Bad Boy Blues(29)

I swallow too but for Tina’s sake, I give her a small smile. “Go have a break. I’ll come get you in a bit.”

With one last look at the both of us, Tina leaves.

And then, it’s just me and him.

Zach resumes his advancing and I resume moving back.

Why do I keep moving back like I’m afraid of him? Like I can’t take him on.

Finally, I hit the wall.

My spine feels the rough, cool bricks and I look to my right. The corridor is deserted. This isn’t as isolated as the bathtub was but it still feels like a dark, shady alley.

Zach comes to a stop right in front of me, his ropy muscles all magnified and somehow, more enhanced than a few days ago when I saw him naked. He puts both his arms on either side of my head, looming over me.

He’s so close that I can see the sweat glistening on his brow. “What do you want?”

“Your dress,” he says and I claw my nails at the wall. “Is it going to be okay?”

I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting him to talk about my ruined nightie.

It was the most perfect moment. He was perfect. He totally defended you, Cleo.

“Nightie,” I tell him in a voice that matches his, for some reason. Then, I clear my throat. “It’s called a nightie. And kinda. I mean, I’m looking into it. Red wine stains are almost impossible to get out.”

Zach acknowledges the statement with a subtle nod of his head and a lazy sweep of his eyes over my face. “Maggie should know what to do.”

Oh yeah, I thought of that too. She’s good with home remedies and stuff. But I’m not going to share my plan with him.

Why are we even having this conversation?

“Ashley,” I blurt out instead. “I, uh, I heard that you sent her away. Grace was happy about it.”

“I don’t know a Grace.”

“She works for you. For your family. She’s the one you told to escort your girlfriend out.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Then, a moment later, “She wishes, though.”

God, the arrogance. Like every girl on this planet wants to be with him.

Not me, though.

Never me.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Why is she not your girlfriend?

“Why did you send her away?” I ask, squeakily. “I-I mean, it’s great that you did. She’s a grade-A bitch. No offense to your choice of company or anything.” I hold up my finger. “Actually, on second thought, I was trying to be offensive. So yeah, you should take offense. Anyway, I’m happy about it. You know, that you sent her away. Like Grace and everyone else. Not that it matters that I’m happy. I mean, why would it? I think, it’s actually the opposite. It’s like… my unhappiness is what you live for, right?”

Gosh, I have no idea where I’m going with this. What am I saying? All I know is that my heart’s beating really fast and he’s super close and somehow, all I can hear right now is Grace’s voice.

Zach holds his silence and I wonder how he can do that when my words have a life of their own.

“No.”

“What?”

“I don’t live for you. Nothing about you matters to me,” he replies after a few seconds.

“Right. Of course. I knew that.”

He totally defended you, Cleo.

He did not. Grace doesn’t know anything.

I scan Zach’s hard face, angled jaw, the flicks of his hair brushing against his eyebrows. For the first time I notice that he looks… pale. Kind of haggard, sweaty, even. His cheekbones have a sunken look and his stubble is thicker, like he didn’t have the time to shave this morning or he simply forgot.

“Do you… are you sick?”

“You worried about me?”

I scoff. “No. I’m just…”

“You’re just what?”

There’s a bite in his voice and it gets my back up. “I’m just wondering if you have a fever. And if you do, then is it contagious because I don’t want to catch anything from you. You’re a little too close to me.”

At this, he gets even closer. As if he’s crossing the threshold, the line, just to scare me.

My glance jerks to his right hand. The hand he uses the most and the one where his tattoo is. I read the script running down his wrist. I can cross the line.

But suddenly, that hand is gone from the wall and I whip my gaze back to him. He fishes something out of his pockets.

“No, Blue. It’s not contagious. What I have is because of you.”

I focus on the object he’s holding and dear God, it’s the laxative.

My eyes go wide when I understand his meaning. He fell for it. He fell for my prank and that’s why he looks like this. Pale and sweaty and clammy.

“I…”

“I found it on the counter last night. Belongs to you, doesn’t it?”

I jerk out a nod.

“Another way to get back at me.”

I go to nod but then stop. Did he say he found it last night?

If he did, then why did he… eat it? Why did he eat the custard? That was the only thing in that fridge I could’ve put it in because that was the only thing meant for him. And for me, too.

“Why did you eat the custard?” I ask, confused. “If you knew… about my prank.”