After gathering my bearings, I cross my arms. “That’s funny. I thought you were the creep.”
“I’m open to sharing.” He glances at me over his shoulder. “The word creep, not something else. Can you help out?”
“And if I don’t want to?” I ask slowly.
“Remember the part about picking your battles? This is a perfect example. Don’t provoke me for trivial reasons or you’ll be the one who suffers the fallout.”
I’m so tempted to grab the nearest object and throw it at his head, but he’s right. I’ll only make the situation harder on myself if he decides to put on his arsehole hat.
With a sigh, I head to the cupboard and start searching for utensils and dishes. It takes me more time than if I’d asked him about their whereabouts, but screw that. I’d rather waste time than talk to him. It’s my form of rebellion.
As if seeing straight through my plan, Jeremy doesn’t offer to help and continues with his cooking.
By the time I find two plates—one chipped on the edge—two glasses, and utensils, I feel somewhat victorious.
It takes me longer to clean the surface of the table with some detergent I find. I only loosen up when it’s not so greasy anymore. Just to make sure, I scrub the pesky marks on the corners.
On and on, I rub on those spots, refusing to admit defeat.
“Do you have a cleaning OCD?”
I flinch at the sound near my back. I’d be lying if I said that I forgot he was there, but I thought he was still at the stove and I had a bit more time to try to forget his presence.
“It’s…greasy.” I let out in a breath as he places the pan on the surface. “How can you even eat in a place like this? It’s a hygiene hazard.”
He flings open one of the cupboards and retrieves a bottle of vodka. I eye the thing so hard, I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter into pieces.
Whenever I see that drink, I recall that time at the restaurant, his punishing touch, his pliant lips, the commanding way he held me on his lap.
It’s strange how Jeremy can show different sides depending on the situation. He can be weirdly caring like in that club or after he carried me to the cottage, but he can also transform into a beast in a fraction of a second.
“It’s not that bad.” He slides onto the sofa.
“It’s a disaster.” I take the spot opposite him and stare at the ominous lake through the dirty window and glass door. “What is this place, anyway?”
He scoops what looks like a weird omelet onto my plate—the non-chipped one. “Let’s call it a vacation house.”
“More like a horror house.”
He lifts a shoulder. “Name it whatever you want.”
I wipe the glass with a paper napkin, and after I make sure it’s all clean, I pour some water into it. “How did you access it?”
“I bought it.”
“Really?”
“It was on the market for a bargain price, and I needed a place of my own outside of the mansion, so I bought this one.”
“You couldn’t buy a flat or something? Surely your family could afford it.”
“Flats are boring. I prefer open space.”
“With a haunted aura, creepy night creatures, and a gothic vibe.”
“Where else will I be able to hunt you?” He smirks from the rim of his glass and I want to poke his eyes out.
“Can we not talk about that?”
“Why not?”
“Seriously, stop answering my questions with other questions.”
“Why would I?”
Ugh. This prick.
He tilts his head in my untouched dish’s direction. “Eat.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You didn’t eat all night long, so you must be.”
“How do you know that…？ Wait a minute, were you watching me again?”
He cuts through his food, and even though he doesn’t answer me, I’m sure he was.
Does that mean the small bursts of apprehension I had throughout the week were real? But that’s impossible. He couldn’t have been there since he was recuperating from what happened in the fire.
I know because Anni told me.
A part of me is relieved that he’s safe. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if he’d suffered the fallout from that fire.
I still hate his ways, though.
“Stalking is a crime, you know.”
“Only if it’s proved.”
“What?”
“A stalker only becomes a criminal when he’s caught. Besides, I prefer to call it inquiring.” He cocks his head in my direction. “Eat. If I ask a third time, it won’t be with words.”