His mouth went flat. “You say whatever the hell is on your mind, and you annoy the hell out of me sometimes.”
And there we go. I blinked. “Don’t hold back.”
Alex blinked right back. “You’re stubborn as hell, Gracie, but you make it hard to not like you.”
Dammit.
Dammit.
In his own fucked-up, crabby way, he was paying me a compliment.
I don’t know what it said about me that I appreciated his brutal honesty, that I understood exactly what he meant.
And now it was me who had to try really hard not to like him, this pain in the fucking ass.
He was gorgeous, sure, but there was a hell of a lot more to a person than what lay on the outside. Butthole or not. And even though there were so many facets and mysteries to him that a lifetime of research and archaeology wouldn’t uncover, I had meant what I said to him about not changing for someone else.
I crossed my arms over my chest, telling myself that I could replay his words on a night in the future when I was all alone again. “Thank you for the apology and that compliment, but I still don’t think I should stay.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t want to,” I told him. “Because I shouldn’t. I can figure out my life on my own.”
He narrowed his eyes right back at me, lingering there for a long, long moment. “I hurt your feelings that much?”
I wanted to tell him no, that he hadn’t, that everything was fine. That I was used to this. That he wouldn’t be the last person to ever hurt my feelings, because he wouldn’t.
But I just looked at him, knowing I couldn’t lie; he would be able to tell. “You don’t have to feel guilty about it. This wasn’t going to be long-term anyway.” Which was the truth. If I’d expected anything, it was to be in hollering distance, and that distance could be a wide one with his ears. “You don’t want me here. I didn’t want you at my house either. I understand. You’re busy, you have responsibilities. I get it.”
Something moved across his face, through those incredible eyes, and I felt him exhale again right in my own chest. “If I didn’t want you around, I would have left you at my grandmother’s house, Gracie. I don’t give my word often, and when I do, I don’t go back on it. I’m not going to start today,” he said in that steadfast way that reminded me of who he was when he put that blue cape on. More than a man, an icon. A figure that brought relief and reassurance. That told countless people things would be okay.
Which was what he was trying to do for me.
The tip of his finger tapped me in the center of the sternum, bringing me back to him and that bossy face. “I’m not going to start with you.”
There were some things in life that were too good to be true.
I’d already known how things were going to end up eventually. With me on my own, taking care of myself. I was never going to be able to live a normal life. Unless I changed my DNA, faked my own death, totally started over with a new name and social security number, I was never going to be able to be at peace. And I accepted that that was my fate. My life. Unless a miracle occurred and a whole family and their compound got wiped out. Even that wasn’t a certainty.
It fucking sucked, but it was reality.
And just as I was about to tell him that, he kept going. “I was eighteen when I agreed to help people, this planet, and over the years, I’ve been disappointed again and again and fucking again. I’ve had people throw shit at me, call me evil, tell me and my family that we’re going to be the end of the world, like we don’t do what we do to try and make sure that doesn’t happen. I’m tired of the fucking idiots, Gracie. Most days it feels like they outnumber the smart ones. But every once in a while, I’ll meet someone who reminds me of the good that people are still capable of.”
I narrowed my eyes, not sure where this was going.
“You helped me when you didn’t want to, when it put you at risk. I know what it’s like to do shit you don’t want to do, but you do it anyway because it’s the right thing.” The Defender tilted his head and looked at me so, so seriously. “People think doing the right thing is easy, but it’s not. The right thing is hardly ever convenient.” His eyelids dropped low over those eyeballs, and his Adam’s apple bobbed, and I didn’t think I was imagining him having to dig deep within himself to say, “Other things irritated me, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry for that.”
I started to say well too bad when his hand landed on my nearly bare shoulder.
“For the rest of your life, Gracie. That was my deal.” He stared me right in the eye. “I’m sticking to it.”
I pressed my lips together.
“You’re fine.” He shook his head. “You’re a good person, and I didn’t want to like you, but I do.”
The man known as The Defender moved his thumb across my shoulder as he looked at me, that grouchy face turning open and sincere. I’d watched it too much to not notice the tiny differences in his features when his emotions changed. And I could tell that they had.
Then he reached toward the dresser and picked up a big orange bag from the top that I hadn’t noticed.
Cheetos. He was holding fucking Cheetos.
I looked at him, and the son of a bitch shook the bag a little as he held it out.
Dammit, I had to be logical.
“There’s another bag downstairs,” he said, watching me so, so carefully.
I could be practical.
“You said you promised your grandparents that you’d live a nice, long life.” He drew every word out. “Your best bet at that is sticking with me, and you know it.”
Suddenly, I felt in over my head.
My stomach twisted in that funny way right before something monumental happened.
Fuck.
It twisted again, reminding me that it was always right.
Those thick, dark eyebrows rose slowly, and the son of a bitch shook the bag of Cheetos at me some more. “What’s better than regular friends?” he asked. “You can be my best friend number 20. If you share the Cheetos with me, I’ll think about you being number 19.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Was I really going to change my mind? Had he won me over with an apology, an earnest face, a bag of chips, and by reminding me of what my grandparents had wished for? By calling me his best friend number 20? Really?
Did he have to be so logical? If he’d picked any number smaller, I would have thought he was full of shit. But twenty… twenty was believable.
Twenty was real.
Dammit.
He shook the bag a little more. “What do you say, Cookie?”
Fuck this motherfucker.
Fuck me.
Oh boy.
“Fine,” I snapped as a compromise, noticing that my stomach instantly went back to normal. I took the bag of chips from him.
Alex tipped his head to the side.
I pressed my lips together. “I want to tell you no. You were a real buttmunch.”
His eyebrows dropped flat, but I kept going.
“I’ll stay until we figure out a way that I can be okay by myself.”
His gaze stayed steady.
“But if you ever make me feel that way again, I’m out. And you can live with your guilt if the cartel gets me and feeds me to their pigs.”