AllFreeNovel
Share Us
10
RAVEN
You know that thing…Don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Well, I just took a big chunk of that hand.
Not wise.
Not wise at all.
And all that moaning about Shauna breaking up with Kai’s father and the dire consequences, and now I’m doing this?
But I’ll let things roll. Didn’t I just say that? Yes, I did. It’s just that I didn’t have a war with him in mind.
So. Yes. I know what irritates me, and it’s been with me the entire day.
If Kai has issues with me, he should talk.
He should’ve talked to me, to be more precise.
Maybe he wanted to, but I wasn’t receptive. Maybe I’m just rationalizing.
The idea is that a lot has changed throughout the day. And the time we’ve spent away from one another hasn’t been good for us in the least.
Anyway… I don’t have the patience to play with my phone or watch TV while waiting for him.
I try to avoid checking the time.
Twenty minutes is a lot of time when you’re waiting––in my case––and not enough when you have to get somewhere, take a shower, and change your clothes––in his case.
I suppose he was out the entire day.
I don’t know how much time has passed when he knocks on the door.
I collect my bag and phone and head in that direction, set to walk out and not let him in.
Seeing him in my room, the same room in which we fucked like two strangers, makes me grind my teeth.
I open the door and walk out without looking at him.
As if aware of my mood, he stands a couple of feet away, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his back mostly turned to the door, and inherently to me.
He looks away at I don’t know what. No one else is here with us. It’s only the soft rugs and the lights glowing from the ceiling.
The lights are dim, but even so, several details register with me, although they shouldn’t.
The light gray shirt stretched across his muscular shoulders, his tanned forearms, the watch wrapped around his wrist, and his rolled-up sleeves encasing his biceps.
His chest.
His black dress pants done in a perfectly pressed, pigment-rich, light fabric––unlike the brushed wool in the suits he wears in New York in the winter.
They fall over his hard butt, highlighting his hips and legs. His entire attire screams fine quality, and that’s not all.
The scent of his cologne travels to me, and I don’t know what it is…What triggers me… Is it the smell? His silhouette? His stance? The vibe he gives me? All I know is that I find myself on the precipice of a panic attack.
For one, I feel sick. And I have a hard time describing it.
I don’t even know if it’s a medical thing. A physiological thing. Something that has to do with flesh and blood and nerve endings.
