Page 19 of Captive Ruin

I close my apartment door and lean against it, half grateful she’s left, half not wanting to be alone.

Three days. I’m still feeling unsettled, and I don’t know why.

I swallow the rest of my wine and collect Lucy’s glass, carrying them into the kitchen.

There’s a knock on my door as I set them down, and I walk quickly back to answer it, glad she’s decided to stay after all.

Except it’s not her, it’s Scott. Standing there in jeans and a black button-up, with the grin I used to find cute.

“Surprise,” he says, holding up a bottle of wine by way of greeting.

“Oh. Hi.”

“Not the enthusiastic reply I was hoping for.”

“Sorry. Just… unexpected. It’s been a busy few days.”

He walks in, forcing me to step back and let him past. I close the door and take a breath. I could really do without this right now.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, so I thought I’d pay you a visit.”

He means a booty call. That’s about what our relationship has become… if I can still call it a relationship.

“That’s nice of you, but—”

Scott drops the bottle on the coffee table, turns and takes me into his arms. Both hands grip my ass, pulling me against him, and his mouth finds mine. His kiss is sloppy, aggressive, his tongue pushing in, and he ignores my hands on his chest, trying to hold him off.

I break the kiss, turning my head to the side. “Look, uh, can we talk for a moment?”

His mouth trails wet kisses down the side of my neck. “Why don’t we talk afterward?”

“Scott.” I push his chest harder, and he finally gives, taking a half pace back, giving me much-needed space. “You walk in here without being invited. You help yourself to me, to my body.” I’m getting angry now. It’s not just him, it’s Van Wyk. Fuck, it’s all men. “You don’t give a shit how I feel! You just want to fuck me and be done!”

He holds his hands up in placation, looking at me like I’ve grown another head. “Where the hell has this come from?”

“Do you deny it?”

“I do care,” he says gently, stepping in again, his hands finding my waist. “Is it my fault that you drive me crazy? I just see you and all I can think about is how good we are together.”

Pretty words from a man who’s never once asked how my day went. “No.” I shake my head, pulling away, crossing my arms as I pace across the room. “If we’re so damn good together, how come you only turn up when you want sex? How come we don’t talk?” I wave a hand in frustration. “How come we never go on a date, Scott?”

“Okay, let’s talk.” He sits down on my sofa, one arm along the back of it, an ankle crossed over his knee. Looking at me expectantly.

I stare at him in disbelief.

“What do you want to say?” he asks. “I’m listening.”

“It’s not a fucking monologue. I want a conversation.”

“About what?”

“That’s exactly my point!” I cry, throwing my hands up in the air. “We have literally nothing to say to each other.”

“We communicate in other ways,” he says, voice dropping low. “Your tongue can be very expressive.”

Disbelief turns to revulsion. What did I ever see in this man?

“I think you should leave,” I say. “I’m not in the mood for your games right now.”