Bad Things(51)

He panted against me, and I bit his bottom lip. He growled, delving back into my mouth.

God only knows how far we would have let things go but for a shrill scream that echoed to us from the stables.

I yanked back, looking around, totally confused for a moment as to where I even was.

Finally, the sight of my hand, my empty hand, where the leash should have been held, jarred me back into the problem at hand.

“Coffeecup!” I yelled, stumbling to my feet.

Tristan used his hands on my hips to help leverage me up, and I was off, sprinting towards the stables, hoping that I wasn’t too late to save at least some of those damned prize chickens.

It was a massacre.

Feathers and blood made a trail that led me to right to the chicken murdering dog, who would still have been happily murdering away, if one parka-covered crazy chicken lady didn’t already have his leash in hand. She was literally shaking with rage as I took the leash out of her hand. She pointed at me accusingly, as though I had been the one to behead—I counted one, two, three of her chickens. Damn, but he was efficient at murdering chickens. This had to be a record.

“I’m so so sorry—” I began.

“The home owners association will hear about this!” she cut in.

I nodded, my eyes wide, not sure how to handle her. We only ever saw each other when stuff like this happened, so I’d only ever seen her crazy side. As far as I knew, she was straight crazy chicken lady all the time.

“That dog is a menace!” she shouted.

I nodded again. I couldn’t argue with that. I didn’t point out that if she didn’t let her chickens run loose around the stables all the time, they wouldn’t make such easy targets for blood-thirsty Coffeecup. I knew from experience that trying to form any kind of defense only made her crazier.

Tristan approached right as she was storming off, still muttering curses at an ironically contrite looking Coffeecup.

“Well…” he said, running a hand over his muddy head. “That could have gone better.”

“You broke your promise, you know,” I told him as soon as crazy chicken lady was out of earshot.

He raised a brow in question, trying ineffectually to dry himself off with his hands.

“You promised that if Coffeecup got out while you were around, you’d catch him before he murdered any chickens.”

“Um, I did catch him. If you’ll recall, I caught him back in that muddy ditch over there. You’re the one that let him go again.”

He had a point there.

“We broke half of the rules on our list back in that ditch,” he told me as we made our way back to the house.

“I’m well aware.”

“I think I know what the problem is.” He sounded resigned, and troubled. I didn’t particularly want to hear what had him sounding so serious.

“We’re stupid and a little nuts?” I guessed.

“I’ve been celibate for too long, and now I’m taking it out on you. I need to blow off some steam, ya know?”

That stung. It shouldn’t have, but it hurt bad. I was on board with the friend thing, but the idea that this attraction between us had more to do with his own sexual frustration, and nothing to do with how he might feel about me, well, it made me want to cry, which made me feel like a particularly stupid girl, and I hated that feeling. I liked to think that my head ruled me, not my heart, and being around Tristan played havoc with that idea.

“I think I’ll go out tonight…by myself.”

Ouch, ouch, ouch, I thought. “That makes sense,” I said. “I need to catch up on sleep, anyway. This crazy clubbing schedule is not my thing.”

“I’ll still make you breakfast in the morning,” he offered.

I grimaced, wondering if he would even be home in the morning. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll manage.”

He snagged my hand, stopping our progress to look at me. I squinted at him, rain falling straight into our faces. This was no place to have a chat.

“Are you upset?”

I shook my head. “Of course not,” I said instantly, my tone dismissive.

I was upset, but I didn’t have a right to it, so I refused to acknowledge it out loud. I had too much pride for that.

“How the hell are we going to go into the house like this?” I asked, changing the subject. “We’re covered in mud. Maybe we should just stay in the rain, until it washes off.”