isn’t ‘fine’."
He levels her with an impenetrable glare. “That a threat?"
“That's your alternative to me.” She rests the bowl on the edge of the futon. Pursing her lips she feels the temperature of the attic rise.
“Calling the cops then?"
She shrugs her shoulders. “Don't know."
“You mind filling me in before you decide?"
“How about you answer me a few questions?"
“You like asking a lot of questions.”
“And you like avoiding a lot of questions.”
His cold eyes dart in between hers. “Like?” he asks, his voice like stone.
“Like…” The need to know if he really doesn’t remember her from the past has been weighing on her mind since she discovered who he is. “…Why you chose my house, my window and why this ‘gang’ shot you in the first place?"
His lips pucker out and he assesses her with one thorough sweep. “The less you know the better."
“I saved your life. I think I'm entitled to a few answers." His eyes bore through hers like lasers. She knows she’s dancing on the edge of the cliff, but she just can’t help tipping over.
“Didn’t ask you to save me,” he says, indifferent. She opens her mouth but he continues, “When I'm well enough I'll be out of your hair."
“Listen—"
“Colt. Call me Colt. It’s my name. Not ‘Listen’ or ‘You’. Colt. Use it."
Her eyebrow slants up. “I don't think so.”
“Whatever. I'm not answering your questions. The less you know the better.”
“Because of this ‘gang’?”
He doesn’t bother to respond with words, just a nod of his head. She clutches the bowl from the edge so hard she nearly breaks it. “Has anyone told you that you're a real jerk sometimes?"
“Yeah.” He smirks as though she just complimented him.
“Do anything to remedy it?” Her blood simmers in her veins, but the piercing color of his eyes dance around, shifting her insides, and her tummy twists and turns.
“Do I look like I care what people think?"
“That's too bad,” she answers, lowly.
“Why?” His interest seems almost genuine.
“Nothing... it's just… if you don't care… I mean...” Her words stumble around in her mouth, never quite fitting into a coherent phrase. His head angles up. “I mean… who cares about you then?"
Something flickers across his face, but he conceals it too quickly to discern what it is. A casual shrug masks whatever she had seen. “Why’d you care?"
“I don't,” Becky answers, a little too quickly.
I don’t care… I don’t… It’s just this horrible situation giving me a bad case of anxiety.
He stares across to the end of the futon, a weary sigh escaping the hard line of his mouth. Becky has been so preoccupied with the magnetic aura that flows around him she’s forgotten how tiring her questioning might be to his recuperation.
“You should sleep… I'm sorry.” She can’t stop her voice from carrying a soothing quality to it.
He keeps his attention on the ceiling above when he replies, “No you're not.” The quiet rumble of his voice is velvet soft to her ears. “Don’t worry. Nothing bothers me."
His words ring truth and instinct kicks her in the gut, but she fights it down with every bone inside her. “I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you need anything..."
His stare strays back to hers. “And how will that work—ESP or something?"
She ignores his subtle sarcasm. “My room’s right under yours. If you fall or anything I will hear it."
“Good to know.” He scratches at his scruff, his eyes lighting a bit. “What if someone else hears?"
“My room is the highest room in the house so the noise will never reach past my floor."
He nods. "Okay."
“If you're worried or if you need anything just knock twice on the floor. I should hear you... I'm a light sleeper anyway."
“So this is some Morse code or something. Knock twice for food, one for bathroom.” He seems displeased, but his features remain soft.
“Would you like a bell to ring me instead?"
He
He levels her with an impenetrable glare. “That a threat?"
“That's your alternative to me.” She rests the bowl on the edge of the futon. Pursing her lips she feels the temperature of the attic rise.
“Calling the cops then?"
She shrugs her shoulders. “Don't know."
“You mind filling me in before you decide?"
“How about you answer me a few questions?"
“You like asking a lot of questions.”
“And you like avoiding a lot of questions.”
His cold eyes dart in between hers. “Like?” he asks, his voice like stone.
“Like…” The need to know if he really doesn’t remember her from the past has been weighing on her mind since she discovered who he is. “…Why you chose my house, my window and why this ‘gang’ shot you in the first place?"
His lips pucker out and he assesses her with one thorough sweep. “The less you know the better."
“I saved your life. I think I'm entitled to a few answers." His eyes bore through hers like lasers. She knows she’s dancing on the edge of the cliff, but she just can’t help tipping over.
“Didn’t ask you to save me,” he says, indifferent. She opens her mouth but he continues, “When I'm well enough I'll be out of your hair."
“Listen—"
“Colt. Call me Colt. It’s my name. Not ‘Listen’ or ‘You’. Colt. Use it."
Her eyebrow slants up. “I don't think so.”
“Whatever. I'm not answering your questions. The less you know the better.”
“Because of this ‘gang’?”
He doesn’t bother to respond with words, just a nod of his head. She clutches the bowl from the edge so hard she nearly breaks it. “Has anyone told you that you're a real jerk sometimes?"
“Yeah.” He smirks as though she just complimented him.
“Do anything to remedy it?” Her blood simmers in her veins, but the piercing color of his eyes dance around, shifting her insides, and her tummy twists and turns.
“Do I look like I care what people think?"
“That's too bad,” she answers, lowly.
“Why?” His interest seems almost genuine.
“Nothing... it's just… if you don't care… I mean...” Her words stumble around in her mouth, never quite fitting into a coherent phrase. His head angles up. “I mean… who cares about you then?"
Something flickers across his face, but he conceals it too quickly to discern what it is. A casual shrug masks whatever she had seen. “Why’d you care?"
“I don't,” Becky answers, a little too quickly.
I don’t care… I don’t… It’s just this horrible situation giving me a bad case of anxiety.
He stares across to the end of the futon, a weary sigh escaping the hard line of his mouth. Becky has been so preoccupied with the magnetic aura that flows around him she’s forgotten how tiring her questioning might be to his recuperation.
“You should sleep… I'm sorry.” She can’t stop her voice from carrying a soothing quality to it.
He keeps his attention on the ceiling above when he replies, “No you're not.” The quiet rumble of his voice is velvet soft to her ears. “Don’t worry. Nothing bothers me."
His words ring truth and instinct kicks her in the gut, but she fights it down with every bone inside her. “I'll be back in a couple of hours. If you need anything..."
His stare strays back to hers. “And how will that work—ESP or something?"
She ignores his subtle sarcasm. “My room’s right under yours. If you fall or anything I will hear it."
“Good to know.” He scratches at his scruff, his eyes lighting a bit. “What if someone else hears?"
“My room is the highest room in the house so the noise will never reach past my floor."
He nods. "Okay."
“If you're worried or if you need anything just knock twice on the floor. I should hear you... I'm a light sleeper anyway."
“So this is some Morse code or something. Knock twice for food, one for bathroom.” He seems displeased, but his features remain soft.
“Would you like a bell to ring me instead?"
He
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