Page 38 of Covetous

Victor glares at him with chilling intensity. “I’m not in the habit of repeating myself,” he says, his voice unnervingly calm. “But I’ll make an exception to ensure you get this. I said…maybe it’s you,” he enunciates, emphasizing the you. “So if she wants the peach cobbler, then she should have it. And you can shut the fuck up. If you don’t know how to do that, then I’ll show you by ripping your tongue out of your fucking mouth.”

Esme’s jaw drops in shock, but a small chuckle escapes her lips.

Ian’s face contorts with rage as he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“Babe, he’s kidding,” I try to reassure him, placing my hand gently against his chest to keep him calm.

Victor’s gaze drops to where my hand lies on Ian’s chest, the glint of my engagement ring catching the light. “No. I’m not. Disrespect her one more time.” His mouth curves in a chilly smile. “I fucking dare you.”

Ian doesn’t move. No one does until Esme slides out of the booth, taking Victor’s hand. “Let’s dance.”

“Not right now,” he says, his eyes never leaving…mine. Not Ian’s, but mine.

“Yes, right now.” She tugs on his hand. “Victor,” she snaps, finally getting his attention.

“Just go,” I say, begging him with my eyes.

Finally, he does, but not before leaving two hundred dollars on the table for their food and drinks.

We leave shortly after. Ian’s grip on my elbow feels like a vise as he leads me out of Midnight Blues to his car. The air outside is humid on this hot August night, as if it’s holding its breath, just like me. The tension is palpable on the car ride home—a thick silence hanging between us. Ian’s hands clench the steering wheel as he speeds through town. The city lights of Houston fade behind us as streetlights zoom past, and relief loosens the tightness in my gut when we end up at my place instead of his. We argue less when my roommates are around.

Ian still hasn’t uttered a single word, and it’s sending waves of anxiety through me. His silence is heavy and loud. Sharing the bathroom vanity while we prepare for bed, I splash water on my face, rinsing the creamy face cleanser away. There’s a ferocity in the way he brushes his teeth—as if he’s trying to scrub away layers of frustration. I wouldn’t be surprised if he starts spitting blood instead of toothpaste.

“Are we going to talk about this, or…?” I’m met with silence. “Ian,” I try again, drying my face with a towel. “Talk to me. You can’t shut me out like this.”

He spits in the sink and rinses his mouth out before he pins me with a hard stare through the mirror. “Not yet. Or I’ll say something that one of us will regret.”

One of us?

I let out a breath through my nose. “You embarrassed me tonight.”

He turns to face me, his expression incredulous. “I embarrassed you? Are you fucking serious right now? All I was trying to do was help. We’ve talked about you reining in the sweets, but tonight you made me look like the fucking bad guy. I mean, Jesus fucking Christ, Skylar. You didn’t have my back?—”

“I don’t want to fight with you.” My hands fly up in frustration as my emotions bubble over. “I want us to talk. Think we can do that? Please. I’m trying here.”

He scoffs, disbelief etched on his face. “And you think I’m not?”

“I didn’t say that.” I lace my fingers over my head and exhale deeply. The fight has left me; I just don’t have the energy to try anymore tonight. “What are we doing, Ian?”

“I’ll tell you what I’m doing.” He grabs my chin a bit too roughly, forcing my gaze to lock on his intense brown eyes. “I’m going to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

A silent nod is all I can manage in response. We both know “morning” is just a euphemism for “never.” If I bring it up again, he’ll shut down or turn it into another argument. The question echoes in my mind as he exits the bathroom: What the hell are we doing?

Ian’s hand is on my breast while he sleeps, as though he doesn’t have a care in the world. Although he had wanted to have sex, I couldn’t bring myself to go through with it. My heart wasn’t in it, and I can’t pretend otherwise. Not anymore.

For the last hour, I’ve been staring out into the darkness of my bedroom, trying to ignore the hamster wheel in my head that won’t quit. My mind races with doubts and fear, drowning out the sound of the muffled argument next door. Victor and Esme aren’t overly loud; more like whisper yelling. Having made that mistake once, I guess they learned their lesson.

I don’t know what’s worse. Hearing them fight or hearing them have sex. I haven’t heard the latter in weeks now.

My body jolts awake at 6:00 a.m. despite not getting a full eight hours of sleep. Years ago, I learned that my body has an automatic alarm clock, regardless of the amount of sleep I get the night before. The familiar sound of Ian’s snores echoes through the room. I try to shift away, but his hold tightens around me, and one eye opens. “Where are you going?”

“I need coffee.”

He finally releases me with a mumbled, “Hurry back.”

I peel my side of the covers back and climb out of bed. He grumbles something unintelligible through a yawn before rolling onto his other side. His back is now facing me, and he might’ve gone back to sleep.

Leaning down, I kiss the nape of his neck. “Did you want a cup?”

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