Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71202 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
“Sorry,” I apologize to him when he starts to pick the bell peppers off of his slices of pizza. He doesn’t say anything in return. He just silently continues to eat, his eyes locked on his food. I look at Ugly but I’m unable to answer his questioning look.
We both seem at odds at figuring out how to help our friend. I mean, I have a few ideas, but the help I’m willing to provide would never be done in front of an audience. I take everyone’s plate when we’re done eating and put the leftover pizza in the fridge to keep my hands busy. I look over my shoulder when I hear a noise at the dining room table. Thankfully, Ugly isn’t trying to help Aro stand from his chair. I know it would only piss Aro off. I know he hates feeling helpless, especially doing things that were more muscle memory than things he would have to focus on before getting shot.
I wave a quick goodbye to the guys as they settle into the living room before heading back to my bedroom. I don’t know how long Ugly plans to stay but I get the feeling that after he leaves, Aro and I aren’t going to go back to what we were doing before physical therapy.
Ugly being here is a reminder to both Aro and me, that what we did, the kissing and the holding that Aro was in desperate need of after his panic attack, not only shouldn’t but can’t happen again.
Chapter 14
Aro
I watch Ugly as he sips his second beer, trying to figure out if he’s cognizant of the weirdness between Slick and me. He seems quite content to sit in silence. At least he appears that way but I know better. The man probably has a million questions, and it’s rather unusual for him not to ask them.
The loss of the majority of my right leg is a big deal for me, and I know he can sense that. But I don’t want to talk about it with Slick, or him, or a counselor. I mean, what’s there even to tell? Anyone with eyes can see what’s going on.
I’m envious of Slick being able to leave the room without it seeming weird.
Maybe Ugly is regretting coming up here after all. We haven’t spoken a word when Slick comes back from her bedroom. I want to bite my knuckle to keep from groaning, but it would only draw more attention to me. She’s back in her yoga clothes—a sports bra and skintight leggings. It’s an unusual sight. Slick does more yoga than is probably healthy for the average person. Even back at the clubhouse, it was common to see her heading out to the gym for a session.
She doesn’t say a word as she walks through the house and heads to the back door, through the kitchen.
I glance back at Ugly, feeling a little irritated to know that he might be watching her too, but his eyes are locked on me, a devious smile on his lips. I hold his gaze because looking away would say more than I’m willing to.
Thankfully, he doesn’t open his mouth to give me shit about Slick. Unfortunately, her chosen destination in the backyard puts her in clear sight of the living room window. I get lost for a second, watching her stretch, the limberness of her body making my mouth water.
Kissing her earlier felt like what I needed to do to get back to reality after my panic attack. I was both irritated and relieved when Ugly called. I know things could have gone further between the two of us, but I also know how complicated that makes things. Complicated is the last thing I need in my life right now. I already have too much shit on my plate.
Just knowing that I’m caught looking at her again, I glance back at Ugly. However, he isn’t watching me this time. His gaze is focused right where mine was out the window. I sweep my leg in his direction, bumping into the recliner to get his attention. I barely manage to keep my growl under control.
“Quit fucking watching her,” I snap. He chuckles, taking another sip of his beer, but thankfully, he doesn’t question why I don’t want him looking at her. Yet the need to explain still doesn’t go away.
“She’s a teammate, remember?”
He grins as he lowers his beer bottle to the coffee table.
“What’s that smile all about?” I ask.
“I don’t think I need to be the one reminded about the pact,” he says, one eyebrow shooting up in challenge.
“I don’t need to be reminded.” It’s a lie. I haven’t convinced myself that hooking up with her is a good idea, I know it’s not. I’m not in denial, but I also know how good it felt with her on my lap, my hands on her skin, my mouth crushed against hers. I try to reason with myself that it was the adrenaline from my panic attack that made it so great.