Page 143 of The Casualty of Us
A few more guitar chords fill the air, and I take a deep breath before reaching for the handle and pushing the door open. Barely managing a single step in before coming to stop yet again at the sight that greets me as my stomach flips with nerves.Because he is gorgeous and shirtless and wearing those fucking sweatpants again, but…he also hasn’t looked up.
Is pointedly ignoring me, actually, as he lies in bed and picks a few more strings on the guitar.
“Hey.” I clear my throat and close the door behind me before lifting the bag at my side. “I brought ice cream.”
His fingers finally slow to a stop, chest rising before he exhales quietly. “I’m not in a good mood tonight, Ophelia.”
“I know,” I mutter, trying not to frown while taking another couple of steps. “Hence the ice cream.”
A short scoff leaves him, and he picks a few more chords while I close the rest of the distance to the bed. I set the ice cream down on the nightstand before scooting myself onto the edge of the mattress and pushing the hood off my head. Staring at him as he continues to pick at the strings while humming under his breath and watching as his face falls a little more with each one until they start to transform into some kind of melody.
And the tune is clearly raw but pretty enough to keep me silent until he eventually stops with a sigh. “What are you doing here, O?”
“I didn’t like the way we left things today.”
“And?”
His eyes finally lift to mine, and the frustration in them has me fighting some more nerves while admitting softly, “And…I just wanted to fix it.”
“Fix it?” he echoes tightly, and I see his hand clench around the guitar for a beat. “How do you plan on fixing it, Ophelia?”
Well, I thought we’d start with some ice cream and go from there, but apparently I was wrong on that front.
I swallow down the witty retort, trying for diplomacy instead. “It might help if I knew what happened or what I did—”
“Jesus Christ.” A laugh falls from his lips that’s anything but funny, and he drops his head back against the headboard suddenly. “You really might drive me fucking crazy.”
“Hey, now.” I scowl. “That’s not fair—”
“No.” His head snaps back up, eyes immediately slitting. “What’s not fair is drunk dialing someone, then acting like it’s the worst thing in the world when they get there.” I blink at him, barely having a second to process before he sits up. “Or how about messing around with them and then never talking about it?”
“That’s not all on—”
“Or how about when you introduce me as just Hayes and then fucking plant yourself on my desk two seconds later?”
My mouth pops open, shock flitting through me as he continues to hold my gaze captive. The little flecks of gold all lit up now but not in the way I want them to be for me.
“Ophelia, you’re sending me so many mixed signals that I’m surprised my head hasn’t exploded.”
“I don’t mean to.” I frown, my stomach rapidly moving from a flip to a fall at the way his face goes hard. “I’m not sure what you want me to do differently.”
“I want you to call this what it is for once,” he practically growls, making terror sink its hooks into me immediately at the implications. “That’d be a great start.”
“I can’t do that,” I whisper, seeing the hurt that fills his eyes and correcting quickly. “I just mean, not now—”
“Is this about the Josey thing still?”
“No, it’s not about that.” My brows fall with the statement, and he gives me a doubtful look. “I mean, maybe a little, but not the majority of it.”
“Then what—”
“What do you think happens when we step outside these walls?” His face turns confused at the question, and this timeI’m the one scoffing. “What do you think happens if I say, ‘Oh hey, Kyler, meet Hayes. He got me off last week, and we like to cuddle sometimes so go away.’” A humorless giggle bursts past my lips, part out of nervousness because— “Much less introduce you as my boyfriend, which is what I think you’re suggesting.” His gaze flashes with something that looks a hell of a lot like possession, and I push at him because of it. “So what happens, Hayes? Huh?”
All he gives me is a lift of his chin, though, before setting the guitar down beside the bed and leaning back again to cross his arms. Settling in.
“Fine.” I narrow my eyes at him. “I’ll tell you what happens: one person tells another person and another until eventually the whole world finds out that you’re more than just my brother’s roommate.” Something between a laugh and gasp leaves me this time, and his nostrils flare. “What do you think happens the second we step outside those gates and someone notices that America’s thirty million dollar girl is dating the prince of rock?”
His face twists at the term, and he snaps, “Don’t call me that.”
