Page 33 of SALT

I'm just about to clear my throat and ask again, thinking she didn't hear me over the bar's noise, when she says, "Why don't you just ask me what you really want to ask me?"

The bartender finally comes over. "I'll take another spicy margarita, please." He gives me a nod, and I turn back to Stormy. The entire reason I'm out tonight is because the last time I saw Everett was this afternoon when he was dismissing me to speak with Lauren, and then he missed our six o'clock dinner. The last thing I wanted to do was be home when he got there. Am I going against his orders? Hell, yes, but I'm also not the girl who will quietly obey and sit in the corner. At least without something in return. Not to mention, I don't care to be alone. I haven't been alone since the break-in, and frankly, security or not, I didn't want to be all by myself. He should know that, and right now, I don't care if my night out sets me back. I don't want to lose me just to be with him. All I want is for him to see me the way I do him, and right now, the cocktails and the noise are subpar liars. They aren't doing nearly enough to drown out the thoughts of him. Which means I need more drinks and dirt. There's a reason I texted Stormy tonight: Lauren. I'm not one to mince my words, and I can tell she's not a small-talk kind of girl, so I get on with it. "Does she have a thing for Everett?"

"The coach… I don't think so, but I know they have a history, and the only reason I know that is because she came home in a sour mood after having lunch with him and called him a cocky bastard with an ego complex."

That doesn't settle nerves the way it should. Everett's ego is as much of a turnoff as it is a pull. You hate that he gets under your skin, and before you know it, that brooding arrogance stands on its own. You're attracted to the power, and the thing about power is everybody wants it. She might hate him now, but who doesn't want a man to fuck the hate right out of them every now and again?

The bartender delivers my drink right as Parker returns with his friend Nash. Nash is one of his childhood friends who moved away in elementary school, but his family recently moved back to the area a few months ago. He doesn't play sports, and he recently dropped out of college, and for those reasons, he's been labeled the town bad boy. It doesn't hurt that he looks the part with jet-black hair, ripped jeans, and the typical leather jacket, and don't even get me started on the man jewelry. I don't know what it is about a guy that wears rings, but I find it sexy as fuck.

His dark and stormy eyes find mine, and he gives me a nod before asking, "Want to get some air?"

I have a million reasons to say yes, but only one reason to say no. "Air sounds good."

"Thanks for giving me a ride home," I say as I hand Nash his helmet back. Illinois doesn't require riders to wear helmets, but I've ridden before, and without one, you'll spend hours trying to comb through your hair.

He revs the engine. "I'll give you a ride anytime, Salt." I don't miss the mischievous glint in his eye or the way his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip as he takes his helmet. When he's sure I caught his double meaning, he puts it on.

"Bye, Nash," I draw out with a smile. He revs the engine one more time before giving me a nod and taking off.

Nash is not as "bad boy" as his appearance suggests. When we got outside, we squatted on the curb, and he divulged the real reason he asked me outside. He was playing wingman for Parker. I knew Parker would be interested in Stormy, and because she didn't come outside looking for me, it's safe to say she's interested too.

I key in the code to get into the house, and it's dark. Too dark. I thought for sure Everett would get home before me. I quickly reset the alarm, hating how I suddenly find the dark unsettling. Getting home late is one thing, but not coming home altogether is another. I didn't drink nearly enough tonight to drown out my nerves, and I'm disappointed he's not here. I know he feels something for me, and after our moment this afternoon, I believed him when he said he'd be home to cook with me. I don't want to give up. Giving up has never felt like an option. How do you just walk away from something that you want with your whole heart? However, hurting sucks.

I blow out a long sigh as I drag my ass up the staircase to my room. I need water and maybe a hot bath to unwind. My nerves are shot. I know what I need. I need a release. Opening the door to my room, I immediately jump back, my heart racing from the sight of a figure sitting on my bed. But it's not all fear. I can smell him. The woodsy scent of the earth and the salt of the sea. My hand hits the switch.

"What are you doing in my room?"

He doesn't immediately give me his eyes. Instead, he focuses on the item in his hands—my phone. I intentionally left it home after I texted Parker to come pick me up. I know Everett can track me if I have it on me, and I wanted to send a message if he did come home. He wants me to fall in line and follow his rules, but all he's given me are empty words, so I left him with an empty house.

His eyes slowly drag up my bare legs before meeting mine. "You left."

"You didn't come home." I toss my clutch onto my drafting table. "And I was with Parker. I was perfectly safe so?—"

"That was not Parker who dropped you off."

I move away from the door and toward my dresser. "No shit. You can be very observant when you want to be."

"Cameron, if you can't tell, I'm not in the mood for your antics."

"Well, maybe I'm not in the mood for whatever whiplash you're about to give me," I snap back. "It's been a long day, Everett. I had to put in a rush order for the uniforms and come home to an empty house with a home invasion still very fresh in my mind. You want to sit in the dark and wait for me to come home so that you can list off all the rules I broke? Fine, be my guest." I throw my hands wide before dropping them to my hips and adding, "I'd rather be a rule breaker than a two-faced liar."

My chest is now heaving while he sits on my bed, unmoving, but I know I struck a nerve. His body language is a deceiver, just like the man. He's trained in the art of hiding his emotions. He's stuffed down his feelings his entire life, being the son of a DA turned senator, but the dark smolder in his coal-black eyes gives him away right before he stands.

"What did you call me?"

"I didn't stutter. I know you heard every last word, but I'll spell it out for you since I already know what part you're stuck on. You're a two-faced liar. You decree that I can not drive and that you will be my chauffeur, yet you assign the task to Parker after chastising me for catching one with him the other day. And as for the lying part… You told me you'd be here at six o'clock. You weren't here. I won't just sit around here alone and do nothing because you say so. I have needs, too."

I was so busy ensuring I articulated every word so I'd win, my mind dismissed how close he now stands.

"Needs?" he asks as I take a step back, not out of fear or want but because if I stand a chance of winning this argument, I need air. Air that doesn't smell like him and make me weak in the knees. Everett responds to facts. Give him anything less, and you've lost his attention. I don't plan on losing his attention on the first night he's ever visited my room. "Are you fucking the biker boy?" he sneers, stepping into my backstep.

"Are you really asking me that?"

Everett has never asked me a question that intrusive, let alone with that level of vehemence.

"Yes, Cameron, I am." He takes another step into my space, forcing me to take another back, except I've run out of room. My dresser is now at my back, and he smirks. "Last I checked, you still live under my roof, which makes you my responsibility, and that guy looks like a problem waiting to happen. I don't want to see him here again."

"You can't tell me who I can and can't see, Everett."

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