After Hours (InterMix)(110)

I laughed, surprised by his answer, and struck by an image of a small-skulled, club-wielding ogre.

“What we got,” Kelly said, “we’re stuck with it, even if our stubborn, rational brains might decide we’re through. It’ll always be there, whether we like it or not.”

“Can I be honest?”

He kept his eyes on the ceiling. “Sure.”

“I do like it. Whatever it is. It’s just that some angry part of me doesn’t, because I feel like it’s out of my control, maybe.”

“I like when things feel out of my control.”

I blinked. “Really?”

“Sometimes, yeah. I don’t want to enflame your angry part or anything, but being in control comes easy for me. It has ever since I hit my growth spurt and lost my fear. But shit like what we got between us . . . it’s interesting. Because I can’t do anything about it. I’ve just gotta give in and let it have its way. Which is f*cking refreshing, when you’re used to having to be on top of everything all the time.”

“Huh.”

We stared up at the spackle, not saying a word. Whatever force kept us wanting each other—I could feel it, as real and physical as a cat curled on the comforter between us. It was docile now, a warm and reassuring presence. But it had sharp teeth and claws. We both knew that.

I sighed. “I really am my mother’s daughter, in some ways. I like to tell myself that Amber inherited all her impulses, but it’s in me, too. And I hate it.”

He coaxed me onto my side and cradled my head. “You’re not your mom. Not any more than I’m any man who’s ever considered himself my father.”

“Sometimes I . . .”

“What?”

“She comes through. Some ugly, angry fragments of her get the better of me.”

“Those aren’t hers. Those are yours.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“We’ve all got ugly stuff in us. Get most anybody mad enough or drunk enough or backed into a small enough corner, and you find it. You saw mine, that night you started us talking, about what had happened to land my biological dad in the pen.”

I winced, not wanting to think about that fight.

“I’m real good at keeping my shit under control, but you hit my trigger.” He paused, lips tight like he was trying to suck a fleck of food from between his teeth. “I’m sorry about that night. About losing my rag on you.”

“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have known to begin with, unless you’d decided to tell me. Even after I snooped, I should’ve let you be the one to bring it up.”

“You knew what you knew, whether you should’ve or not. I get that that shit’s not easy to carry around. And I know . . .”

I waited almost half a minute for him to finish the thought.

“I know I don’t let people in too deeply. What you found out, that was like a crowbar. Something that stood a chance at prying me open deeper than the sex even could. It’s just that you jammed it right in there, right between my ribs and cranked it, without any warning.”

I cracked a sad smile at that. “Subtlety’s not really my strong suit.”

“And I’m not good at feeling caught off guard by things.”

“A good instinct, in our line of work.”

“But not good, if I’m trying to keep things together between me and a woman.”

All at once my heart felt thick, beating with hard, muscular thumps. “Were you thinking that way, about me? About trying to keep things together?”

“You really just thought it was about sex for me, didn’t you? Was that how it felt when we were getting into it? Just sex?”

My face burned hotter. “No. But I told myself that’s how it was supposed to be, and not to get it in my head that it might turn into something more. I didn’t think that was on the table.”

“What’d it feel like though?” His expression changed, a smirk twisting his lips, and though the word didn’t fit him, he snuggled closer. “Stroke my male ego. What stuff did you feel, that you didn’t want to?”

“I just felt like . . . Like, shit, this sex is insane. And if I don’t remind myself constantly that it’s just sex, I’ll start trying to make it mean something more. It’s hard to not get attached to someone, when they can make you feel that good. And you’re so attracted to them. Plus a part of me didn’t want to like you, that way. You make me feel weaker than I’m comfortable feeling . . .”