17
After I get out of bed something happens that all humans experience, but for women who are only just getting to know a guy, can be quite embarrassing.
I need to use the bathroom.
Once you’re past that mark with someone, it all becomes fine, we get too comfortable with each other and there are no boundaries, but for right now, I’d rather not let him hear me do it, so I put on the shower while I handle my business, and then jump in there afterward. After I get out, freshly clean, I brush my teeth and hair, put lotion on my body, and spray some deodorant and perfume for good measure, then exit the bathroom in a towel and hurry to get dressed so I’m not late for work. Knuckles is sitting in my bed, TV on, one arm relaxed behind his head, not a care in the world.
I start to get dressed, happy I managed to use the bathroom all sneakily, when he goes, “You know if you need to shit you can just do it. I know women need to poop too.”
I freeze, bra dangling from my fingers. “You have no fucking filter, you know that?”
I storm around the room, getting dressed in a rush, avoiding looking at him. There’s being honest and blunt, and then there’s whatever he is that’s on a whole different level.
“Are you angry I told you that you don’t have to hide the fact that you need to use the bathroom?” he asks, an amused look in those brown eyes. “Kitty, I’m just saying, you don’t need to hide anything—”
“Oh fuck, that Kitty thing is actually catching on?” I groan, cringing. “You have got to be kidding me.”
“—from me. I’m a grown-ass man, it’s okay. I think I know the truth about women by now.” He lowers his voice to a whisper. “I know that they have the same human bodily functions as men.”
I want to die.
I throw my hands up in the air, then point my finger at him. “I can’t even deal with you right now. Fine, we will jump past the part of the relationship where we’re polite, have boundaries, and bother to spray the bathroom after you use it. Happy?”
“Very much so. And we’re in a relationship now?” he asks with a big smile on his infuriating, handsome face.
Shit.
Me and my big label-giving mouth.
“I’m going to work,” I declare, grabbing my bag.
“Not without giving me a kiss, you’re not,” he states, getting off the bed and walking over to me. He cups my cheek, then uses his thumb to gently push down my lower lip before kissing me.
When he’s done, I’m left breathless, just like I am every time he kisses me.
He looks into my eyes, kisses my forehead, and says, “Have a good day at work. I’m going to take your dogs for a jog, and then head back to the clubhouse. I’ll come back to see you later tonight.”
I nod.
He smiles.
I go to work, leaving him in my house to take care of something I should be doing. I normally don’t like when people do things for me, because I don’t like feeling like I owe anyone anything, but with him it feels like teamwork. I’d never ask, but if he offers, I’m not going to say no.
I don’t know if this can work out with Knuckles and me, but fuck, I need to finally admit to myself that I want it to.
I’ve barely sat down at my desk, and Robert and Tim are there, asking me a million questions.
“You were questioned at the police station last night?” asks Tim, looking somewhat concerned but mostly excited. He’s probably wondering how he’s going to capitalize on this, and what new stories he’s going to publish for his newspaper.
“Does this have anything to do with the guy I saw picking you up after work yesterday? On a bike? He looked like a criminal, Celina, so I’m not surprised you were at the police station hours later. What have you gotten yourself into? Surely you haven’t dropped your standards so low,” Robert says, or should I say sneers. With his nose in the air, a sense of superiority surrounding him, I have no idea how I was able to be with him so long, or what I saw in him in the first place.
“My standards have actually risen, Robert, but thanks for your concern,” I tell him, flashing him a saccharine smile.
You’d think Tim would get awkward, as things get personal between my ex and me, but no, he simply moves closer to me. “Is there a story in this, or what? You mentioned a piece on them. Is that what you were doing, chasing a story and you got caught?”
Fuck. My good intentions are backfiring on me. Here I was planning on writing a piece that the Cursed Ravens aren’t bad guys and this happens. Why did I open my mouth and mention it to Tim? I curse Officer Keeton, or whoever told my boss what had happened last night.
“There’s no story, other than the fact the officer all but threatened me.”
With exposing this to my job, which he clearly went and did anyway.
“You were found in the Cursed Ravens clubhouse, Celina,” Tim says, sounding exasperated. “That’s the biggest story of the year. No one has been inside there or seen how they operate firsthand. The only articles we’ve been able to run on them is when they’re caught doing something in public, nothing on their home turf.”
I’d assume that’s because they’re loyal to one another.
“You said you were working on something. Just make it about this!” Tim’s eyes light up with excitement as Robert deflates at his enthusiasm. Any other time, it’d be amusing, now it just sucks.
My mind runs, frantically trying to find a way to get out of this. I don’t want to lose my job, but there’s no way in hell I’m going to write a story on the MC anymore, even if it was going to be a puff piece with them looking good. I wouldn’t do that to Knuckles, or to Erin. I’m a loyal person, and at the end of the day, I’m not going to get a story in a dirty way, by betraying anyone or leaking information. That’s not who I am. However, I know these two aren’t going to give up until I give them something, so I decide to go with honesty.
“Look, both of you, there’s no story. A close family member of mine is dating a club member, I was there to see her, end of story,” I tell them. I know that wasn’t the whole truth, but it’s all I’m willing to share.
“So you have an in? That’s perfect. You could go back and take some photos or something. Do you know what this could do to boost your career?” Tim asks me, eyes going wide and crazy.
Shit.
Apparently I made it worse.
I decide to try a different tactic. “I value my life, thank you. They will kill me, and anyone else involved. I’m sorry, but I can’t be a part of it. There are certain lines I won’t cross, and my family is one of them.”
“Shame,” Tim mutters, looking immediately displeased, his chin lifting and his lips tight as ever. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her, Robert.”
Ha! I sincerely doubt that.
Tim storms out, and I’m surprised he doesn’t slam the door as he enters his own office. I know this isn’t the last I’m going to hear of this. Tim didn’t get where he is today by letting things go. He’d sell a story about his own grandma if he knew he’d create some buzz and make some money out of it.
“This is the story you need, Celina. Aren’t you tired of writing about local artists, charities, crime, and fucking storms? Don’t you want front page? This information would be going somewhere no one has ever gone before. Don’t you ever want to be promoted? Someone has to take over Tim’s job one day,” he says, trying to sell me reasons why I should betray the man I’m falling for. He has no idea. Nothing he says will ever change my mind.
“Or I can write the story for you,” he suggests, softening his tone. “Just give me the information and I’ll spin it into a front-page story.”
I pull my laptop out from its pink bag and open it, prepping to do some more work on the real story I want to write about the MC, the one that’s going to shred all stereotypes about them, not the one Robert is pushing for me to write. I start to log in with Robert hovering over me, making me feel a little uncomfortable.
“Ever heard of personal space?” I ask him, as my Word document opens to what I’ve already started.
“What’s that you’re working on?” he quickly responds, trying to lean in further.
“Nothing. And going to a clubhouse is not a story, Robert. Other than knowing their interior-decorating style, there’s nothing else I can tell you. I can’t make up a story if there’s nothing there, and you shouldn’t ask me to. So drop it.”
His calm exterior fades into something dark and nasty. “Maybe you’re not cut out for this job after all.”
“I don’t know who you think you are to make that assumption,” I say, losing my damn patience. I point my finger at him. “But if I said your name to a room full of people, how many would know who you are? That’s right, none of them, so don’t try and act all high-and-mighty. I’m damn good at my job, Robert. Remember my page-two story? When’s the last time you were on page two? Why don’t you forget our personal history for one second and acknowledge that. How you feel about me doesn’t mean shit.”
“Do you know how many people would kill to be in your position? People who would actually use the opportunity?” he fires back, shaking his head in frustration. “Yeah, you might be good at what you do, but what does that mean if you aren’t going to seize every opportunity? Nothing.”
He too storms off, and without them invading my space, I can finally breathe again. I pull out my stress ball from my top drawer and squeeze and release, about twenty times consecutively.
I’m not the kind of person who does something she doesn’t want to do.
If I say no, it means no.
Unless I say no to Knuckles, apparently, but they don’t know that.
And I think they know how serious I am, which is why they’re both so angry, but I don’t give a shit.
The Cursed Ravens already mean more to me than they ever did, or ever will.