Page 19 of Getting It Twisted

“Because I want you to get the hell out. Leave town and go back to where you came from.”

He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Sure, I would do that, only . . . I have this house, you know.”

“So what are you going to do with it? Sell it?”

“Guess so.”

“No one will give it a second glance in the state it’s in. You know that, right?”

“I suppose.”

“So you’ll fix it up?”

He shrugs again.

“You gonna hire someone or do it yourself?”

“Haven’t decided yet.”

Someone who doesn’t know him might let the subject go and take what he says at face value. But I can see the truth all too clearly; it’s etched into the impassive tilt of his brows and the sullen pout of his lips.

With no one to give him a kick in the ass, he won’t do shit to fix up the house. Not for weeks. Maybe months. He’s going to linger here, smoke weed, lounge around, and do whatever the fuck else, and his presence in town will continue to be a thorn in my side.

Unless I help him.

The key is a no-brainer. If it’s truly at the police station like he says, I’ll ask George to get it from his father. The window and the run-down condition of the place are further problems, but with any luck, I’ll get the place into a sellable state within a few weeks or so. The downside? It’ll put me in close proximity to Nathan. But better a few weeks than an uncertain stretch of time in which I can run into him unprepared. At least like this, I’ll have some modicum of control. God knows I need it.

“Fine,” I say.

“Fine, what?”

“I’ll get you the key. And I’ll help you sort out the house.”

He watches me for a long moment, expression unreadable save for the suspicious crease between his brows. “I don’t remember begging for your help, Daniel. Then again . . . If it means we’ll be spending time together, I suppose I’ll take it.”

“We won’t be fucking, if that’s what you think.”

“No?” His mouth quirks at the corner. “And why not? You enjoyed yourself last time.”

Yeah, right. Last time. We were both too drunk back then, the circumstances all wrong and twisted. And the morning after, when he turned me down without mercy . . .What did you think—that we’re some lovey-dovey couple now?

On the other hand, maybe Ishouldfuck him. Hold him down and take him rough and hard like a punishment, a hand over his mouth. Slap his ass, make him cry.Fuck you for rejecting me and leaving me here. We were supposed to leave together, you arrogant bastard.

But that would be exactly what he wants. And even though I want to hurt him—even though I want to make him hurt like he hurt me—I refuse to give him what he wants.

I straighten my back, emphasizing our height difference. “Stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want you.”

For the first time, he falters, and his forehead creases with confusion. “Yeah, you do.”

“I don’t. I’ve already had you, remember? I don’t do seconds.” The cruel tilt to my voice fills me with both surprise and a strange sense of satisfaction.How about a spoonful of your own medicine? Doesn’t taste so good, does it?

“Okay, whatever.” He pouts, sullen like a child. “We’ll do it your way. No sex. Just friends, like we were.”

I point a finger at him. “Don’t get it twisted. I’m not your friend. I’m not your partner in crime or no-strings fuck buddy. I’m helping you with the house, and then I want you gone. Got it?”

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