Cigarettes & Coca-Cola✔️

Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Finger dances

'I don't know what the fuck your problem is with me. And by the look on your face you don't know too, so when you're done, come find me. Until then leave me the fuck alone.' Corbin seethes.

I reach out my hand but he dodges it by taking a few steps back. What the hell was happening, when did I become the bad guy? And why do I feel like one?

He walks away and slams his bedroom door close. My breathing was uneven as I stared at his closed door. A click sounds and I turn around and retreat to my own space.

My bed feels softer than it ever has, maybe because the night was exhausting or maybe because I gave up. Gave up trying to make sense of this whole dilemma. Gave up trying to convince me that I didn't like Corbin.

☠

02:35

I still haven't fallen asleep. And the soft noises coming from Corbin's bedroom told me that he hasn't either. I stare up at the ceiling contemplating if I should knock on his door and just tell him.

With a huff, I throw the light comforter off my body. I open my dresser drawer and pull out the first pair of socks that touch my hand.

I put on the socks slowly, already dreading the confrontation. I shake myself and softly open my bedroom door. The living room and kitchen were dark, the only bit of light coming from the moon that shone through the curtains and the flickers of blue light that came from under his door.

I take quick steps and hold my hand up, ready to knock. With a slight tap of my fingers against the door, the sound stops. I hold my breath wondering if he'll open the door.

The door opens and I stare at his face, trying to avoid his bare chest. 'What do you want?' He asks and folds his arms over his chest.

'I couldn't sleep.' I say in a whispered voice.

He raises a brow, 'And that's my problem, why?'

Asshole. Ignoring the comment I glance over his shoulder and take in his room. It looked different from what I imagined. There wasn't any navy blue sheets or one pillow on the bed, instead of a wooden four-poster bed with ruffled black and white sheets. The pillows were strewn across the floor. Only 2 remained on the bed.

His end tables were crafted of the same wood as the bedroom. On each was a rustic looking lamp...and on the right one was his cellphone and a glass of water. A fluffy rug covered most of the floor, and so did the clothes that he wore today.

My focus returns to him, 'Can we talk?'

He quirks his head as if he's thinking about it. 'That depends on what and what you're willing to do for my answers.'

I frown and fold my arms across my chest, 'I want to talk about Quin. What do you mean I have to do something for your answers, you know if you have a conversation you usually trade information for information.' I say with a frustrated huff.

'No. If you want to talk about Quin, I want something in return.' He says with a devilish grin.

'Fine what do you want?' I roll my eyes. This was a terrible idea, I knew I was going to regret it.

'You.' He says and takes a step forward.

'Excuse me?' I ask shocked. I wasn't a piece of meat.

'You heard what I said. I want you in my bed if I agree to answer your questions about Quinlan September.' He says with his irritable smirk still on his face.