Page 32 of Scorched King

I clenched my jaw to keep myself from telling him to fuck off. It wasn’t fair, and it would give Sasha the wrong idea. If I wasn’t going to claim her then I couldn’t stop Bear from making a play. I had to keep reminding myself of that, although why I couldn’t get it through my thick skull I didn’t understand.

Finally, I nodded. Since I didn’t trust myself with words, I left it at that, knowing Bear would understand.

“See you tomorrow, beautiful,” Bear said as she gave him a small hug. I turned toward the kitchen, forcing myself not to watch their goodbye as I searched for leftover food. Since I’d skipped dinner, maybe I could chalk this surly mood up to being hangry. It was semi logical and good enough.

After Bear left she followed me into the kitchen and stopped next to me as I perused the fridge. “Why do you want to go to my apartment now? Couldn’t it have waited until tomorrow?”

The pithy glare she gave me, followed by the aggressive crossing of her arms over her chest should have been a warning. But I didn’t take well to any kind of warning.

I looked over at the clock on the microwave. “It’s ten-thirty. In what world is that the middle of the night?”

She snorted, and made a funny face that I had to admit was one of the most adorable things I’d seen in a while, even if she hadn’t meant it that way. “I guess I’m used to lights out at the hospital by now. It’s weird though. At ten pm they turn all the big lights off and the night lights come on. And yet, no one can really sleep well there because they come in every hour to check on you, so what’s the point? They should let people do what they want.”

I wasn’t sure if there was a point to this rant, but I gave up on food and led her towards the door as she rambled on. She froze when we got there, pulling her hand free from mine.

“I can’t go out looking like this.” We both glanced down at her attire and it was my turn to snort because at some point she had changed into pajamas that included long pants, a long sleeve shirt and some sort of fuzzy boot slipper things that looked like they were practically ready for snow. “You are literally covered from neck to toes. What’s the problem?”

“Look at me. I have a reputation to uphold around here and this isn’t it.”

“Excuse me? I wasn’t aware of any reputation.” And I wasn’t sure how I felt about her having any kind of reputation that would have to do with the clothes she wore or the lack of at times.

“I just don’t want anyone to see me like this. These pajamas are comfortable, but ridiculous and hideous. They have chickens on them. I wore them on purpose.”

I couldn’t imagine what the hell purpose she might have other than comfort, but I could feel the question I knew I would regret coming before I could retract it.

“What purpose?”

She looked up at me, her gaze darting from left to right to avoid meeting mine. “Isn’t it obvious?”

I blew out a breath and shoved my hand into my hair. Women. “If it was obvious, why would I ask?”

Her face scrunched up as if I was suddenly a puzzle she wanted to figure out. Or an alien she couldn’t identify. Jesus Christ. What the hell was wrong with me? Was there no face she could make that I didn’t find cute and sexy? Even now, when this outfit made her look about sixteen years old instead of twenty-seven.

Twenty-seven. Almost half my age. I would do well to keep remembering that.

But I never fucking did.

Because every time she crossed her arms over her ample chest and pushed her tits in my direction, I sure as fuck wasn’tthinking about her age or why I should keep away from her for that matter.

Numbers and years meant nothing against obsession.

“If you’re that worried about someone seeing you, I can go and get whatever you need. Just make me a list.”

“You would do that?”

“Of course. Why not?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure you have more important things to do than fetch anything for me. Isn’t that what prospects are for? Hell, even Bear would have done it if you’d asked.”

“Christ, Sasha. Just make a goddamned list and I’ll go get it. I’m capable of handling it.” Not to mention there was no way in hell I was sending a prospect, or anyone else for that matter, to paw through her things. Fuck Bear. Now I was looking for something a hell of a lot stronger than food to curb my temper.

Where the hell was my whiskey?

“That’s okay. I’ll take a risk. I don’t think I want anyone but me picking out my unmentionables.”

My brain blanked for a second. Or quit working all together except in one mode. And now I had to see these unmentionables. As she stood there waiting for me to precede her, I tried to re-fire my brain into some kind of normal mode, but it was now stuck well and good in the gutter.

“So these unmentionables… Are we talking thongs or vibrators?” I asked. “Or both?”

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