I roll my eyes. “No, the gun. The thing you could’ve used to shoot me. If you’re that hungry, by all means, steal my breakfast.”
She rolls her eyes right back, like I’m being ridiculous. “You don’t have to guard your gun around me. I already told you, you can trust me. Not telling on you, not trying to shoot you—it’s an all-inclusive trust package.”
Is she really referring to the night in the library? “Yes, well, your circumstances have changed quite drastically since you made that offer. I didn’t expect it to hold.”
Mia shrugs, eyeing up the avocado that fell off her pita and onto her plate. She picks it up and piles it back on top. “Well, it does.”
“You still want to be my friend?” I ask, not trying to filter the disbelief out of my tone.
It’s a label, so she latches onto it. “Is that what we are? Are we friends?”
I can’t help shaking my head. “You and your goddamn labels. Do many of your friends fuck you two to three times a day?” I ask, casually.
“Well, no. But I assumed you might not be the traditional sort of friend. Even my boyfriend didn’t do that.”
Her tone drops by the end of that sentence, and I assume it’s the mention of Vince. Before she can fall down that particular rabbit hole, I reach over, grab her around the back of the neck, and pull her in for a kiss. She has to bend awkwardly, but she kisses me back. I take her plate, not breaking the kiss, and put it on the tray. Then I move my own. Once my lap is clear, I pull back the blankets on top of her and lift her, settling her on my lap.
She’s a little flushed, but she doesn’t object when I pull her in for another kiss. Instead, her hands settle on my shoulders briefly, then wind around my neck. My cock stirs, reminding me of the shower I want to take. Damn, I should’ve let her finish her breakfast first.
I let her break the kiss after a minute, but she doesn’t try to move off my lap. Instead she curls into my shoulder, sort of hugging and cuddling me at the same time. “I don’t think friends kiss this much,” she tells me.
I smirk. “Your friends, maybe. Mine do.”
At that, she pops right up, mildly alarmed. “You mean like… before this, or… currently? When would you even have time to entertain other women? Jesus Christ.”
“Well, no, not right this moment.”
Still, she wrinkles up her nose, displeased by this last batch of news.
Now she crawls off my lap and scoots back into her spot, retrieving her breakfast plate.
Damn, instead of reminding her I raped her, I should’ve talked to her about other women before I left her in the room with my gun. That may have tempted her more.
What an odd woman. Of course, I’m an odd man, so maybe that’s all right.
I try not to feel so damn smug, but I do. Her jealousy is insane, but adorable. One might think a woman in her situation would be relieved if I turned my attentions elsewhere, but now she’s stewing as she eats, wondering if I’m out fucking other women when I’m not here with her.
I found a surefire way to piss her off, I know that.
Not that I want to piss her off.
“I’m not fucking anyone else, Mia.” It should bother me that she expects me to answer to her for something like this, but somehow it only pleases me. When she regards me with tentative relief, it pleases me more. “I wouldn’t have time,” I tell her, lightly. “You keep my cock busy enough as it is.”
She tries not to look pleased, but she’s shit at schooling her facial expressions. I shouldn’t reassure her. I should be trying to piss her off. I should tell her I’m fucking other women every day—anything to piss her off.
As if she can sense my thoughts and she wants to blow them right out of my brain, she looks over at me with a warm smile that gives me that feeling of indigestion again. “Good,” she says, simply.
—
Instead of soup to cure my imaginary illness, Maria comes back an hour later with a folder full of papers for Mia.
“What’s this?” Mia asks, curiously, as it transfers into her hand.
I didn’t know anything about Mia getting any kind of paperwork, so I regard Mia with even more curiosity than Mia does.
“Homework,” Maria says, lifting her chin in the air. It’s at me, not at Mia. She’s lobbing a flaming ball of shit into my nice day off and she knows it. “Vince brought it home for you since you’ve missed the past few days of school. He thought you might want to catch up. If you have time,” she adds, her disdainful gaze sliding my way.