I held up a hand without even turning around. “Don’t even think about it. I still have the knife. This time, I’ll cut you where the sun don’t shine.”
“That would be the third mark you’ve left on me. At this point, you should know better than to think I’d care.”
I’d noticed the purple hickey on his neck, but had no idea what other scar he was referring to. I twisted my head to look over my shoulder, my curiosity getting the better of me. Vaughn lifted his shirt and showed me the scar from when I’d stitched him up in my bathtub. Apparently, I did a terrible job. I could still see the skin zigzagging shut like a wonky zipper. His flesh had healed around it. The mark was going to stay like that forever.
I turned my face back to the book, giving him my back. “I did you a favor.”
“I wasn’t complaining,” he said lightly.
“Where’ve you been today?”
“Working.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I don’t need help.”
“Why’d you offer me the role if you don’t want me to help you?” I was still staring at the same page, unable to decipher a word without lighting my lamp.
Was I asking him about the internship or about everything else between us? One second he was interested—possessive, unbalanced, rabid—and the next he disregarded me completely.
“Because…” His voice grew nearer, and I knew he was above me, that he could touch me at any moment. The thought sent a shiver down my skin. “I wanted to keep an eye on your ass, and you wanted to be here. Look, I had a crappy day. I’m giving you free rein to work on your piece for six months. Don’t worry about mine. It’ll be ready in time, and it will be sick. Job offers will be coming out of our asses.”
“You won’t let anyone see it,” I said.
“No.”
“Not even my father?”
No answer. Jesus. I turned toward him, shutting the book with a thud. “He knew you weren’t going to let me see it, and he still let me come here and waste six months of my life on you?”
Vaughn sat on the edge of my bed, regarding me with quiet curiosity.
“You wanted to be here.”
“As an intern.”
“Should’ve specified.”
“Oh, bugger off. I’m not a charity case.”
“No one said you were,” Vaughn ground out, losing his patience. “Look, you are getting the prestige without doing any of the work. I’m handling shit on my own, and I’ll hook you up with an internship when we’re done. I’m good for it, Good Girl.”
I didn’t know how or why, but something told me he wanted to touch me, but wasn’t sure how I’d react. His hands lay awkwardly in his lap. Vaughn was never awkward.
I threw my head on the pillow, exhaling as I studied my ceiling. “I should leave.”
“Come off it, Rub-in Wood.”
It was obviously a joke to him.
“You don’t need me,” I pointed out.
It was the truth, and it hurt. I didn’t want the stupid assistant’s job to begin with, and now that I’d come to terms with it, it wasn’t even available. My entire existence seemed pointless. Vaughn said nothing.
“I do.” His voice came out of nowhere, surprising me. “I do need you, just not for my fucking piece.” He bared his teeth, finally looking at me. “Happy?”
“How do you mean?” I sat up, rubbing my eyes.
He looked down to his lap, and after a brief silence, I followed his gaze. He was hard. We hadn’t even touched. We didn’t even flirt. But I guessed those things happened, right? He was nineteen. Boys that age were notorious for getting hard from anything, including shaved raccoons.
“This.” He removed his hands from his lap, offering me a better view of his thick, throbbing erection behind his black sweatpants. “It doesn’t happen to me. Well, it does, but only when I want it to, and it doesn’t feel the same…as it does when I’m with you.”
He grunted the entire sentence, like he was admitting a terrible crime. I licked my lips, swallowing a ball of something in my throat. Excitement? No. It was more than that. I felt…triumph.
“What are you saying?”
His gaze sliced straight to mine. He glowered. “What the fuck do you think I’m saying? You’re hot, and I guess I want to fool around with you. I didn’t use any fancy words, Good Girl. No need to crack open a dictionary.”
There’s the asshole again. But I knew he was frightened of the truth. For some reason, sex was a touchy subject for him. And maybe I was right. Maybe we were both virgins. I’d said it as a joke, but it made a lot of sense when I thought about it. I’d never seen him actually making out with a girl. I never saw him flirt or talk to anyone.