Page 43 of Spite Crush

“Well, I won’t be sucking your dick for like a week. Just so you know.” I reached for the empty jar but he picked it up and tilted it, drinking the juice as he held my gaze. “Two weeks.”

He continued drinking, a thin rivulet of liquid running down his chin and dripping onto the counter until the jar was empty and he slammed it down again.

“Three weeks.”

He smiled as he leaned forward, his tongue darting out to lick the pickle juice directly from the island.

“Never again.” I didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up. He really drank a quart of straight brine just to be a smartass.

He was kind of amazing.

“Again? Have I forgotten when you did the first time?” He chuckled before letting out a soft belch. “Ugh. Excuse me.”

“You’re so gross.” I shook my head. “Please tell me you brought a toothbrush.”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I went on tour with a month’s worth of lube and underwear but didn’t think I’d need toiletries.”

“Nice to know you have priorities.”

“You’ve got to get real food in this house.” He let out another belch and grimaced. “That was a mistake.”

“You’re right on both counts,” I agreed. “Let me grab my phone and we’ll do a grocery delivery.”

“I can just run to the store. I don’t really trust other people to pick out my produce.”

“There’s no way you do your own grocery shopping.” I stared at him, waiting for him to tell me he was kidding.

“I’m not that out of touch with reality,” He insisted. “Of course I do my own shopping. I do my own laundry. I cook. I clean my own house. I even brush my own teeth.”

“Happy to hear it. I do my own laundry, too, by the way. But how canyou go out in public and not get mobbed by fans?”

“I live in Los Angeles. No one cares about me thumping melons. Not when Hugh Jackman is two aisles over picking out creatine.”

“Well, people will care here. And if you’re seen walking around Meijer you’re going to get recognized and people will wonder what the fuck you’re doing in Michigan.”

“Why are you angry with me?” he asked.

“What?” I felt my brows furrow together as I looked at him. “What areyou talking about? I’m not mad at you.”

Damn it. I’d just promised myself that I wouldn’t treat him like a child and that was exactly what I was doing. I wasn’t angry, I was frustrated. And I wasn’t even really frustrated with him, just with the situation.

How was it possible that I’d allowed my life to become like this? Almost thirty years old and still hiding from the world when I was happier than I could ever remember being.

“I’m sorry,” I said, blowing out a sigh. “I’m not mad, I promise. I think I’m just stressed about the playoffs and I shouldn’t be taking that out on you.”

“It’s fine. You’re right about the store. I wasn’t thinking.” He reached over and grabbed my hand. “You know that I don’t want to do anything that would hurt you, right?”

“Neither do I,” I promised him. “And I want you to be yourself around me without worrying about my reaction all the time. God knows I’m not perfect. I’m hot-headed and I’mnot always going to react to things the right way. But if this is going to work between us, we need to be honest with each other.”

“Especially since we have to lie to everyone else.” He nodded. “Are you sure you’re willing to risk everything for me?”

I suddenly had a choice to make that I wasn’t sure I was ready to make. But I’d literally just stressed how important honesty was going to be. And hiding the truth was just as bad as lying.

Against all odds we were here. Starting from fighting and sniping to fucking to sneaking around to eating pickles in my kitchen. Two grown ass men constantly doing what the world expected of us while denying what we actually wanted for ourselves.

Was I ready to launch a grenade into everything? Ready to risk saying words I’d never said, let alone felt for another person? When I had no idea if he even felt the same way?

“I’m not doing this for you,” I whispered. “I’m doing it for me. Kellen, I—”

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