“So is he coming or not? He doesn’t seem to be in any rush.”
She stills at my words.
Yeah, just like I thought.
“Did you actually come in here for a reason, Cirillo? Or did you just want to ruin my evening with your irritating presence?”
“I want to know what the hell you’re doing here. With him.” I damn near growl the last two words out as my frustration of her inserting herself into my life once again begins to get the better of me.
The girls at school, Sloane, Teagan, they’re irritating as fuck, constantly following us around and waiting for us to throw them some kind of a bone.
But Emmie, she’s an entirely different creature. She wants to be around me about as much as I want to be around her, yet we constantly seem to be near each other for one reason or another.
“Xander?” She damn near purrs his name. “Well, in case it wasn’t obvious when you walked in,” she shoots over her shoulder, “he’s training me. That way, the next time you’re a complete cunt to me—which is often, I might add—I can give you more than a black eye.”
“Do I need to remind you that that black eye wasn’t even intentional? Unless you’ve miraculously recovered your memory, something tells me that you still don’t remember what happened that night.”
She huffs in irritation, her shoulders bunching as she washes herself.
Yeah. Thought not.
“It doesn’t matter. Next time, intentional or not, I’ll make sure it hurts more.”
She rinses out her hair, allowing the bubbles from her body to pool at her feet.
Turning the water off, she holds her arm out behind her. “Pass me my towel.”
“Because you asked so nicely?” I ask, quirking a brow at her.
“Don’t be a child, Theodore.”
My jaw tics at her use of my full name.
I’ve only ever been called that by my parents when I’m in trouble, or when Rhea wants to piss me off.
Glancing around, I find a towel hanging on the hook a little down from me.
“This one?” I ask, lifting it from the rail.
“Yes,” she hisses as I hold it out. The only problem is that she’s on the other side of the room and has no chance of reaching it.
“You remember what I said about the next time you’re a cunt?” she mutters, twisting her hair and wringing out the excess water.
“I’m confident it’ll be worth it.”
She lets out a long huff of frustration before she throws her shoulders back and turns around.
Holy fucking cunt.
Despite my attempt to slam my mask back into place, my chin damn near hits the floor as my eyes drop to her body.
“Why the shock? You were the one who took my wet underwear off that night, were you not?” she asks, tilting her head to the side in an attempt to be cute as she closes the space between us. Her perky, perfectly-sized tits bouncing a little, her hips swaying with each step, and the confidence on her face even without her usual armour of dark makeup damn near brings me to my knees.
“Why? Would you have preferred it were one of my brothers?” I hold her eyes, but fuck, it’s hard. Pun intended.
“You mean, would I want anyone other than you touching me? Yes, yes I would. Now, would you excuse me? I’d like to get dressed.”
Like the gentleman that I’m most certainly not, I move aside to allow her to pass—only, she doesn’t make it that far before my fingers wrap around her throat and I haul her back against me.