Page 22 of Song Bird Hearts
“It’s okay,” I murmur. “I’m fine.”
Gilden’s eyes glitter dangerously and it reminds me that he’s here with Knox because he knows what he’s doing, too, but his words always seem to deflect from the danger in his eyes. It doesn’t help that he’s always dressed like he’s ready for a night out in Miami. The loafers really sell the look.
“You want me to fight him?” he asks playfully. “I could fight him. I could lose real pretty, too. Might even guilt him into an apology.” The way he grins gets a small laugh out of me.
“That’s sweet,” I murmur. “And I might actually be interested in seeing you two fight. . .”
Knox glares over at Gilden who only wiggles his eyebrows.
“Want me to be shirtless? Let me see if we got any pudding or Jello. We could wrestle in that shirtless,” Gilden teases.
This time, the laugh that slips out isn’t small. “I like pudding.”
Gilden stands up. “For the lady’s honor. Stand up,mon couillon. Face me like a man.” He holds up his fists mockingly, clearly not in any sort of way that reflects a true fighting stance.
“I’m not fighting you,” Knox rumbles, his eyes on Gilden.
“Afraid?” Gilden goads.
“Yes, that’s it,” Knox replies mockingly.
I sigh. “Who hurt you?” It’s a question meant as a joke, almost like a tease about how displeased he seems to be with everything. I’m not prepared for his answer.
“Everyone,” he replies nonchalantly, as if it’s a cold hard fact. There’s zero emotion in that single word. Nothing.
My eyes meet his, my chest aching at how much was unsaid in that word despite his lack of emotion. “I’m sorry the world was nasty to you.”
Knox looks at me, really looks at me. Those dark eyes trace my face, taking in my expression and the way I’m wringing out my hands to try and keep from offering him a hug. He doesn’t seem the kind to enjoy that.
He sighs. “Set up the game.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Set the fucking game up,” he growls. “Before I change my mind.”
Gilden grins and leans over the table. His whisper is loud enough for Knox to hear. “It’s to avoid fighting me. Clearly.”
I laugh and glance over at Knox as he sets aside the journal he’d been flipping through. “Yeah,” I muse, “that must be it.”
But it’s not, and the mystery that is this man only digs deeper into my skin.
* * *
“That’s not a word,” I growl. “It doesn’t count.”
“Oxters is definitely a word,” Knox argues. “It’s in the dictionary.”
“Okay, smart guy. Then what the hell is it?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“Armpits. In the Scottish dialect,” he answers, no nonsense. Just fucking quiet smugness. He’s gruff, unamused, and apparently deadly serious about winning. He’s well on his way to wiping the floor with Gilden and me.
“You’re makin’ that up,” I laugh. “No one’s ever said that on purpose!”
The next time it’s his turn and he puts down the word, “xystus,” I can’t help but stare at the Scrabble blocks in disdain. I’ve never fucking been murdered this thoroughly in a boardgame.
“Did you sneeze while spellin’ that?” I accuse, squinting at the word.
His eyes flicker and the barest movement at the corner of his lips makes my heart flutter. The fuck.
