Page 68 of Broken Princess

The way he’s shaking against me, I know he’s barely controlling the beast that lies below the surface. Self preservation should kick in, but that’s what the old me would do. I need to push him. It’s the only way to get to the real him. So instead of letting him calm down, I say the words that will probably push him over the edge. “None of your business.”

The buzzer rings before he can respond. Over my shoulder, I see him wrestling with the decision to ignore or answer it. He backs away from me on his knees before shifting his weight and slipping over the side of the bed, pulling his pants up as he walks towards the door.

The person on the other end mentions something about a delivery and now I’m left with a moment of self reflection. Should I be crying tears of frustration that we were interrupted or saying a prayer of thanks?

Logan sits the bags on the counter in the kitchen area, and gets the tv trays from the corner of the room, before untying me. I climb off the bed, grab my pants off the floor, heading towards the bathroom to clean up before settling in to eat. I should probably run through a cold shower to take the last of this edge off. God knows I won’t feel it, since the temperature in the room dropped to sub-zero temperatures once Logan left the bed.

I almost had him. I just needed a little more time. When did he have time to order food, anyway? Was I that out of it that I missed him phoning in a delivery? No, I wasn’t. So either he already had it scheduled to be delivered today, or he did it before we got here. I’m betting on the latter. In fact, the more I think about it, the less sense it makes that Logan would have forgotten the printer was closing early today, or that there was a chance for snow.

The bastard set me up. He wanted me stranded here. Probably to interrogate me about Noel. My sex life is none of his business. But he should also know me better than that. I’m not playing musical beds like him and his friends.

I finish in the bathroom, drying my hands on the towel hanging from the wall. It’s from a set I picked out when I was spending a lot of time here. Looking in the medicine cabinet, I see my bottle of ibuprofen is still in there, and underneath the sink is my favorite bath soap and shampoo.

Why the hell would he keep these? Is he just that callous that he doesn’t care if the women he brings here sees this shit? Or is it here in a community use setting? I fight the urge to dump it all in the trash. I return to the living room my mind swirling with a way to get the upper hand.

We manage to have a civil conversation through dinner. He tells me about working for the lifestyle section at Wilmington Kurt for the winter, and attending cocktail parties with his father. Some of the party stories are funny but overall I can tell he felt like the whole experience was a chore.

“You don’t get how lucky you are to spend time with influential people. To have a father who wants to and gets to be around for important moments in your life. Why are you talking about those parties and events like they were punishments?”

“Maybe, because they were.”

I stop chewing, waiting for him to clarify.

“I know you think I got out of this unscathed, Jordy. But I didn’t.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious. My dad knows I hate attending pretentious social functions, which is why he made me go. And, I had to agree to a few more meals at his country club to get him off my back.”

“Anybody calling you a slut? Or accusing you of screwing the dean? How about making you the target of a sick game and vowing to get you booted from school, and you do not know why? No? So just me, then?”

Suddenly I’ve lost my appetite. I jump up, throwing the rest of my plate in the trash. “I’m ready to head back to school now. Are you gonna give me a ride or what?”

He shakes his head, turning his phone to face me. “The roads are shut down. We’re here for the night.”

“I don’t want to spend the night with you.”

“Too bad, it’s happening.”

“If you won’t take me, I’ll call-”

He flies out of his chair, stalking towards me. “If the next word out of your mouth is his name…”

“You’ll what?”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and huffs, “Dammit Jordy, I don’t wanna keep fighting with you.”

He crosses over to scoop up his empty plate, dumping it in the trash and putting the leftovers away, then goes to his workbench smashing his fist into a lump of clay. I take my journal out of my bag and climb onto the bed to write. My hand is cramping by the time I’m finished. I return the book to my bag, then lay back on the pillow, feeling drained. I roll over on my side, drifting off to sleep.

My eyes fly open when I bump into something. My pulse finally slows, when I remember where I am. I’m still at Logan’s studio and he’s invited himself to sleep in the bed with me. Fucker could’ve been a gentleman and made a pallet on the floor. But no, he’s in bed.Shirtless.

I inch my way to the side of the bed, only to have his hand snake out and pull me back against him, slinging his leg over mine, holding me in place.

My skin erupts in goosebumps when our bodies collide. His breathing steadies and I close my eyes, trying to fall back asleep. It’s impossible being this close to him. Our argument and the interrupted foreplay from earlier invade my thoughts.

No one anywhere would think it’s a good idea to be pressed against your hot shirtless ex, with so many emotions swirling inside you. If I were heartless and cruel, I’d snuff the air from his lungs or pry his fingernails off with a rusty screw driver. But I’m not those things, I’m just me, and I like to use my quick wit and sharp tongue as instruments of torture.

A little voice inside me says,But that’s not all you have. I check the time on my phone, respond to my missed messages, then grab one end of the rope still looped through the bed and slip it over Logan’s hand that’s closest to the headboard.

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