Two Sinners Make a Right {+18}

18. We Don't Ask Questions

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     Monday and Tuesday came and went, and I had skipped english class both days to keep away from Easton. After that text, I knew I couldn't face him. He was clearly angry at me and with tensions rising at home because of Ace's eyes on me, I didn't want him to think he was right about me circling back to my old ways.

     Nick had noticed there was something wrong with me in class. "You okay?" He had asked me. "Did something happen between you and Easton because he didn't look too happy yesterday either?"

      At first I panicked, wondering if Easton had said something about me, about us. But I quickly dismissed that thought. Easton wasn't the type to talk about personal stuff, not even with his friends.  I decided to leave Easton's name out of it when I told Nick about what happened to my boss and friend when we went out dancing. He was shocked and gave me sympathy before he dropped the subject.

     Luckily Sim was fine. When I turned up at the hospital, Sim thought I'd been drugged too but I assured her I was okay. My state of mind probably didn't convince her but with all the doctors and nurses walking around her room, she wasn't able to talk freely. Good news was that she wasn't too badly affected and could go home that night. The bad part was she'd been put on bed rest for a week and couldn't go into work, and there'd be no one to open up the gas station.

     She assured me I'd be paid but I'd still miss the escape from home and Ace's badgering.

     Now, it's Wednesday and I'm about to step off campus when I hear someone call my name. No, not just someone. I freeze in my tracks, turning to face Easton. The look on his face is unmistakable with anger, frustration and something I can't quite name.

      "Brielle," he says, his voice sharp. "Why did you leave?"

      His words are like a punch to the gut. The memory of us, of what happened rushes through my mind. His hands on me, the way he made me feel, and how I felt when I brought him pleasure in the shower. And then I left the next day. I don't even fully know how to explain it all to myself, let alone him.

      "I just— It was a mistake, okay?" I say, trying not to stammer. The look he gives me tells me that isn't going to cut it.

      "A mistake?"

      Guilt twists in my chest. "I'm sorry, Easton."

      Easton steps closer, his eyes locked onto mine, the anger in them simmering down to something else— something intense, something determined. "It wasn't a mistake, Brielle," he says, his voice firm but not harsh. "I saw that look on your face. You wanted it just as much as I did."

      I open my mouth to say something, to protest, but the words get stuck in my throat. He wasn't wrong. Every touch, every kiss, I had wanted it just as much as he had.

      He sighs, running a hand through his hair, the frustration still lingering but shifting into something more resolute. "Look, I'm not the lovey-dovey type. That's not me, and I won't pretend otherwise. If we're going to do this, it's going to be just physical. No strings, no feelings. We don't ask questions. Not about each others lives, not about our pasts. Nothing."