Page 48 of Bittersweet Revenge
I’ll kill his father.
Then Tiernan will kill me.
I want it to be him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Tiernan
The moment Deanshuts down, I feel the wall between us, see the light in his eyes dim.
I’m not supposed to care. With anyone else I wouldn’t. It’s so unfamiliar that I do—like this strangeness, a discomfort in my chest. It takes me a moment to realize it’s less because I’m not sure what to do with experiencing these feelings myself and more that I don’t like to see it from him. After all, it’s my job to take care of what’s mine.
“Why are you pouting? I know I fucked you hard enough, so that can’t be it.”
Dean’s eyes narrow, only not in that sexy-hateful way, but in the real hateful one. Right. So apparently, I said the wrong thing. I’m shit at this.
“I’m fine.” He rolls over and tries to get out of bed, but I grab him and pull him back down. He goes easily, which tells me he doesn’t really want to leave this bed.
“Listen, my default is asshole. I don’t know how to be anything else, and I don’t want to learn.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. We fucked. What else are we supposed to do?”
I frown. Do I want him to fucking cuddle me and tell me all the secrets of his heart? Hell no. “Good point. This is usually where I kick the person out, so I guess we just…lie here.”
“Or I could go sleep on the couch.”
I roll my eyes. “Not happening. I said I would fuck you all night. I can’t do that if you’re not in my bed.” I flop down on my back beside him and look at the ceiling, Dean doing the same.
The room is silent, and we’re both just lying here. My leg starts twitching, and the quiet grates on my nerves, which doesn’t typically happen, so I blurt out, “Do you want to smoke a bowl?”
“I’ve never done that.”
“Wait, what? How are you eighteen and never gotten high before?”
“Nineteen.”
I frown. “You’re a freshman.”
“Just turned nineteen this summer and started school late.”
Oh, that makes sense. Still, “How are you nineteen and never gotten high before?”
“Because, asshole, not everyone lived the same fucking life as you. Jesus, you can be a prick.”
“Yeah, well, that’s why I get your dick so hard. I’m getting you high.”
Reaching over, I press the code into my drawer, open it, and tug out the box with my stash of weed, papers, and pipe. It automatically locks when I close it. I sit up on the bed, and since taking the time to roll the perfect joint isn’t really what I want to do right now, I find a good bud and pack it in the bowl.
“Sit up.”
“Ask nicely.”
“Sit the fuck up.” At his death glare, I relent. “Please.” Then, “Jesus, you’re fucking cute.”
