Page 3 of The Slayer
“You’re touching me.” His voice was low and sexy—the way it got sometimes at night when she lay in his bed talking to him.
“I know,” she whispered and looked back to his stomach. She splayed her hand out over it, enjoying the way it felt too much to stop.
“Okay.” Chuito reached down and wrapped both hands around her arms. He pulled her to her feet so that she was looking at the thick line of his throat, and the way the muscles on either side of it bunched as if he were stressed. She ran one finger down the curve of it, and for just a moment she swore he shuddered, before he choked out, “You’re drunk.”
“Maybe,” she agreed, because she knew where he stood on the two of them, but shealwayswanted to touch. If she had an excuse, why not go for it? She threaded her fingers into his short dark hair. She tugged, just to see how it felt, and Chuito surprised her by letting her pull his head back. He looked so good, so incredibly sexy. The rush sang into her veins, hot and needy as she rasped, “Oh my God.”
“I’m obviously drunk too.” Chuito pushed her away, forcing her fingers out of his hair. “I didn’t eat yet. Just—” He rubbed a hand over his face and stepped back until he hit the door. “You should go.”
She swallowed hard and looked away, because the rejection stung. She felt it heat her cheeks, and she closed her eyes against the sadness that swept her up without warning. “Yeah, okay,” she whispered as she fought tears. “I’m sorry for touching you.”
“It’s not you,mami,” Chuito said softly and then reached out and caressed her hair, brushing it away from her face and tucking it behind her ear. “You know it’s my issue.”
“Bullshit!”
He flinched, because usually she didn’t swear. “Alaine—”
“No,” she said before he could give her one of his crappy excuses. “Itisme. You didn’t want me. You told me to go back to the church.”
“I didn’t know you were going to date assholes!” Chuito gestured to the window as evidence. “Your taste in men sucks!”
“I give up!” She threw up her hands as the tears spilled out and rolled down her cheeks. “I give up, Chu! No one wants me. I’m broken.”
“You’re not broken.”
“Iambroken,” she promised him. “Very, very, very broken. I’m cold.”
“Cold?” Chuito let out a broken laugh. “Are you crazy?”
“No, really, you don’t know. I’m not very good in bed.”
“Don’t tell me about it.” Chuito held up a hand to stop her. “I didn’t know you’d been sleeping with Edward or that dick Joe before him.”
“You thought I was going to buy a car without test-driving it first?” she asked in disbelief. “What century are you living in?”
“I thought telling you to go back to church would change your stance on that.” Chuito shrugged. “I—” He paused and then turned to the door. He grabbed the handle and twisted it. “Go, Alaine. I’m drunk. You’re drunk.”
“You think you can just dismiss me?”
“It’s my apartment,” he reminded her. “I’m dismissing you. Right now.”
“Fine.” She grabbed her purse off the kitchen table and brushed past him.
Her door next to his was locked, so she had to fish in her purse, but her hands were shaking and she was crying. She was embarrassed, and she wished she had grabbed the bottle off the counter so she could drink all his tequila and just pass out to escape her life. Especially when she could feel Chuito standing there staring at her while she cried over her crushed heart and ego.
“Here’s an idea,” Chuito said slowly as if he didn’t trust himself to speak, but he did anyway. “Maybe it’s not you.Maybe it’s them.”
“It’s not,” she assured him as she found her keys. “It’s me.”
“You’re wrong.” He sounded sure about it too. “I guarantee you, if those fuckers told you that you’re cold, then it’s them.”
“I can’t do it alone either.” She put her key in the door and turned the lock. “It’s me, Chu. Be happy you’re not interested. I’m leaving you alone now.”
She stepped in, closed the door, and threw her purse on the floor. Then she walked to her bedroom, her breathing ragged, the tears dripping down her chin as she kicked off her shoes. She pulled off her top and threw it on her comforter in a huff.
Alaine sat down on the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands. Five years, and she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. From wanting him. From thinking about him every waking moment.
She hated herself for living for those times, late at night, when she’d hear his dreams turn into nightmares, and she’d have a reason to go to him. He was so different at night, without the impenetrable shields he put up during the day.
