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The bed dips, dragging me into the center of the mattress against my will. My head bounces off something pointy, and a soft grunt of pain slips from my lips.
“Oh, so you are alive!”
Prying open sleep-crusted eyes, I squint at the inside of the comforter I’ve pulled over my head. The events of last night filter into my conscious mind, making me groan again. Theodore Grady would have a magic fucking tongue. Asshole. And what was with that Daddy shit? Was he kidding?
It sure didn’t feel like he was kidding. Jesus Christ, why do I kind of hope he wasn’t kidding? I have never, ever, in my life considered “Daddy” to be anything other than borderline creepy. But last night...fuck. It was hot.
“You would be the first person to die in a horror film.” Dane drags the covers away from my head, causing unfiltered sunlight to attack my poor, unsuspecting eyes. I swear I closed those blinds before I went to bed.
“I would outlive you, shithead.”
Dane makes an amused sound, pushing me off his arm with a huff. “I made so much fucking noise, and you slept through it all.”
“You didn’t?—”
“I was talking to you,” he raises his eyebrows to stress the point further. “And you weren’t answering. I thought you died.”
I mumble something that’s meant to be a defense of my actions, but it comes out sounding more like a garbled plea for darkness as I pull the covers over my head to cut off the offensive sunlight. The blanket is ripped away a moment later, slipping through my fingers before I can get a better grip on it. “What the fuck?”
“Get up, fuckface. I brought breakfast.”
“I hate you.”
“I got coffee.”
“I love you,” I amend, forcing myself to sit up on the bed.
Dane is still fully dressed in his all-black clothes from the night before, sprawled across the bed with his feet hanging over the end of the mattress. He quickly rolls away from me, dropping off the far side before popping into a standing position with entirely too much energy for this early in the morning. “You’ve got three minutes before I eat the cheese danish I brought you.”
I’m in and out of the bathroom in two minutes flat, my nose leading me toward the kitchen like I’m chasing visible scent trails. Dane is sitting in one of the matching chairs around his table, phone in one hand and a to-go coffee cup in the other. There’s a half-eaten pastry in front of him, but I spot an untouched danish and coffee at the seat across the table.
“You actually brought breakfast.”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“I just,” clearing my throat, I sink into the chair opposite him, reaching for the still-warm coffee. “I guess I keep forgetting you’re an adult.”
“I suppose that’s fair. This is your first time home since I moved out.”
I nod slowly, picking at the edge of my pastry. “I’m sorry I wasn’t around more, Dane.”
“It’s too early for this conversation, Cherry.”
“Don’t call me?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he cuts me off, a piece of his danish hitting me in the brow when he flicks it across the table. “I’ll stop calling you Cherry if you stop getting sentimental. You got out, and I didn’t. It is what it is; there’s no need to talk about it.”
“What?” My eyes cut to Dane’s face, examining the intentionally blank look he’s put on. “What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means something. If you want out, you could?—”
“I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t. Leave it, Charity.”
“Why couldn’t you?”
Dane sighs, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t know either, do you?”
