Page 25 of Slashes in the Snow
Ky is covering his ears next to the keypad by the time I make it to the front door.
I punch in the four-digit code, and the blaring siren stops. I’m going to need an eardrum replacement if this shit keeps up.
“This fucking thing needs to be ripped out of the wall.” Ky goes to do just that, and I stop him.
“Please don’t. I’ll call the company tomorrow. They’ll send someone out . . .again.”
“You don’t need a tech. You need a fucking priest to perform an exorcism.”
“If I thought it would work, I’d do it,” I smirk.
Ky crosses his arms and shakes his head, annoyed like usual. Miserable seems to be his perpetual mood.
Ky takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He’s so hostile at times. “Do you mind if I call one of my guys over to take a look? Maybe he can pinpoint what’s wrong.”
“You’re asking my permission?” I try not to drop my jaw. Lately with Ky, it’s an order. Like it or not.
Ky gazes down at me, as if he’s noticing me for the very first time since the alarm glitched. Like I was invisible until just a second ago.
“It’s not my house. Not my shit.” He steals a glimpse at what I’m wearing. A towel and nothing else. I swear he likes what he sees. More than likes, but he’s fighting his feelings to the death. Beating them down and kicking them out. If I was more of a woman, I would try to seduce him. Drop my towel right here in the foyer. Hand myself over to the domineering man I can’t stop thinking about. Dreaming about. It’s becoming a constant state of agony having him under the same roof. And what just happened in the bathtub didn’t do anything but add fuel to my already raging fire.
Awkward. That’s what we are. That’s what we’ve become. There’s no middle ground anymore. Not that there was much of one to begin with, but now it’s like we are just drifting around each other. No connection at all except for the contempt crackling on his end. It makes me sad. Apart from my arresting physical attraction to Ky Parish, there is a part of me that really wants to get to know him. Who wants to know the man Gerard spoke so highly of. It’s like he’s two different people, and I can’t decipher who the real one is.
“You should go get dressed.” Ky clears his throat, crosses his arms, and walks away. “I’ll make that phone call.” His voice is so hard and cold I crumble a bit. Disheartened by the way he brushes me off. I wish I could hate him. I wish I could just put up a wall the way he does. Pretend he’s nothing, like the way he sees me. But I can’t. Something inside won’t let me. I feel . . .sorry for him.And it’s not out of pity; it’s out of empathy. He’s hurting so much, and there’s nothing I can do. I’m helpless, and I despise that feeling. It's how my father used to make us feel. It’s how he used to manipulate us.
I stare at Ky’s back as he leans on the kitchen island. He’s wearing a faded black T-shirt, blue jeans, and a backwards baseball cap with a logo of a round bomb sporting an angry face glaring directly at me. The stupidest idea pops into my head. I want to hug him. Just wrap my arms snuggly around him and let him have all my warmth. Maybe that’s what he needs, a little compassion. Some affection. Someone he can relax around. I can be that person. If he’d let me. I take a step forward and inhale a deep, daring breath. Here goes nothing.
I take two more steps before Ky turns around.
“Why the fuck are you just standing there, Kira? Go get dressed,” he snarls, and my plan is thwarted right on the spot.
Spoiled right to the fucking core.
I turn and head back upstairs, not wanting to agitate the beast any further.
This plan is going to take a bit more strategizing.
Straight back to the drawing board it is.
10
Ky
I pick apart another pistachio,eating the nut and tossing the shell onto the floor. There’s a pile at my feet.
Pistachios are my father’s favorite snack, so it’s no surprise I found a boatload of them in the kitchen pantry. I’m eating them purely out of spite. My plan is to eat them all and leave a mountain of shells for him to find.
I flip through Netflix searching for something else to watch. Three weeks holed up in this house, and I have seriously depleted my options. It’s gotten so bad I was reduced to stalking Kira’s playlist. A bunch of sappy love stories and teenage dramas are definitely not my thing.
I crack apart another nut and toss the shell onto the floor with the rest of them. The mess brings me a twisted satisfaction.
“You can at least use a garbage can.” Kira places a small waste basket next to me, dressed in nothing but a white string bikini. I freeze in place, trying not to choke on the pistachio currently residing in my mouth.
I try to restart my motor functions as I ogle her half-naked body. Her perfect, sexy, seductive, spellbinding, vexing, half-naked fucking body that I want to slide my tongue all over and fuck until the desire is completely out of my system. Until it’s fucking eradicated and I never have to think about Kira Kendrick ever again.
Out of pure vindictiveness, I lift up the toe of my shoe and crush a pistachio shell right into the floor. It crunches so loudly it echoes through the cavernous room. Fuck, that felt good.
Kira just stands there and watches me, barely bothered at all. Which, of course, only pisses me off more.
