Page 32 of Rooster

"Jesus," I mutter.

"I can check," he begins as he steps closer, his intention of following me into my bedroom becoming clear.

It wouldn't be the first time he was in there. He accompanied me when I gathered some clothes the night of the party, but it doesn't feel right for him to be in there again.

I turn and press my palm to the opposite side of the doorframe.

"I think we need to talk," I say, looking up at his face.

"Okay," he says, his voice taking on a different tone.

"I think there may be some crossed wires," I begin, having to pause to figure out what I'm going to say next.

I don't normally spend time rejecting guys. It's too easy to ghost someone and force them to move on. I know it isn't nice, but men get so damned butt-hurt when they're rejected. After a few guys scared me to the point I thought they'd get violent when I was in my early twenties, I've avoided situations like that entirely since.

I can't ghost Twisted if we're going to be staying in the same house, and I also don't think he's a bad guy. I'm just not compatible the way he might think we are.

"I'm so grateful that you helped the other night," I say, dropping my hand when my first instinct is to press it to his chest in a comforting way. "But I don't see there ever being anything more between us."

He looks down at me, pretty blue eyes blinking as if I've just said something in a foreign language he doesn't understand.

I realize as he watches me for a couple of beats that the man has probably never been rejected. It has to be a punch to the gut, and I feel a little bad for him, but not enough to backpedal.

I give him a weak smile, and he takes a step back. I hadn't even realized how close he'd gotten.

"Morgan," he whispers, shaking his head. "I want to apologize if there's been anything I've done that’s made you uncomfortable."

His response is a new one for me.

He doesn't argue his point. He doesn't list off all his attributes or get angry enough to tell me just what I'll be missing by not giving him a chance.

It's very refreshing.

"I just didn't want wires to be crossed," I tell him with another gentle smile.

"I'll be downstairs when you're ready to leave," he says before walking away.

I stare at his back as he descends the stairs because his reaction seems a little too calm. I fully expected the same sort of response I've always gotten. I've never had a guy act so maturely with a rejection, and I don't know how to deal with the reasonableness.

Somehow his reaction makes me feel like the biggest asshole that ever walked the earth as I close myself in my bedroom.

I consider for a second that maybe I should just stay here, that my time at the Cerberus villa has come to an end, but, glancing around my room, not knowing if Henry has been in here, makes my skin crawl. The idea that he could have cameras and is watching me right now moves me into action as I grab a couple of suitcases from my closet and pack.

I'm in a rush, but I make better choices in picking my clothes this time than I did the other night, knowing that I'll be returning to work tomorrow. I doubt my boss would be very impressed if I arrived in leggings and a t-shirt when the dress code at the office is business casual.

Five minutes later, I'm struggling to drag both suitcases, my personal hygiene bag, and my makeup bag through the door.

"I can help with that."

I scream in terror at the unexpected sound of someone's voice behind me.

Whiskey is frowning when I glare at him.

"Calm down, lady," he mutters as he reaches for the handles of both my suitcases.

I huff a laugh because this guy is a breath of fresh air. It's clear he isn't impressed with me, and that sort of makes me slightly more comfortable around him.

"Thank you," I say, but he's already halfway down the stairs with my luggage.

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