“Apparently I do.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Oh shit,” Isaac muttered. “Come on, Tiff, time for us to go.”
“I’m on guard duty. He’s not supposed to—”
“Whatever, come on.” He clambered to his feet, dragging Tiffany with him. She’d obviously had a few and allowed herself to be dragged.
The only thing that kept me rooted to the spot as opposed to fleeing down the stairs was the look on Steven’s face. The non-look, free of expression or any hint as to what he was feeling.
“Gemma, maybe we should…” Gary reached for Gemma’s hand and pulled.
“No, no, I want to listen to this. Kit’s gonna get his come-up—”
“Now.”
Even I jumped. I didn’t think I’d ever witnessed Gary answering her back or dishing out orders quite so vehemently.
“Right, right.” She, like Tiffany, allowed herself to be pulled away into the flat, though she was far steadier on her feet. Tiffany had been drunkenly amiable, Gemma curious but sober and discreet.
Steven? Oh, Steven leaned against the guard rail at the top of the stairs, glowering like he hated me. I couldn’t blame him.
Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
I gripped the banister, not knowing whether it was to stop myself falling backwards down the stairwell, or throwing myself on his mercies.
Throwing myself over the banister was, of course, an option, and becoming ever more attractive by the second. Less idiotic than merely falling, and less humiliating than asking him to forgive me and being shunned.
“So.” He lifted one eyebrow, arching it in such a perfectly-executed gesture of disdain I would have winced, were I not so admiring.
Admiration culled by the realisation he was literally looking down on me. Only by one or two steps, though.
“I was set up,” I blurted out.
The raised eyebrow stayed just so.
“I didn’t know this was your place. Gary and Gemma invited me out. I mean, they kinda forced me.”
Steven crossed his arms. Uh-oh. Not good. Very confrontational. Or closed-off at least.
“If I’d known I never would have…” Oh shit, no. Exactly the wrong thing to say.
“Right.” Unfolding his arms, Steven craned his neck, looking up to the ceiling as if searching for divine inspiration. I concluded he got no answer because all he did was rest his hands on his hips and glare at me, muttering “That’s quite something. I appreciate—”
“Shit, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant—”
“No? Do you mean to tell me if you’d known I lived here now, you would have been okay with attending? Or is it closer to the truth you would have run as fast as you could in the opposite direction?”
“Well, no, I…” I couldn’t think of what the fuck to say, nor let my gaze settle on anything. Looking at Steven hurt, and looking anywhere else gave the impression of cowardice. Which probably would have been an accurate description, but I didn’t want to give him outright confirmation of what a fucking wuss I was. “I didn’t think…”
“No, please.” He held up a silencing hand—not with flattened palm like a traffic cop holding back the tide, but more like a repulsed onlooker who couldn’t believe the car crash he’d been forced to witness. He even turned his head slightly, like a man just as keen as me to bolt, but with more self-restraint and social graces. Wanting to turn his back but not wanting it to be obvious. “You don’t have to make excuses, Kit. I get it. You were tricked into coming here, and now you are, I’m guessing you’d really rather not be, yeah?”
I expected him to turn away at that, head indoors leaving my ears ringing with the echo of a slamming door, but he paused. Waited. For what, I didn’t know.
Then I realised. He wanted a reaction. A reply. For me to give him something. And I was clueless. Lost.
I did what I always did. Backed off.
I let one foot lower itself onto the step below; keeping my gaze fixed on Steven—for once—meant I caught the grimace, the twist to his lips that didn’t have to say out loud, I expected as much.
And I waited for him to speak but he pushed his weight off the guardrail and turned to head for the front door.
Ugh. Kit. You fucking idiot. “Wait.”
He stopped in his tracks, but not for long. More of a flinch, a blip in his stride which he then continued.
I bit my lip and gripped the banister even harder, as if it were a lifeline and I shot an angry glance at my own hand. More like a fucking millstone. “Steven. Fucking wait. “ I reached the top of the flight of stairs without knowing how I’d got there, but knew it was the right place for me to be. “Okay, that’s…” I stopped the door with one thrust-out hand, imagining that Steven had enough pent-up energy in the arm which curved around the door’s edge to slam it back in my face.
But I’d misjudged—yet again—and managed to push the door so hard it bounced back from its hinges’ limits and nearly hit Steven in the shoulder as he spun round to face me.
“Look, I know you don’t want me here, but…”
“But?” His lips thinned and his eyes flicked left, right, up, down, anywhere but at my face. I hated seeing that mouth so unforgiving and angry. It was made to smile. Right before I shoved my cock in it.
“Well?”
I shook myself out of it. Now is not the time to think like that, Kit. “I am here, so…” I shrugged. “And…”
“I thought you’d want to leave?”
“Do you want me to?”
“Oh.” His shoulders sank. “Look, just…” One hand reached for the door again and the other gestured in midair, a half-hearted, couldn’t-care-less dismissal. Be gone, it said, with silent disdain.
“No.”
Steven flinched, as if unsure of what he’d heard. “What?”
“I said no.” And I stepped inside the house, easily closing the door behind me because he, in his what the fuck are you doing state, didn’t—couldn’t?—fight back.
“Hey, what the—would you get the fuck
