Page 59 of Wild King

I don’t stick around to hear her response since it’ll probably just be some one or two word answer that will only piss me off even more. Storming out to the kitchen, I throw open the refrigerator door and grab a beer before marching outside to the patio.

After practically collapsing onto the chaise lounge that is quickly becoming my home office where I meet with people, I chug half the bottle of beer and hope it hits my bloodstream quickly and does something to improve my mood. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than six ounces of beer to do that, though.

I can’t believe she brought a goddamned guy out here. She could have gone anywhere with him, and yet she chose the one fucking place I can’t leave to put on her little romance show.

How the hell I’m going to stay here with her now is beyond me.

By the time I finish that first beer—a matter of seconds, truthfully—I’m no closer to feeling better, so I head back inside for a second one. Something tells me that’s not going to help either, but it sure as hell can’t hurt.

As much as I want to say something to her, I don’t know what exactly that is yet, so I don’t waste time hanging around the kitchen like some sad teenage boy hoping his crush appears so he can have a chance to chat her up. Fuck that. If she wants to talk to me, she knows where to find me.

It’s not like I ever leave this goddamned place.

Halfway back to my new favorite spot outside, I hear footsteps behind me. They don’t sound like they’re from someone who has to go mid-two hundred pounds, so I’m guessing it’s Salem. I expect them to go away once I walk out the door, but they continue to follow me.

So now she wants to talk. Hmmm. I better figure out what the hell I want to say then.

I return to my chaise lounge and wish I had turned on some of the lights back here since it’s starting to get dark. Oh, well. Let’s hope no wild animals decide to check out the backyard tonight.

“Kellen?”

She says my name like a question, although I’m not sure why. Is she unsure who I am now? Some time spent with Micah and now she doesn’t know my name. He must be some lay.

I don’t answer since I’m not sure what I want to say to her yet. She calls out my name again, this time without the question mark, so I calmly say, “Where I always am.”

In the dim light, I see her walk over to where I’m lounging on exactly the piece of furniture meant for that kind of activity. I don’t know how I didn’t notice before, but she’s wearing a pair of white jeans and a blue T-shirt I’ve never seen in the entire timewe’ve been here together. That must have been some special date.

She sits down on the chaise lounge next to mine and says, “You seem to be unhappy about something. What’s wrong?”

A million things threaten to fly out of my mouth at this moment, but I swallow them all and simply answer, “I’m fine. How are you?”

Those two statements come out sounding pretty robotic, and normally, I’d care that a woman I want might not like that. Tonight, though, I don’t give a damn. Don’t like it, Salem? Maybe don’t bring a man to the house I’m forced to stay in as part of my penance for being a social outcast.

“I’m fine too.”

“I went looking for you before. I thought you’d be working. You know, that thing you’re supposed to be doing to fix my problem?” I say through nearly gritted teeth.

“Oh, did you want something?” she asks sweetly.

I don’t know what this game is she’s playing, but I’m not interested. Go find Micah, honey, and leave me alone with my beer.

“Nope.”

It’s never good when two people are down to one word answers. The next step is usually no words.

“About Micah…”

That’s all she gets out before I swing my legs off my comfy chaise lounge and lean forward toward her. She wants to talk about Micah? Okay. We’re going to talk about Micah.

“Yeah, about him. I’d like to know how you’d feel if I brought a woman here. Probably not so great. But then again, I’m an asshole who harasses women, so I guess that’s expected of me. Not sure what that says about you since you’re supposedly a decent person, but hey, who the hell am I to judge, right?”

Because the sun set about twenty minutes ago, I can barely see her face, but damnit if she isn’t smiling. What the hell is there to smile at in anything I’ve said?

Salem doesn’t respond for a few very long moments, which makes me want to continue with my attack, but then very quietly she says, “I wouldn’t like it.”

My brain is filled with dozens of things I want to say to her, so I’m not sure what that answer means. “You wouldn’t like it? What?”

Again just as softly as she spoke the first time, she answers, “I wouldn’t like it if you brought a woman here.”