to react. I certainly don’t disappoint him when I flinch.
“She must be lovely for you to call her that,” I snap.
He grunts, licking his fingers. “She’s a good fuck. A bit clingy for my tastes. Spends my money like a motherfucker, but she’s real about what she wants. There are no games when it comes to her.”
My cheeks flame. I want to be angry, but I sense that every word he’s saying is designed to irritate me. Why? Because a tiny pinging tune keeps sounding every few seconds, drawing his attention to the couch despite my best attempts to ignore it.
“That’s not why you attacked him, though,” I point out, raising my voice over the noise. His mouth flattens into a firm line, and I wonder if I should even broach the topic. I shouldn’t—but I keep seeing that look on his face. That rage. That pain. “He called your mother a—”
Ping! Ping! Ping! My phone is alive, practically vibrating across the floor where I left it.
“You want to answer that?” he wonders, his head cocked, a far different question visible in his gaze. Why aren’t you answering it?
“You should drink something,” I blurt out while heading toward the sink, determined not to let him get to me. “You could be dehydrated—”
“I’m fine,” he says, but he doesn’t ignore the glass I offer him, filled from the tap. After taking a measured sip, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and places the glass on the end table beside him. “You live here alone?”
I don’t like how curious he sounds. “Why?”
“I’m trying to decide if it’s you or your boyfriend who has such shit taste.” He eyes my bare walls with a scoff. “You need flowers or some shit, bunny, to brighten up the place. It looks like a jail cell in here—” He eyes my door, and the series of locks affixed to it. “This neighborhood is shit,” he admits, “but it’s not bad enough for that. Or that.” He nods to my television, namely the small camera perched on top of it. “You don’t strike me as the video making type.”
“Like you’re the expert?” I hiss, only to belatedly realize he might be.
“I just meant that your bed is small, rabbit,” he says. “I don’t see us fucking in it. And as a rule, I don’t bring chicks back to my place. I don’t like my sheets smelling like pussy. Maybe this is a sign?”
“A sign of what?” I demand against my better judgment.
He shrugs. “That it’s probably not a good idea for you to hop on my dick, after all. Hate to disappoint.”
I feel my mouth drop open. “You are such an asshole.” A shrill sound pierces the quiet, louder than my text alert noise. My ringtone.
I freeze, my eyes on the device. It’s within arm’s reach of Rafe, and he doesn’t hesitate to grab it now. Deliberately, he crosses to me, shoving it into my hand, but he doesn’t back away. He uses his body as a barrier to block me in against the window. “Answer it.”
I don’t even have to see the name flashing across the screen to know who’s calling. I can practically read it written across Rafe’s icy stare. Bran <3.
“Fucking answer it,” he demands.
I do, scrambling to bring the receiver to my mouth. “H-Hello?”
“Hannah.”
“B-Bran?” I nearly drop the phone as fear penetrates my voice. Rafe stiffens, but I do my best to ignore him by injecting false cheer into my tone. “H-Hey… W-What’s going on? I…I was just making some breakfast.”
“Yummy,” he says flatly. “I texted you last night. You didn’t answer. I’ve been fucking texting you.”
“Oh, really?” I feign confusion. “My phone must have been