“You know at first, I looked through the door because I thought you were flicking the bean.”
She shot me a look in my periphery, her eyes full of fire and wrath.
“You can tell a lot about a person by their masturbation choice.” I shrugged, driving the empty streets of Boston. They were becoming familiar. “Rubbing one off in the ho-boiler bodes well for your conservative personality, you know? You seemed like the type to do it with a bowl of chocolate-dipped strawberries by your side, reading a nice Danielle Steel hardcover.”
“I don’t masturbate,” she said, staring me down defiantly, daring me to challenge that.
I believed her. She seemed like the type of chick to be too busy to explore sex, for all its wonders.
I rubbed my stubbled jaw. “Because you don’t know how, or because you don’t care about getting off?”
“Both,” she surprised me by admitting.
“I can help with the former.” I cleared my throat.
“So nice of you to offer.”
“That wasn’t a no,” I pointed out.
“It wasn’t a yes, either. I’m just trying to take my mind off the fact that I’m about to get a lecture about not treating this inflammation earlier. I hope the steroid shot will help. I have an early practice tomorrow.”
Bitch was still planning to train in a few hours. Unbelievable.
“It’s just fucking archery,” I hissed. “You shoot nothing. It’s not even a real Olympic sport. It’s the shit people watch to fall asleep. Perspective.”
“I’m truly sorry you’ve never found something you care about, Hunter, but you don’t get to judge me.”
“I just did.”
“Shut up.” She scowled.
“Make me.”
“How?”
I wiggled my brows, and she dropped her head to the headrest behind her. “Ugh. Your mind is dirtier than a junkyard.”
I kept my mouth shut the entire time we were in urgent care. Sailor got a steroid shot, painkillers, and had her shoulder scanned and checked. The stern doctor who saw us told her she needed to start physical therapy, real physical therapy, once the swelling was under control. He gave her at least two weeks off training. She duly agreed and acted like the goody two-shoes I’d thought she was before we moved in together.
But as we walked back to the car, she said, “Can you believe it? He actually thought I could take two weeks off.”
“Because you are,” I replied, not missing a beat.
Why did I care? Why? Why? Why?
“Absolutely not.”
“I should be the one sending your parents a weekly report,” I muttered.
She laughed, and then clutched her shoulder.
Seeing her like that made me violent.
At home, I put her to bed and watched as she crashed. The painkiller whooped her ass good. She was down in two seconds.
Her last words were, “Hunt, it’s kind of creepy that you’re staring at me like this.”
I high-key agreed, but I couldn’t help it. She called me Hunt and told my da I was awesome and always knew what I felt like eating when she ordered DoorDash, even if we hadn’t spoken all day.
She had so much passion, and I had none. Yet I jerked off three times a day, and she didn’t even need to get dicked regularly.
Sailor Brennan confused me.
I fell asleep on her carpeted bedroom floor, like a goddamn tweaker.
The next morning, Sailor came out of her room wearing her rags training clothes. I was standing behind the kitchen island, sipping a cup of coffee in designer track pants and a hoodie.
I dragged a steaming cup of coffee her way as a pre-peace offering, before I unleashed hell on her. Sailor smiled gratefully, taking a sip and hoisting her archery equipment over her injured, slightly-less-swollen shoulder. Total demon. If I were a king going to war, I’d want her to lead my army. Bitch would destroy anything in her path to get what she wanted.
“Thanks again for yesterday. I owe you a huge one. And I’m going to start by telling your dad I think he should loosen the leash on you. You really are pretty rad.”
Her green eyes widened when she talked, like a kid telling a story.
“Take a mental picture of this moment, aingeal dian, because it’s about to take a sharp turn for the worse.” I grabbed my phone from the marble counter and tossed it into her hands. I jerked my chin toward it.
“It’s unlocked. Check my call log.”
Sailor hit the green button and looked at my last call.
“That’s Junsu’s number.” Her eyes flared. Her entire face twisted. First in confusion, followed closely by shock, realization, and finally, rage.
“I called to let him know what was up with your shoulder. Texted him a picture of the doctor’s orders. You’re out two weeks. Sorry, baby girl.”
There was silence.
A disproportionally good amount of it.
The uncomfortable, I’m-about-to-fuck-you-up kind of silence.
If I had the privilege of famous last words, they’d be, Sailor’s tits are a ten. I know they don’t look it in oversized hoodies and DriFit shirts, but it’s true.