Читать книгу Between The Lines - Lauren Hawkeye - Страница 13

THEO LAY SPRAWLED in the massive leather chaise that occupied the corner of his bedroom at one...or was it two in the morning? He lifted the bottle of scotch that he’d brazenly lifted from his dad’s supply, squinting as he tried to discern just how much he’d had to drink.

He was pretty sure that the bottle had been full—a brand-new one, in fact. After the first couple of shots from a heavy crystal tumbler, though, he’d decided to forgo the glass and swig straight from the bottle. And then he’d spilled some on the floor in the hallway, leaving a sticky lake of amber liquid for the cleaners to find in the morning.

So basically...he had no idea. He knew he’d drunk a lot, but it wasn’t having the effect he’d hoped for. The buzz he was chasing kept dancing just out of reach, and instead the alcohol was filling him with lead, weighing him down until he thought he might never move again.

“Why do you do this to yourself?”

He didn’t have to move to know that Jo was standing in the doorway of his room. He caught a whiff of spicy cinnamon, heard her quiet sigh as she entered, closing the door behind her.

He remained motionless, listening as she moved around his room. She straightened his sheets, probably pulling down his covers for him. He tracked her footsteps to his bathroom, heard the tap and knew that she was getting him water and aspirin. Finally she closed the space between them, reaching out for the bottle he still held.

Because he was in the mood to be a dick, he held tight. He heard a grim hum from her lips, and then she smacked the bottom of the bottle, twisting it over in his grip and upending the contents onto his lap.

“Fucking hell, Jo!” Shocked into motion, he scrambled upright. A tight smirk of satisfaction was on that fascinating face of hers, and she simply stood back, arms crossed over her chest as he reached for the closest thing he could find, a sweatshirt, to mop up the liquid on his lap.

“I’m going to bed,” he informed her. She didn’t move. He wasn’t surprised. Damn it, what the hell was going on with her? All he’d wanted to do was make sure that she enjoyed her birthday. She didn’t have to write those freaking articles. She’d just turned eighteen today—no one expected her to contribute. And if she was worried about money, he had plenty, and he was happy to share. So what the fuck was the problem?

“Theo.” Her voice was a sigh again. He glared up at her as she pulled his footstool closer to his chair, lowering her small frame to a perch. “We need to talk.”

He was just drunk enough that talking seemed like a horrible idea. As he looked at her sitting there, her pert, perfect breasts clearly outlined in the flimsy blouse that he knew Meg had made her wear for her party, he thought of something that sounded like a lot more fun than talking.

“C’mere.” He gestured, overshooting and making his arm swing wildly. “I still need to give you your birthday kiss.”

She closed her eyes, muttered something beneath her breath and then pinned him with thunder in those storm-gray eyes. “It’s not sexy time, Theo. Sexy time is not on the menu anytime in the near future. Just sit up and answer something for me.”

Theo rather thought that he could convince her on the sexy-time front if she gave it a fair shot, but the clipped quality of her voice finally sank through the scotch-soaked folds of his brain. Warily, he scooted to the edge of his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees and trying to look like he was sober.

From the grimace she made when she caught a whiff of his breath, he knew he wasn’t fooling her. Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face, then gave her his full attention. “What do you need to say, Jojo?”

Her question was like a punch in the kidneys. “What are your plans, Theo?” He waited for her to elaborate, but she just waited for his response, her entire frame unnaturally still.

“You mean like...my plans for you?” Anxiety pitched his words higher than usual. He loved her, but wasn’t it a little...soon...to have that talk?

“You are such a jackass,” she muttered. He scowled, opening his mouth to reply, but she forged on. “No. Not your plans for us. Which, incidentally, would be our plans, but whatever.”

His brain wasn’t moving quite fast enough to keep up with that train, but he put all his energy into focusing so that he could catch her next sentence.

“I’m talking about you. Your plans for your own life. What are you doing with it? What do you even want?”

“I—” He paused, unable to verbalize the tangle in his head. “I don’t—what do you mean?”

She studied him, the sharpening of her features making her appear faintly birdlike. Not like a sweet bird, though, he thought grumpily, like a canary or something. No, she was putting him more in mind of a raven, or a crow, maybe a hawk—something gorgeous and wild and more than a little bit dangerous.

“What I mean, Theo, is that you have so many opportunities. So many. More than anyone I know.” When he didn’t respond, she threw up her hands. “What I mean is...do you see yourself going into business with your father? You could, you know. He’d love that.”

“Not bloody likely,” Theo muttered, thinking of the nasty little altercation he’d had with Theodore Sr. last night.

Jo ignored him, plowing on. “What about school, then? You can afford to go anywhere. Anywhere. Doesn’t that excite you, even a little bit?”

“Don’t be stupid. There isn’t a school in the world that would take me with my SAT scores.” Theo snorted with disgust, making sure Jo didn’t know that disgust was actually with himself. “College isn’t an option.”

“That’s ridiculous.” The glare she shot him was like a laser beam, slicing right through to his core. “You can retake those any time you want.”

“I can retake them, but I won’t be any smarter.” Shrugging as if he didn’t care, he took another large swig from the scotch bottle. When he swallowed, the alcohol felt like acid in his gut, eating away at him from the inside out.

Jo threw her hands up in frustration. “You won’t get any smarter if you won’t freaking try, Theo. It’s called studying. The people who get good SAT scores do it.”

“Why are you on my case like this?” He couldn’t handle even one more of her biting observations, because each one was like the lash of a whip, slicing away another sliver of his defenses. Soon he’d be left open, raw and bleeding, all of his insecurities out for her to see.

No one was allowed that close. Not even Jo.

“I’m on your case because I don’t understand what’s going through your thick skull.” Her temper was up now, and so was her voice. “You have opportunities that some people only dream of, and you’re throwing them all away because...what? You’re just going to lounge around and drive your dad crazy forever?”

Theo stilled. “My dad treats me like shit. Since my mom died, he can’t even look at me. You know that.”

“You don’t treat him any better!” Jo’s harsh words reverberated off the walls of the room. “You might not get along, but he’s still trying to help you make something of your life, and you thwart him at every turn!”

Theo had known that Jo had a temper since the second day of their acquaintance, when they’d gotten into a fight during an impromptu softball game and she’d accidentally beaned him with the bat when she’d thrown it in a rage. His anger management wasn’t much better, though, and she’d just stuck a crowbar into his most tender parts and cranked it.

He fisted his hands at his sides, blood rushing to his head so fast that he felt dizzy.

“Thwart? Who actually says that in conversation?” he sneered, his words aimed to pierce her delicate skin. “I get it now. It’s not that you care, that you’re worried about me. It’s that I have chances you don’t, and it’s driving you crazy!”

Jo’s mouth fell open in disbelief, and her eyes were wild. “I’ve known you were a lazy prick with entitlement issues since the day we met, but stupid me, I thought you’d grown up a bit. But you never will, will you? You’ll never figure out what you’re going to do with your life, because you don’t want to do anything!”

She sucked in a big breath before continuing. “Your mom is the one who died, Theo! Not you! So why the fuck do you keep acting like you went with her?”

Theo couldn’t think past the roaring in his ears. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he fought the urge to give her a shake. He’d never hit a woman in his life, and he didn’t intend to start, but Josephine Marchande sorely tempted him to.

He growled, an unintelligible sound low in his throat. He had so much to say, to try to make her understand, but the words were stuck in his suddenly dry throat, choking him. He needed an outlet for the rage, the confusion, even the hurt that was storming through him, and Jo was safe. She’d always been safe.

Instead of shaking her stupid, he tugged her against him, crushing her lips against his. She shoved at his shoulder seconds before he felt a hint of the tension leave her body, her lips softening beneath his.

And then a stabbing pain as she sank those razor-sharp little teeth of hers into his lower lip.

“Motherfuck—” He reared back, clapping a hand to his injured lip. It came away bloody, but before he could utter another word, Jo followed the bite with a straight shot to his solar plexus.

His breath escaped his body in one giant cloud. Wheezing, he doubled over, sinking back into his chair, one arm around his stomach, the other pressed to his lip.

“What the actual fuck, Jo?” If she’d wanted to stop him in his tracks, she’d done it—he couldn’t believe she’d hit him. He’d have been proud of her right hook if he didn’t think there was a distinct possibility that he was going to vomit all over her bare feet. “What was that for?”

“Are you serious right now?” She laughed, but the sound was dry and harsh. “I can barely look at you right now, so you sure as fuck don’t get to touch me.”

“What?” He tried to focus on her face, but his head was spinning. “Jo. What?”

She sucked a breath in through her nose before jamming a finger right in front of his face. “You don’t touch me unless I want to be touched. And you sure as hell don’t try to kiss me when you’re breaking my heart.”

He watched, at a complete loss for words as she stepped back, putting some much-needed space between them. Crossing her arms over her chest, she started to shake, and when she looked back at him, her eyes were shiny and red, though not a single tear actually spilled.

Without another word, she turned and made her way to the door. She didn’t slam it, didn’t even close it—just left it hanging partway open like a wound that needed stitches but couldn’t be closed.

He should call out. Go after her.

He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

She’d cut him open, flayed his flesh, and he didn’t know how to fix it. Didn’t know if he could.

Instead, he sat motionless in his chair until the sun came up, warring with himself. He was furious with Jo, with his dad, with his dead mom, with himself. He was absolutely, utterly incapable of dealing with any of it.

When pale golden light began to filter through the paned glass of his window, he stood. Strode to his closet. Opened the small safe inside it, retrieving his passport, birth certificate and the stacks of cash that he kept just for the hell of it. Pulling a supple, chocolate-brown leather trench coat from his closet, he stuffed the retrieved items into the pockets and threw the coat over his shoulders.

By the time the sun was fully up, shining fat and high in the sky, Theo was gone.