Twisted (Tangled #2)(8)
Author: Emma Chase

I raise my eyes to his. My face is tight, my body tense, ready for battle. “You were otherwise occupied.”

he looks down, eyes squinting. Trying to decode my words.

Then he gives up.

“What are you talking about?”

I spell it out for him.

“The blonde, Drew. At the bar?”

he regards me with curiosity, “What about her?”

“You tell me. Did you f**k her?”

Drew scoffs. “Of course I didn’t f**k her. I left two minutes after you did. We both know I last a hell of a lot longer than that.

Or do you need a reminder?”

No, he’s not as obtuse as he seems. It’s kind of brilliant, actually. he’s trying to be cute. Sexy. Trying to distract me.

It’s what he does. And usually it works. But not tonight.

“have you ever f**ked her?”

Drew rubs the back of his neck. “You really want me to answer that?”

That’s a big fat yes, in case you were wondering.

I throw my hands up. “Of course! Of course you screwed her—because God forbid we go one day without seeing someone that your dick isn’t intimately acquainted with! Not that you even remember them, half the time.”

Drew’s eyes narrow, “So which is it? Are you pissed off when I do remember them, or when I don’t? Throw me a clue here, Kate, so I can give you the fight you’re obviously hell-bent on having.”

I pick up my body lotion and rub it swiftly over my arms. “I don’t want to fight—I just want to know why you remember her.”

Drew shrugs, and his tone turns neutral. “She’s a model. her billboard’s in the middle of Times Square. It’s a little hard to forget someone when you see her picture every day.”

And doesn’t that just make me feel so much better.

“how nice for you. Why are you even here then? Why don’t you go back and find your little model, if she means so much to you?”

A small part of me realizes I’m being irrational, but my anger is like a mudslide—now that it’s started, there’s just no way to hold it back.

Drew looks at me like I’ve gone crazy and holds out his hand.

“She doesn’t mean anything to me. You know that. Where the f**k is this coming from?”

And then a thought occurs to him.

he takes a step back before asking, “Are you due for your period? Don’t freak out—I’m only asking because, the way you’ve been acting lately, I think Alexandra’s title is in jeopardy.”

he could have a point. In high school, there was this hallway, the L wing, that was always really crowded between classes. And I knew my period was coming when I’d walk down that hallway and want to jab my pencil into the neck of the person in front of me.

however—for you guys out there? Even if your girlfriend’s tirade is PMS derived? Don’t point that out to her. It won’t end well for you.

I pick up my shoe and throw it, hitting Drew right between his bright blue eyes.

his hands go to his forehead. “What the shit?! I told you not to freak out!”

Every relationship has a screamer. A thrower. A breaker of things. In this one, that would be me. But it’s not my fault. You can’t blame the nuclear missile for going off after all its buttons have been pushed.

I pick up the other shoe and throw that one too. Drew grabs a pillow and uses it as a shield. I retreat to the closet for more ammo, but he grabs my arm before I can get there.

“Would you f**king stop! Why are you being like this?”

I glare up at him. “Because you don’t even care! I’m really upset here—and you don’t give a shit!”

his eyes open wide, incredulous.

“Of course I give a shit—I’m the one getting Jimmy Choos thrown at my head like Chinese freaking stars!”

“If you care so much, why don’t you apologize?!”

“Because I didn’t f**king do anything! I have no problem crawling on my hands and knees when I screw up. But if you think I’m gonna beg because you’ve been possessed by the hormone Demon, you’re out of your mind, sweetheart.”

I break out of his hold and push him on the chest with both hands. “Fine. That’s fine, Drew. I don’t care what you do anymore.”

I grab a blanket and pillow and shove them at him. “But you’re sure as shit not sleeping next to me after you do it. Get out!”

he looks down at the linens. Then back at me. And his face relaxes, turning calm.

Too calm—like the kind before a storm.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

he throws himself on the bed, spreading his arms and legs wide like a kid making a snow angel.

“I happen to like this bed. It’s comfy. Cozy. I’ve made some great memories here. And this is the only place I’m sleeping.”

There’s no point in arguing when Drew gets like this—willful and childish. Sometimes I actually expect him to hold his breath until he gets his way.

I whip the pillow out from under his head, leaving him flat on the mattress, looking up at me.

his brow furrows. “What are you doing?”

I shrug. “I said I’m not sleeping with you. So if you won’t take the couch, I will.”

he sits up. “This is frigging insane, Kate—tell me you realize that. We’re fighting over nothing!”

My voice rises. “So now my feelings mean nothing?”

“I didn’t f**king say that!”

I point a finger at him. “You said we’re fighting over nothing, and we’re fighting about how you made me feel—so that means you think my feelings are nothing!”

his mouth opens, like a fish searching for oxygen.

“You lost me. I have no idea what you just said.”

I close my eyes. And just like that, my anger deflates.

hurt fills me instead.

“Forget it, Drew.”

As I walk down the hall, his voice follows me.

“What the f**k just happened?”

I’m too tired to try and explain it anymore. Usually when we argue, I have a hard time falling asleep. I’m too charged up with adrenaline, with passion.

But that’s not a problem tonight. I’m out like a narcoleptic as soon as my head hits the pillow.

Sometime later—could be three minutes or three hours—a warm, hard chest presses against my back, waking me up. I feel his hand on my stomach. he presses his face into my hair and inhales.

“I’m sorry.”

See, boys, that’s all you have to do. Those really are the magic words—capable of overcoming any obstacle.