Wild for You (Hot Jocks #6)(13)

I wish I knew what he was thinking. Wish I knew what it means when his full lips press together in a solemn line. Wish he never had to see that.

“Okay,” I whisper, clutching my hands together in my lap to stop them from fidgeting.

“When did that happen?”

“A couple weeks ago, I think.” My voice comes out hoarse. I’d completely forgotten that it happened. I’ve been in survival mode for so long . . . I must have wiped it away. So much easier that way.

Grant’s phone starts ringing from the kitchen, but he ignores it. And then I hear my own phone, back in the bedroom, buzzing with text notifications too. I ignore it as well.

“So I’m supposed to believe he really isn’t ‘normally rough’ with you?”

I bristle at the question and don’t respond. Grant’s tone isn’t harsh, but his words do sting. He looks like he has more questions. But rather than ask them, he clenches his jaw, locking his words away, and I’m grateful. I don’t know how much more humiliation I can take in one sitting.

His eyes are deep, soulful. They might even be pretty if it weren’t for the look of flat resignation reflecting back at me from their depths. The most infuriating thing about him, though, is that he seems to lack all basic human emotion. I’d rather he yell at me, scream, admit he thinks I’m an idiot for staying with Jason—anything but that deep, haunted look he’s giving me.

I told him at my apartment that Jason isn’t normally rough with me—and he’s not. But sometimes, well, sometimes he is, and those situations have the potential to get really bad. But he always stops himself before things get out of hand. That’s the truth.

But I can see, based on Grant’s expression, that’s not good enough. I can also tell that Grant’s the kind of man who would never lose his temper and turn violent.

Unable to take his silence any longer, I swallow and sigh. “I think I’m going to call my friend again,” I murmur.

His expression is dark and brooding, and he says nothing.

Rising to my feet, I wander like a ghost back to the guest room.

My phone has been plugged into its charger, and now it lights up with missed call notifications. Jason. Jason. Jason. Georgia. Jason. Georgia. Elise. Becca. Jason.

I stare at the phone, my fingers numb against the smooth screen. It lights up again, and my heart skips a beat. Georgia.

“Hello?”

“Oh my God, Ana! Are you okay?”

“I’m okay,” I hear myself say, not sure if that’s entirely the truth. I quickly realize it’s my go-to response these days.

“I’m so, so sorry I missed your calls. I took one of those sleeping pills, early, at like eight last night, because I’m a practically a grandma and— Oh my God, you don’t need to hear this! I need to hear about you! Where are you right now?”

“I’m okay,” I say again, this time more confidently. Georgia’s chattering somehow draws me back from that cold, underwater place. I’m thinking a little more clearly now. “I’m with a friend.”

“Okay, good, because Jason is looking for you. He came to my apartment!”

“What?” Oh God.

“Yeah, he was banging on my door at like five o’clock this morning. Screaming your name. Definitely drunk. I guess he thought you were with me. I didn’t answer, I was so terrified!”

“I’m so sorry, Georgie . . .”

“Shut up, don’t apologize! You’re not the crazy one. This is his fault. Anyway, I’ve been calling you since he left. I just needed to know that you’re good.”

“I’m good, I promise. Thank you for checking on me.”

The line goes quiet for a moment, and then she asks, “Have you seen the news?”

I grimace, closing my eyes. “Yes.”

“Honey, the tape looked like that hallway at work. I had no idea he did that to you. I was just in the other room. I could have . . .” She pauses, not equipped with the right words for situations like these. Neither am I.

“No, Georgie, it’s no one’s fault. I didn’t tell anyone, so there’s nothing that could have been done.” Those words are a lie. It’s my fault. Tears unexpectedly well in my eyes. With a deep breath, I try to calm myself.

“Okay . . . but I’m not sure if I agree with you on that one. I want to help. How can I help?”

“Well, I really don’t think I should go into work today. I don’t know if Jason will be there waiting for me, or if he’ll show up later. Although I’ll probably have to talk to him at some point—”

“No way. You’re not coming in today. As badly as I want to see you and hug you, you’re taking the day off. Actually, take off as much time as you need.”

I smile. Sometimes I really do appreciate her pushiness. And it also helps that she’s my manager. “Thanks, G.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

Georgia agrees to cover for me today, and my relief is instantaneous. We hang up with promises to talk later tonight. Even though I’d intended to ask Georgia if I could stay with her, the fact that Jason visited her apartment has me shaken, and I chickened out.

My phone still has twenty-one missed calls on it . . . seventeen of which are from Jason. My thumb hovers over the CALL BACK button.