Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(32)
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and someone will steal it.”
“Now is that any way to talk about my girl? She’s a classy one. Reliable, fast, warms my arse.”
“She’s also not your type.”
“And how would you know what my type is?”
“Guys like you don’t do practical. Why are you trying to be someone you’re not? The bike is definitely you, so why not get a car that’s more your style?”
“And what would that be?”
“I don’t know. Something dark, dangerous, and rough around the edges.”
He pushed my door open with his shoulder. “My Honda makes me a respectable man.”
“Since when does a man who has sex with women in public care about respect?”
“Touché.”
He placed me on my bed and strode over to the window. I could barely make him out in the inky darkness.
I sat up and took Christian’s coat off before scooting to the right side. “Would you mind lighting a candle? I can’t see as well as you can.”
His voice neared. “Don’t make ordering me around into a habit.”
He struck a match, the flame engulfing the end, and lit three candles. Instead of placing them on the tables beside the bed, he walked to the wall opposite the bed and set them on the hearth before using one of them to light up the kindling. I tossed his coat on the foot of the bed and propped two pillows behind me. Because the bed was low to the ground, I could lie down at night and watch the fire across the room.
“What made you chase him?” he asked, opening the flue.
“The mark on his neck. Gem said a waitress remembered a guy with a neck tattoo talking to Jennifer shortly before they fired her. Most criminals have stomping grounds. They’re creatures of habit and stick to places where they feel in control. They know who works there, what the regulars are like, and where all the exits are located. Anyhow, I noticed him talking to a woman, and it didn’t seem like casual flirting.”
“Was she pregnant?”
My brows knitted together. “I don’t think so.”
The log succumbed to the flames and glowed in the hearth. Flecks of orange and gold twinkled against the darkness. I hadn’t done much to my room in terms of decorating aside from a picture, a rug, and new bedding. On my left was the door, and in the corner to the right of it the standing mirror. All my clothes fit perfectly in the armoire to the left of the door. Honestly, I didn’t have enough personal belongings to warrant buying a shelf or even a bigger desk. The scarlet-red bedspread kept me warm at night, especially with a fur blanket and a fire going. My chamber was a palace compared to living on the streets. And as of late, it was finally beginning to feel like home.
Christian set the candle on the bedside table, moving the faux roses out of the way before they went up in flames. He sat down next to me, his back straight against the headboard.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” I said. “You looked like Batman jumping off that bridge.”
“All in a day’s work. Now I’m beginning to understand why all your trousers have holes. I thought you bought ’em that way.”
I glanced down and noticed the blood and grit on my jeans from the accident. Then I poked my finger through the hole in his sweater, which I was still wearing. “Do I want to know how you got this?”
He peered over. “Probably not.”
We both chuckled.
Firelight danced on the ceiling and walls, spreading across the bed like a river of orange light. I sat up to remove the sweater.
Christian helped me. “What’s your da like?”
The sweater came over my head and messed my hair up. I swept it away from my face and sat back. “I can best describe my father in one story. I wasn’t one of the popular girls in high school, so I didn’t go out a lot. When I was fifteen, the high school quarterback asked me to a dance.” I nestled against the pillows and kept my eyes on the fireplace. “I was so damn excited that someone had finally noticed me. My father took me to a dress shop and spent a good amount of money on this blue dress. Chiffon. That was a big deal because we bought most of my clothes at the thrift store. But I kept telling him it was a formal dance and the most important thing in the world.”
“Ah, to be fifteen again.”
“I was too embarrassed for Kyle to pick me up at the trailer, so I told him I’d wait by the main road. Crush—my daddy—wasn’t happy about it one bit. So I waited and waited, watching one car after the next drive by as the sun went down. Then Kyle’s yellow Mustang appeared at the end of the road. When it slowed to a stop, a girl in the passenger seat stared daggers at me. A couple of his buddies were crammed in the back, and that’s when I realized the whole thing was a joke.”
Christian scooted down the bed and began taking off my shoes. “Is that all?”
“They were laughing at me. He asked if I had really thought someone like him would take a loser like me to the dance. Then they called me trailer trash, and one of the girls made a remark about my dress being secondhand.”
“Shitebags.”
The second shoe dropped to the floor, and then he removed my socks.
“Yep. They turned around and yelled a few more nasty remarks before speeding off. So I went home crying like a little kid. Crush asked what happened, but I think he knew. I lived in the worst area of the city, but lucky me, we were just within the limits to go to that school. Most of the kids there were rich.”