Page 33 of Burn for You

“That app is bullshit anyway,” he says, setting his keys downon the kitchen counter. “It’s not like anyone finds what they’re looking for.”

“What sources are you getting your information from? Because I can assure you that I getexactlywhat I’m looking for on there.”

He leans against the counter folding his arms across his chest. “Yeah, you and everyone else that’s only looking for a quick fuck are why dating apps don’t work.”

“Oh yeah, cause your method of giving every person in range a death glare is really working out for you.”

He scoffs. “Not that it’s any of your business but I don’t have any trouble in that department.”

I cross my arms. “Really? Because I don’t recall seeing you even glimpse at a woman in the last six months. Unless you count Beatrix. But then again, you were more like glaring at her, so it doesn’t really count.”

“It doesn’t count because she was eighteen and you sent her over.”

I hold back the laugh threatening to bubble out of me at the memory of the night that three teenagers fawned over Caio and Rafael.

“That was all Isla actually, but I don’t know why you’re making this worse for yourself, I tried to give you one and you’re narrowing it down to zero.”

He sighs, glaring at me and I just smile back. This is the most we’ve interacted since I’ve been here and it’s the most comfortable I’ve felt. Bickering with him is far more comfortable than pretending like he doesn’t exist. Although I think it’s been more the other way around. I’ve been going about my normal day to day, except my shifts at the bar, but it’s like living with a ghost. Rafael has been avoiding me.

“That app is bullshit,” he says again, changing the topic.

“It’s only bullshit if you don’t use it to your advantage. Maybe you should set up an account, that way they don’t have to witnessyour charming personality in real life before they decide if they want a night alone with you.”

“I’m good.”

“If you need a good spot for a first date, there’s this restaurant called Olive&Vine. Grumpy staff, but it’s got areallynice supply closet.”

His eyes narrow in on me before he stalks over to me, resting his hands on the back of the couch as he leans down, his movements almost predatory. “I like to treat the women I see to more than a supply closet quickie, maybe you should raise your standards.”

My heart skips a beat. Why did it just do that?

“Who said it wasn’t my idea?” I say.

He’s so close I can feel the warmth of his breath as he lets out a sigh, his breath skating over my lips where his gaze is fixed. My throat tightens up being this close to him, like my body doesn’t know whether to go into fight or flight. Whether to flinch back or to lean forward.

“Because something tells me you didn’t find what you were looking for sitting in between rolls of toilet paper.”

Another skipped beat.

“What is it that you think I was looking for, Rafael?” I whisper. My voice breathier than I’d intended as I look straight into his dark eyes. Surveying my every breath.

His nostrils flaring before he pushes off the couch. “Night, Whitley,” he says, before he walks down the hall and slips into his room, and then I’m left in this big house, alone, again.

I yawnas I throw my gigantic covers off my legs. Seriously, Rafael has this place decked out like a five-star hotel. Every room has the bed made with plush covers, and the sheets tucked firmly into the corners of the mattresses. It somehow makes me feel evenless at home than I already did. Like a constant reminder that this is temporary. Right now, it feels like everything in my life is just that; temporary.

It’s like he’s always expecting someone to show up, yet I’ve never heard of anyone staying with him until I got here.

I slide my fluffy socks over my feet. I’m wearing the ones that have all the individual toes. Yeah, it’s weird, but they’re incredibly cozy.

I rub my eyes as I pander out my room into the quiet house. I look both ways down the hall and see no one. Go figure.

I slip out of the doorway and head to the kitchen, hoping it’s equally quiet there. Maybe Rafael has gone to work early today. I wouldn’t be surprised, not with how offended he looked when he heard that I was going to be spending two weeks here with nothing to do except read and simply exist in his space.

I get a glass of water without making more noise than necessary. There’s something about a really quiet house that makes you feel like you should be quiet as well. I hate it.

I slide my feet across the floor as I make my way back to my room, but I halt when I hear a grunt from behind a closed door.

I stand frozen in the hallway. Not sure whether to stay on course, or whether to make a pit stop. Another grunt comes from behind the door, and my curiosity gets the better of me. I place my glass down on the side table that is conveniently right next to the door where the noises are coming from.

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