Silver Bastard (Silver Valley #1)(35)
Author: Joanna Wylde

Twenty minutes later, I finished off my dinner of generic macaroni and cheese (nothing but the best in my house!) feeling pleasantly relaxed. It was nearly eight thirty and the sun had faded behind the hills. There would still be light for a long time but when you lived in the bottom of a valley, direct sun exposure is sadly limited . . .

Like most nights, I decided to climb out on the roof next door. I grabbed a blanket and threw it down, lying back and closing my eyes to ponder the situation with my mom.

Would she really leave him?

The thought excited and terrified me. For years I’d been furious over all she’d done to ruin my life. I couldn’t count how many times I’d cried, Regina’s strong, work-hardened arms wrapped tight around me. Slowly that had changed . . . I wouldn’t say I’d forgiven Mom, but holding on to anger gets old. Last year I’d made a conscious decision to start letting it go. Sometimes I managed to pull that off, sometimes I didn’t.

But maybe this time things might really be different. Could I let myself hope? Just a little?

“So which one is it?”

I jerked upright with a squawk. Puck Redhouse was sitting on the false front of the building directly in front of me, arms crossed and eyes hard.

“Excuse me?”

“Which guy are you fucking?” he asked, the words clipped. “First I see you playing grabass with Blake Carver. Then you’re with Collins. Now Blake’s back at your place half naked. Your girl Danielle know what kind of ‘friend’ you are?”

My eyes narrowed as his meaning sank in. I opened my mouth to insist that there was nothing between me and Blake, then snapped it shut because why the hell should I have to defend myself to Puck Redhouse?

“What, can’t think of an excuse?” he asked, voice tight.

“Exactly what should I say? That I’m a slut who’ll sleep with anything that moves? Hypocrite much?”

That startled him. Fair enough—I’d startled myself. This is the problem with alcohol, my sense of self-preservation pointed out. Don’t piss off the scary guy, you fuckwit!

“Guess I had that coming,” he acknowledged reluctantly after a long pause. “It’s none of my business who you sleep with.”

One word from me and he’d make it his business, though. He’d made that clear last night, and now it hung between us so thick I could hardly breathe. Awkward silence fell. I shot a glance at my open window, wondering if I could make a run for it. That’s when I realized Puck must’ve seen me with Blake—all of my curtains were wide open.

I’d gotten too used to his place being empty.

“Feel free to go hide if you’re scared of me,” Puck commented.

“Very mature,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes. “Daring me not to leave? What is this, kindergarten?”

Puck gave a laugh and pushed off the facade, lowering himself to my side on the blanket.

“Seems to be working,” he answered, his words light but his voice still strained. “Maybe I should dare you again.”

I stared out across the roof, refusing to meet his eyes. Then something cold touched my hand. I accepted the bottle of beer Puck offered, taking a deep drink.

“Thanks,” I told him, ignoring the internal voice telling me very firmly to shut the fuck up. “What did you have in mind?”

“I dare you to stay out here with me for a while,” he said slowly. “I dare you to tell me the truth.”

“Why should I do that?”

“You probably shouldn’t,” he said. “In fact, you definitely shouldn’t. I can’t be trusted and I don’t have good intentions. You should go inside right now, little girl. Go sew yourself a doll or something.”

“That is truly shitty,” I said, lying back down on the blanket. “How the hell am I supposed to go back inside now?”

“All part of my evil plan,” he acknowledged, propping up his head with one arm.

“I’m not a little girl,” I pointed out. “I’m an adult.”

“Yeah, there’s nothing like pointing out that you’re all grown up to prove you really are.”

“Why do you always have to be a total asshat?”

“It’s my way.”

I closed my eyes, wondering if I’d lost my mind. Almost certainly. I should go back inside right now—but I could feel him next to me. Smell him. It all came flooding back to me, the way he’d taken my hand and led me back behind the house that night. When he’d pulled me down between his legs, leaning me into his strength . . . When his hands ran across my body, touching me and learning me in the firelight . . .

I’d loved it.

And last night? Best not to think about that.

So incredibly fucked up. Everything. I hadn’t chosen him and I felt guilty sometimes for how good it’d been before it went bad. I shouldn’t have enjoyed Puck’s touch, because it wasn’t right and only a slut gets off on some guy who’s abusing her.

I wasn’t a slut. I was normal.

But that didn’t change the reality that I’d most definitely gotten off with Puck. He was nothing like the others. Not even close. When I dreamed about him and woke up screaming, those weren’t screams of fear. Even now I felt my breasts tightening and I knew if he looked at me, he’d see my nipples under my tank top.

Shit, I wasn’t even wearing a bra.

“So tell me,” he said, his voice soft and compelling.

“Tell you what?”

“Who are you fucking?”

“That’s none of your business,” I said, digging in my heels. “I don’t owe you any answers.”

“You cut hair for anyone?” he asked. The change of subject took me off guard and I didn’t consider my answer before speaking.

“That’s sort of the goal,” I replied. “But I’m not licensed yet, so I only do it for friends. I’m not allowed to take money for it, either.”

“But you do. I saw him pay you. Or was that for other services?”

Douche.

“You tell me,” I snapped. “You were spying on us, right? Do you get off on watching, Puck?”

“No. I hate it when other men touch you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

The admission stunned me into silence. Around us the crickets had come out in force, singing their soft music through the cooling air. I loved summer nights like this, all mild and warm and still . . . Minutes passed without any more snide comments and I felt myself slowly relax. It shouldn’t always have to be a fight.