Iris (The Wild Side #2)(21)

Tammy glared right back, hateful eyes just for me.

I had officially had it with that woman.

“Never again,” I told her loudly. “You will never touch her again or you will be f**king sorry. I should have you arrested for assault.”

“Don’t,” Iris said into my chest. “I’m fine. She didn’t hurt me.”

I look down at her, pulling her back by the shoulders to get a good look at her.

Not only did she not look shaken, she looked downright cheerful about the whole thing.

Confusing woman.

Turner escorted Tammy out personally, and I had to stifle a laugh when I heard him break out his best lecturing voice, telling her that she should be ashamed of herself. Somehow, he pulled it off, and she left without much of a fight.

“I’m sorry,” said Iris quietly, her eyes on her feet.

My eyes tried to bug out of my head.

She’d been physically attacked, and she was sorry? I wouldn’t have blamed her if she ran at a sprint away from my mess of a life, but instead she was apologizing?

“Why would you be sorry? She attacked you. I’m sorry, so sorry you had to deal with that.”

Her mouth turned up slightly at one corner, her eyes twinkling, and even so, it took me a minute to realize she was nothing so much as highly amused, trying actively not to laugh aloud. “I provoked her on purpose. It’s terrible, especially after my little speech about investing in the negative. Don’t be mad at me, but I thoroughly enjoy getting a rise out of her. It’s not that I’m prone to jealousy; I just . . . really don’t like her. And it felt really good to kick her.”

I started laughing. Started and just couldn’t stop, not for a long time. Finally, I got out, “What did you say to her to get her so angry?”

“She walked up angry. You know, because she watched us having sex. She came up and told me about it. I guess she did watch the entire thing, and felt the need to tell me I was nasty, trashy, and tacky for going down on you after we f**ked, in someone else’s house, no less.” She shrugged. “I told her I wouldn’t even know how to tell you no, that you and I have done everything together that you wanted, that I’d take your dick every way I could have it, because it belongs to me now.”

I couldn’t hold back a strangled choke of a laugh, and also, a glow of pleasure that seemed to touch on every part of my body, inside and out.

“Oh, yeah, and I told her that anything we did, anywhere we did it, was less nasty, trashy, and tacky than getting deep throated in your husband’s house by another man.”

“Holy shit,” I mouthed.

“Oh, and then I called her a washed-up slut. I think that last bit was what set her off.”

“No kidding,” I said wryly. That would do it.

It wasn’t until I tried to walk that I realized my feet had been sliced up by the broken glass.

The cuts were superficial, but you wouldn’t know it by the way Iris freaked out at the sight of my blood.

She sat me down on the concrete at the side of the pool and insisted on tending to each cut herself. She fretted over my wounds like they were her own, only, I didn’t think she’d be this concerned for herself.

Her doting attention was flattering, and that tender little spot in my chest just kept getting bigger.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

“Can I see your ID again?” I asked her abruptly on the drive home, Turner’s observations getting to me.

She seemed unfazed. “I don’t have my license on me. Is that a problem?”

“You brought a purse,” I pointed out.

“It’s not in there. Next time I visit, I’ll show it to you, if it’s that important.”

That sort of defeated my purpose and did nothing to allay my fears.

“You are really twenty-four, right?” I asked, shooting her a long probing glance as I stopped at a red light.

She gave me a bland smile. “I said so, didn’t I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, of course. You saw my ID. It looked legit, right?”

I sighed. Even her wording was incriminating, and I didn’t think that was an accident. “It did. But it needs to do more than look legit.”

“Quit stressing yourself out, baby. Some things you just need to trust me on.”

That right there riled me faster than just about anything else could.

“Trust you? How about you start telling me the truth about things, start giving me the whole story, and then we can talk about trust.”

“I trust you,” she said quietly. “Always have. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”

“I know you’ve lied to me. My gut tells me that you lie to me more than you tell me the truth. What am I supposed to do with that? How does that add up to any kind of trust? Go ahead, try to tell me you haven’t lied to me.”

“Yes, I’ve lied. I’m a liar.” Her tone was so calm and matter of fact that it had my fists clenching on the steering wheel. “I grew up surrounded by lies, they were something I had to, have to navigate to survive. That doesn’t mean you and I aren’t real. It doesn’t make my I love you any less true.”

I’d been trying hard not to bring that up, but since she had . . . “Bullshit. I can’t believe you said that. You barely know me, certainly not enough to be sure you love me.”