Page 35 of Getting It Twisted

“Why not?”

“So it doesn’t matter to you how it might affect him if he gets hooked on you and then you leave again? ’Cause the world is your playground, is it? Everyone’s emotions are yours to toy with?”

I smirk again, but this time, some darkness slips into my tone. “Right.”

Fuck you. Fuck you. You’re lucky Daniel wouldn’t like it if I smashed your teeth in. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be smiling right now.

George’s grip on me loosens, and his voice goes solemn and quiet. “You knew how he felt about you—no, you know how hefeelsabout you—and you like it. You take advantage of it.”

“What do you mean?” This time, I’m not faking my confusion. As far as I can tell, Daniel doesn’t feel much more for me than annoyance, frustration, and a sprinkle of pity. A part of him might want to fuck me, sure, but that doesn’t mean he likes me. Quite the opposite.

“I think you know what I mean,” George says. “I know you don’t care, but . . . it doesn’t take much to tip him over the edge. If you think you’re just gonna come here and wreak havoc on his life again, you’re wrong. I’m onto you.”

I smile, savoring the taste of blood on my tongue. “Oh, I’m terrified.”

“And don’t even get me started on the criminal stuff. He’s out of that lifestyle, and the last thing he needs is your bad influence ruining all his progress.”

“I’m not into that stuff anymore, I’ve already told him.”

“Yeah, right. My father says a criminal is like a zebra—never changes their stripes.”

“Oh, yourfather. Yeah, that’s a well of wisdom right there.” Fucking Wayne Hastings. Sadistic piece of shit.

George looks as if he’d like nothing more than to hit me again. It won’t take much to blow his fuse . . . My fingers itch to do it. Bruised ribs and a split lip would numb the bad in me a little. I know that from experience.

But . . . Daniel’s downstairs, and I told him I would behave. Looks like I’ll have to get my rocks off some other way.

“Gonna let me go now?” I ask. “Or are you enjoying yourself a bit too much to stop? Getting you all hot and bothered, is it—pushing me up against the wall like this?”

George surges back with a disgusted scoff. “You’re an asshole.”

“You and me both, babe. Now gimme my stuff.”

He grabs the ziplock bag and shoves it into my hand. “Remember what I said. I’m not done with you.”

I blow him a kiss. “Thanks for the key.”

I leave the room, mind buzzing with suppressed anger, and worse: the cold clench of anxious energy I haven’t yet found an outlet for.

Daniel lounges on the living room couch with a drink in hand, laughing at somebody’s joke. Our eyes meet as I bound downstairs. No reaction. He looks at me as if I’m nothing but a vague acquaintance, gaze vacant and dispassionate.

I’m used to guys ignoring me after sex. I’m used to them doing worse things than ignoring me, like calling me a faggot after I’ve sucked them off. I just didn’t expect it from Daniel. But if that’s the way he wants to play, then fine.

I head toward the front door with a scowl.

“Hey!” He stumbles off the couch to come meet me. His cheeks are flushed, his movements uncoordinated. “Are you leaving?”

“Yeah,” I say, holding up the key. “Got what I came for.”

His hand shoots out and grabs hold of my jaw. I try to yank away, but he holds me fast, and his thumb grazes the corner of my lip.

“What happened?”

“What do you think?”

We look at each other for a long moment. I want him to dig his fingernails into my flesh. I want him to yank me closer. I want . . . I want him to lean in and kiss me again.

My cheeks flush with a jolt of embarrassment. Why would I want that? Kissing is fun, sure, but only if it leads to sex. And it won’t, not here. So then why . . .

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