Page 8 of Use Me Up

Ellis looks entirely too pleased with himself. He smiles up at the ceiling as if he’s just cured cancer or something.

I have another jolt, because I know that Ellis is—can be—kind of awful. They really both can, but they’re omegas, and they have a traumatized past, and they are both so disgustingly attractive, and they smell good, and… and… everyone lets them get by with it, that’s the thing.

“What happened?” says Calliope, and now her voice is shaking.

Ellis gestures for me to give him the phone.

I sigh. “He’s right here. He wants to talk to you.”

“Yes, let me talk to him right now,” she says, insistent.

I hand the phone over.

He puts the phone to his ear. “Hey.”

I can’t hear what she’s saying. I just hear her voice, and it’s very high-pitched and scoldy, and it goes on for a long time, and he listens and he’s still smiling. Finally, he says, “Last night, you made it very clear that I needed to move on, so I did.” There’s more of Calliope talking on the other end, but I can’t hear what she’s saying. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, “I’m sure you’re so very worried about poor Hannah. She is fine, by the way.” He gets out of the bed, tossing the covers aside, and saunters out of my bedroom, yawning and scratching his stomach. Calliope is still talking. He’s rolling his eyes. He disappears from my sight.

I’m naked.

I find my yummy sushi pajamas, and then think better of them and open my dresser, looking for some pajamas that look even vaguely feminine or appealing or anything. There are just piles of comfy plaids and printed sleepy turtles and Sailor Moon and Rainbow Brite. Am I twelve? I think, frustrated.

I put on a sports bra. I slip into a pair of plaid pajama pants. I look at myself in the mirror and try to convince myself to only wear that, but my stomach is just… not flat. Wincing, I put on a pajama shirt that has flowers on it, and I run my hands through my hair. It is as mussed as his, but it doesn’t make me look endearing, not at all. I look like someone’s kid sister at a slumber party.

When I get out into the living room, Ellis is saying into the phone, “You can’t have it both ways, you know. You can’t expect me to follow you around for the rest of our damned lives. You picked him, and I don’t know what you want me to say.” He listens for several minutes, and then takes the phone away from his ear and looks at the screen. His jaw twitches. He tosses the phone on the breakfast bar that separates my living room from my kitchen. He looks like a thunder cloud.

I bite my lip.

“She hung up.” He isn’t looking at me.

I dart over to pick up my phone. So, now what? I have been used to make her jealous, mission accomplished. I guess he gets dressed and leaves now.

He sighs heavily, rubbing one of his big hands against his neck.

I am struck by how uncovered he is. He’s only wearing a pair of black boxer shorts. I can see his muscled stomach. I can see the dark hair that accentuates every one of his muscles. I can see the hair on his bare legs. I can see his feet.

I suck in a shaky breath.

“I’m up here,” he drawls, amused.

I meet his gaze, and I can feel my face heating up.

He’s grinning at me. “This might be fun, actually, Hannah. This might be really fun.”

What might be?

He smirks. “I’m going to take a leak.” He goes past me and into my bedroom.

I stand there, holding my phone, running my hand over my hair, trying to make it lie down. I wander into my bedroom, but he’s peeing with the fucking door open, so I jerk back out of there, swearing under my breath.

He comes out and finds his jeans. He steps into them. “We should talk about… what this is, how it works, if you have boundaries or something.”

“Um… okay,” I say.

“Cool,” he says, buttoning and zipping up. He does not put on a shirt. He goes out, shirtless—gloriously shirtless—and sits down on my couch. He spreads out, legs open, arm over the back of the couch and raises his eyebrows at me, an invitation.

I sit down next to him. I put my knees together. I fold my hands over my knees.

He lets out a regretful noise and pulls himself in, his posture mirroring mine. He puts his hands together between his knees and studies them. “Uh… how are you?”