Page 33 of Flagrant Foul
Oh God.
Two outgoing calls and five voice notes sent.Five? Come on, man, get it together.To make matters worse, there are two blue ticks next to each message, so I know Teddy has listened to them now. He hadn’t last night. He must have had his phone on downtime. That’s why we thought it was a good idea to come back to the apartment.
Ugh.
I sit up, hanging my head in my hands and massaging my temples as I wait for the worst of the dizziness to pass.
By the time I make my way into the living area, the smell of cooked bacon greets me. My insides quiver as the delicate equilibrium between nausea versus hunger tips the scale this way and that. When the matter is decided, the scale settles on hunger, and my stomach pangs deeply.
Teddy is at the stovetop, showered and dressed. He’s wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt that’s a few shades darker blue than his eyes. He looks like he’s been up for a while, but the citrus and leather scent of his body wash still clings to him.
Another pang hits me. Deeper and lower down than before. My heart begins to beat in time with the dull thud in my head.
Teddy has a set of tongs in his hand, and he’s using them to nudge slices of bacon around the pan. When he sees me, his top lip stiffens slightly, and he turns a piece of bacon over in a way that’s so pointed it’s clear to me immediately that it’s an action laced with a threat.
He looks better than he did last night, but still not what I’d call well rested. There are faint circles under his eyes, but what worries me more is his demeanor. The arctic calm from last night is still present, wrapped around him like a shroud. His eyes are narrowed like he’s looking into a cold wind.
It's not great, but it’s okay. I know him, and I know the best thing to do when he’s like this is to tackle the situation head-on. Apologize, mean it, and move on.
“Sorry about last night,” I say quickly. “I was out of it, and I guess I thought it was a good idea to call you a bunch.”
He doesn’t react at all, and that unnerves me. Usually, when he’s angry, he flies off the handle. I’m used to that. I can handle that. This? Not so much.
“The thing…um, that guy, it wasn’t…a thing. It was nothing, honestly. So, I think the best thing to do is just forget the wholemy roof, my rulesthing and move on.” My chuckle is hopeful, clanky, and so dry it gets stuck in my throat.
“I disagree,” he says mildly.
“W-w-what do you mean you disagree?” I wish to God I were feeling sharper this morning, as this conversation is giving me the distinct impression I need all my mental acuity and then some to come out of it on top.
He offers me a small quirk of his lips, just enough to show a hint of teeth, and shrugs broadly in my direction. The action is clearly and notably devoid of regret. “I mean, the seduction is still on, Sev. That’s what I mean.”
He turns and busies himself at the stove, cracking a couple of eggs into the pan and taking a sip of his coffee as he waits for them to cook. I look on in disbelief.What’s all this about a seduction? I know I’m hungover, but Jesus, have I dropped into some sort of alternate universe?
The hollow pop of the toaster startles me, but not him. He butters four slices of toast, two for him and twofor me, and arranges the bacon and eggs neatly on top of them.
He hands me my plate with just enough aplomb that I feel compelled to say something. Before thinking it all the way through, I decide to make light of the situation. A little joke, that’s what we need. A laugh is what this situation calls for.
“Is this part of the seduction?” I ask with a nervous chortle.
He smiles tolerantly, though I can tell he isn’t the slightest bit amused. “Well, you know what they say, handsome. The quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”
My heart drops.Holy shit. He’s completely serious. He was serious last night, and he’s still serious today. What the fuck is happening here?
“But no, this isn’t part of the seduction. You’ll know when the seduction starts, believe me. This is merely me taking care of you because you feel like shit, and that’s what people do when they care about someone. And I do, Sev. I care about you like crazy, even though you might be the biggest ass I’ve ever met.”
There’s that shrug again. It’s sweeter and even less sorry this time.
It’s so sweet that I forget myself. I forget that he’s Nate’s brother and that I’m trying not to look. I forget that he’s impossible and that I can’t have him. I forget I’m supposed to hold him at arm’s length.
He’s so pretty and I’m so hungover that I forget everything that isn’t him and me and bacon. My eyelids droop as I look at him, and my lips pull back way, way too widely. He meets my smile with one of his own. His is sweet and spiteful with a worrying trace of menace.
Neither of us blinks for two, maybe three, seconds, and I start allowing myself to think that maybe everything will be okay. Maybe his sugar levels are low and this is a blip. Maybe he’ll forget about all this, and we’ll go back to normal after breakfast.
A spark flashes, lighting the shadows in a pair of deep-blue pools and making them glow in a way I’m almost positive can’t be natural. I’m right. That spark was no ordinary spark. It was no normal flicker. It was a spark that couldn’t picknormalout of a police lineup if its entire fucking life depended on it.
“Plus”—he drags a hand through his hair in a way I suspect is meant to make him look profoundly reasonable—“I have to make sure you’re strong enough to withstand what I have planned for you, don’t I?”
I’m not sure, but I think I nod. I hope I don’t, but my thoughts are racing unbridled and my head is throbbing so hard that I can’t say exactly how I react.
