Chris’s eyes go wide as he turns to me. “And you agree with that?”
“Well, maybe…”
“Jesus, Jessa. You’re not a stupid person, so why are you acting like one right now? The man is dangerous. You’re playing with fire.”
“Maybe that’s what she likes,” Freya murmurs under her breath.
I throw her a warning glare, but thankfully, Chris didn’t hear her this time.
“Chris, I know you’re worried. But honestly, I know what I’m doing. I’ve thought this through.”
“Doesn’t look like it! He’s not some small-time tough guy. This man has resources at his disposal. He’s a fucking mob boss.”
“Bratva don,” I correct without even thinking about it. He looks like he’s about to bite my head off so I continue before he has a chance to. “And he’s not going to hurt me.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because he’s got the hots for her,” Freya adds unhelpfully.
Chris goes quiet for a second. “Excuse me?”
“A little tonsil hockey goes a long way,” she adds, trying and failing to contain her laughter.
I turn to Chris, who’s looking at me with an expression that I can only describe as abject disappointment. “Have you—did he—is there something going on between you and this guy?”
“No! No, of course not. I just… it just so happens that there was a kiss. Before I knew who he was,” I hurry to explain.
“Jesus,” Chris growls, running his hand over his face. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jessa.”
“I didn’t know who he was!” I insist.
Instantly, the memory of last night blazes across my memory. The way Anton gripped my legs. The way he threw one over his shoulder so that he could torture me with the promise of pleasure, only to withdraw at the last possible second.
Asshole.
“Has anything else happened between the two of you?” Chris asks.
I stare at him, ready to lie, but I hesitate the moment my eyes meet his. It’s always been hard for me to lie to Chris. He’s known me for too long.
“He’s gotten under your skin, hasn’t he?”
“Have you seen the man?” Freya asks. “He’s drop-dead gorgeous.”
He turns to Freya. “How have you seen him?”
“I noticed him leaving her place late one night.”
“Late?” Chris growls, turning to me.
“I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who sticks to business hours, Chris.”
“What the hell are you doing, Jess?” he demands. “Just answer that. What the hell are you doing?”
“Chris, please… just hold on to the phone for a little longer, okay? I need you to trust me.”
“I do trust you. I just don’t trust your lousy-ass judgment,” he snarls.
Marianne appears suddenly with a large tray in hand. “Ahoy, everybody. Brunch is served.”