Jeez, he looked intimidating. He was dressed in a heavy black sweater and dark denim jeans. His hair looked like it’d been raked through at least a hundred times. The stubble on his cheeks was getting thicker by the day. It was rare he let it grow out.
“You sure you want some company?” I lightly asked, coming to a stop.
He immediately looked up, all attention to the phone instantly lost. His tired eyes looked me over, and his expression morphed to hunger and…relief?
“Baby, you look ravishing,” he remarked. He stood up and wrapped his arm around my waist, escorting me to my seat. He liked this shit. It made him feel good to seat me. I didn’t get why. Had never asked. But it was sweet and made my stomach warm.
I instantly forgot why I hated him. I was seething just minutes ago, and now I was just so glad to feel that familiarity between us.
This was what I meant when I referred to him as a bad habit.
A crack addict could damn his drug all day long, but the second he took it, he was on cloud nine and didn’t fucking care how unhealthy it was.
Nixon was like that.
Not that I ever tried crack or anything.
Okay, so it was a shitty comparison.
He sat down across from me, his focus right on me. The phone was utterly forgotten. I was all he wanted to look at, and fuck, that did things in my chest I tried my best to ignore. I caught the way his body sagged into his seat and I knew something was up.
Nixon wasn’t himself.
“How are you, baby?” he asked warmly.
In an effort to lighten his mood, I smiled brightly and said, “I just told an old man you kidnapped me.”
His brows shot up. “Did you?”
“Yeah, I did. I even told him I’d appreciate it if he forwarded the details to the local authorities.”
He chuckled deep in his throat. “How are you liking your chances?”
I pretended to think. “Well, he was more fascinated with my tits and, oh, he’s a secret basement dweller, which means he’s probably got a lot of illegal shit to hide as it is. My chances are pretty low.”
He smiled broadly. “That’s a shame.”
I shrugged, nonchalantly. “One day, Nixon, and it might work.”
He considered that for a moment. “You’d have to kill me first, baby.”
It was funny in the moment, but sad because it was true. Nixon’s death was the most certain way I’d ever gain my freedom.
And I wasn’t sure I wanted him dead.
“You never worry someone will notice me and know who I am?” I wondered just then, staring at him seriously. “A person just doesn’t disappear without a trace.”
Nixon’s smile turned soft. “It’s not that hard, Vix. The world’s –”
“Dark and cold and doesn’t give a fuck about me,” I finished, rolling my eyes. “I know.”
He shook his head. “Not just that, it’s…not as hopeful as you think.”
What did he mean by that? I tried to discern him, but he was mercurial and impossible to read. But I had a feeling he knew something I didn’t. Something that might depress me. Well, that was fine. I had a long list of shit that depressed me, what was another thing to add?
Beth intervened by placing an ice-cold pitcher of water on the table and two cups, and then she promptly disappeared. She knew the drill. Nixon didn’t like to be interrupted unless it was to take our orders.
“How were your appointments?” he asked.
“Fine,” I answered, though I felt like my insides were being crushed just thinking about them.
“Dr Sullivan give you a check-up?”
I ground my teeth for a fleeting moment, thinking of my wonderful appointment. “Oh, yeah, she gave me a check-up alright.”
He narrowed his eyes curiously. “And?”
And she told me about numero uno, Nixon. What happened to her? Did you let her go? Was I your rebound captive?
I smiled coolly. “All good. We aren’t making babies anytime soon.”
If I was trying to stun him, it didn’t work. He just smirked at me, pouring us a glass of water each with this amused expression.
Not.
One.
Fuck.
Given.
“Now you respond,” I urged him, tightly. “I just made a comment about babies, Nixon.”
“What sort of reaction do you want me to give?” he questioned, picking up on my mood. “I’m happy to oblige.”
“Well, you can tell me that babies are not ever on your agenda, and that you’d sooner have me buried in a ditch with all the other girls you’ve fucked and kidnapped.”
I studied him, searching for a hint of these previous women in his expression. But he was looking more amused by the second.
I thought he was in a dick mood. Why was he so fucking chirpy?
“Okay,” he replied with ease. “I’d sooner have you buried in a ditch with all the other girls I’ve fucked and kidnapped.”
My mouth parted. Oh, my God. Was that an admission? Or was he being a smartass motherfucker by simply repeating what I’d just said?
He was good. Oh, he was real good.
Still smiling in that fake ass way, I nodded, mimicking his – and everyone’s – fucking chirpiness today. “Well, you don’t have to worry. The birth control’s been lodged in my arm. I’ll be a moody bitch the next few days. Because that’s what us women do, Nixon. We just take on the hormones, we bleed a week every month, we fuck you so you can just explode in our pussies and not have to worry about a damn thing.”
“Your sacrifice has not gone unnoticed,” he dryly replied.
“Are you ready for my mood swings?”
“Would be cruel not to be when you live through mine.”
I leaned over the table a bit, smiling sourly. “What’s your excuse for being an asshole, Nixon?”
He didn’t pause. “I hate people, Vixen.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What do you hate about people?”
His smile wavered slightly as he thought about it. And when he thought too hard about things, he usually flicked his tongue out and slid it along his bottom lip. Just like now. It was too fucking sexy to ignore. “I hate the way they look, the way they smell, the utter shit they spew. I hate that they want you when they need you, and they’d gladly watch you drown to save their own skin. I hate people with a fucking passion.”
I winced in surprise. The vehemence in his tone was unexpected. “Ouch, Nixon.”
The way his eyes glazed over I knew he was thinking about something personal. “The truth ain’t pretty. You should know. The world didn’t cloak you in sunshine either.”
I stiffened, not wanting to think how close to home those words hit. “Not everyone’s a user. There are good people out there.”
“Good people become victims. They’re just prey.”
“To predators like you?”
This time he did pause, watching me with a strange expression I couldn’t decipher. It was like…he was surprised by my response. “Am I the predator, Vix?” he wondered aloud, searching my eyes. “Is that what you think?”
I laughed bitterly. “Are you suggesting it’s the other way around, Nixon?”
He didn’t answer that, choosing to respond instead with, “Do you sleep better knowing I’m the villain in your tale?”