Out of Love(38)

“You think your dad’s going to beat me up?” Slade’s head canted to the side.

“Going to? No. I won’t allow it. Capable?” I shrugged. “I’m not sure. I was thinking about that yesterday. Your age gives you the clear advantage, but my dad’s really smart, and you might be more impulsive, which could put you at a disadvantage if you underestimate him.”

“Fine. I won’t underestimate him. But … you’re staying with me.” His lips dragged along my neck.

“I can’t.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.”

“Wrong,” he murmured over my skin. “You’re too old to do what Daddy tells you to do.”

“But I’m officially mature enough to make decisions based on common sense and kindness, not just strong-willed knee-jerk reactions.” My fingers slid into his hair. “I love my dad. We’re each other’s rocks. We have been since my mom died. And I haven’t seen him in months. He’s done a lot for me since he’s been here. And while he makes it seem like he’s here just to make sure I get things settled, I know he’s staying because he misses me. He misses my mom. I’m her. In his eyes, I’m the best of her. So … I’m going to let him have that part of her for a week. It’s a blink in time.”

Wylder lifted his head as I caressed my fingers over his scruffy jawline. “You’ll need my help studying … a few hours … every night.”

I laughed. “I was valedictorian of my high school class. I’m here on a partial academic scholarship. I’ve never received anything but an A in a class … ever. I’m pretty sure you need my help more than I need yours.”

Lips parted, he drew his eyebrows together. “Studying is code for sex. Clearly, you’re not as smart as you claim to be.”

Tipping my chin, I gave him an unblinking expression. “I know what you meant. I just didn’t appreciate being the one who needed pretend help in your little scenario.”

“What if I graduated top of my class too? What if I’m a straight-A student too?”

My eyes widened. “Are you?”

“Fuck no. I’m just asking what if.”

More giggles ensued. I loved fun Wylder. “Well … then our studying together excuse wouldn’t be believable, so good thing I’m smarter.”

“Book smart. Or maybe you just have a gifted memory. It won’t get you far in life if you’re not street smart.”

“I’m street smart.” My head jerked back.

“A man tried to rape you.”

“But he—” My words died on the spot.

And I knew … I had always known. He never confirmed or denied it.

I just … knew.

Yet his unintentional admission knocked my emotions on their ass. I wasn’t prepared to deal with one hundred percent certainty.

“Wylder …”

He shook his head. “Stop with your theories of my heroism.”

“Wylder …” I whispered as a couple tears escaped.

“Don’t.” His head continued to ease side to side. “You said it yourself … I heard about it on campus. The rumors.”

“Wylder …”

“Liv—”

“There was a knife. He demanded my wallet. I never told you he tried to rape me. And I know my friends never said anything. That wasn’t the rumor.”

He took a hard swallow while letting his gaze drift off in the distance just over my shoulder.

I wiped my face. “He could have killed me.”

“He didn’t.” His tone sounded as distant and unemotional as his blank, unfocused eyes.

“And why is that?” I let myself believe my gut feeling—that voice in the recesses of my mind—was enough; I didn’t need to hear him say the actual words.

I was wrong.

I needed the words.

His focus returned to me. Steadfast, steely-eyed Slade returned. “Because your life wasn’t his to take.”

His words echoed in my head as I tried to figure out what to do with them. “Was his life yours to take?”

“Yes.” His immediate absolution gave me pause.

If I killed someone, I would have second-guessed everything … forever.

Slade answered me with the ease of confirming he took out the trash or brushed his teeth before bed.

With his honesty exposed, I took my chance on a few other pressing questions. “Are you a drug dealer?”

“What do you think?”

“I think I deserve a straight answer.”

“So … yes. You think I’m a drug dealer.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t say that.”

“No. You asked it; so in your mind, it’s a possibility.”

“That’s not fair.” I stood. Taking a few steps back, both physically and emotionally.

“I haven’t asked you if you’re a whore or an escort. I haven’t asked if you torture animals.”

“Wh-what are you talking about?” My fingers combed through my hair as I closed my eyes and tried to make sense of our conversation.

“I know there’s no way you’d sell your body for money or torture animals, so I don’t need proof and I don’t need to ask you.”