“I had nothing to do with that,” he stressed.
“Even if I believe you, which I do not, if you weren’t involved, why didn’t you do something about it?” I asked him.
“Maybe I will,” he hit back.
“So, in the meantime, Adam Sweeney and the Bloodz,” deliberately rolling my eyes at the name ‘Bloodz’, “works his way through the entire female population.”
“You don’t like the name Bloodz?” he asked.
“No, it’s stupid.”
He chuckled, which surprised me. “You’re a weird little thing, you are, always cracking me up in Stads. Great entertainment to help the stodgy burgers go down. Ever thought about being a comedian?”
I wasn’t being deliberately funny, but I noticed the beautiful one laughed at things I said. He laughed because he thinks I’m weird, not because he found me appealing. Why would he find me appealing, I’m hardly cheerleader material? I tried to do the splits once, and had to call Tris to untangle me out of the uncompromising position I found myself in. I strained muscles in places I didn’t know existed. Never again.
“Who was that girl?” I asked again, getting back to Friday night.
“You hadn’t seen me because I wasn’t there, Rhys,” he spoke, sharply.
“I saw you,” I hit back.
“I was nowhere near the crime scene,” he argued.
“Can you at least tell me who the girl was?” I questioned him again.
He shook his head. “I don’t know who she was. No name was mentioned.”
Rage prickled my insides. “You’re just a bunch of horrible rapists,” I hissed at him, not caring of the consequences.
“Watch your fucking mouth,” he seethed, glancing about to see if anyone heard. “Don’t put me in the same box as Adam fucking Sweeney.” He took a deep breath and his body relaxed as he exhaled. “Jeez, he’s been fucking his own half-sister without knowing it and his father was shot allegedly by Robert Fontaine. I have my doubts about that, I tell ya. Adam Sweeney was already fucked in the head, now he’s certifiably deranged. The whole situation is a fucking mess.”
“You said ‘alleged’,” I enquired. “You don’t think Robert shot Geoff Sweeney?”
“I have no proof, but…I think maybe he’s covering for someone else,” he explained. “Not to mention the strange apparent suicide of surgeon Miles Goldblum, friends with both Fontaine and Sweeney. That’s a weird one out of the blue and no one knows why. I’ll leave it at that.”
I fell quiet analyzing his statement. There could only be two people Robert Fontaine would cover for, and that’s his daughter and his wife. Could it be possible that my cousin was dating a murderer? I wondered if it had crossed Tris’s mind, even once. I wouldn’t dare ask Lise if she was a murderer for fear she’d slit my throat, since I work with her Stads and she often gave me rides home. Oh my God, she could kill me easily while driving me home and dump my body in the lake. Note to self: don’t upset Annalise Fontaine.
I suddenly noticed the silence between us. I pulled myself out of my busy mind and lifted my eyes to find he was watching me. He held his gaze and I dropped my head down to avoid his intensity.
“Have you ever been kissed before?” his words hung in the air for a few seconds before landing like a lead balloon.
I was flummoxed.
“Obviously, you’re a virgin, but have you ever been kissed?” He added, “With tongue?”
“That’s none of your business,” I spat, angrily.
“I’ll take that as a ‘no’,” he mused. “You have no idea what you’re missing out on.”
“Stop looking at me,” I demanded. His damn eyes were glued to my face, an obvious intimidation tactic.
“No. I like looking at your face,” he hit back, smirking.
Horrified, I threw my pen at him, which only made him laugh when he caught it. He slid his chair back and I breathed a sigh of relief that he was leaving. Instead of walking away, he stepped to my side of the table, standing far too close. His crotch was in my face. I should sink my teeth into his bulge to see if he’d squeal like a piglet.
He leaned over me, creating a canopy with his size, and placed the pen on the table. The body heat dripping off him was making me feel queasy and shaky in a way I hadn’t experienced before. I was very close to vomiting up my breakfast.
“Step away,” I ordered in my best assertive tone.